"If they're not going to shortlist us, they don't deserve our presence," party-pooping Karoline (with a K) pronounced haughtily when the nominations came out.
Our loss may be the Gramias' gain, but it does mean I can't do my direct-from-under-the-table blow-by-blow report about who did what with whom as the evening went on, which I know you were looking forward to.
Now this job requires me to swallow a lot of things (pride, mostly), but there are two things I can't/won't and the other one is jellied eels (not dissimilar as it happens). So I have mixed feelings about the new Becks & Ramsay pie and mash venture leaked to the press this week.
However unlikely the union seems, I'm all for a celebrity partnership between the super talented foodie hunk and his wrinkled sidekick and ex-footballer Gordon Ramsay. But I just wish they could have teamed up to make something tasty and not this congealed East End puke. Though probably still better for the gut than Yaktivia or Acticult, according to EFSA.
K's mood worsens as the week goes on. The Tim Smith voodoo doll has had pride of place in the boardroom for two months "just pop in a pin as you go by sweetie". But, alas, "the FSA buggers have refused to die."
Though bonkers by almost every measure, Karoline's memory is razor-sharp (a celery diet does that, according to the Mail) and every client who has ever fired us (plus some who looked at us scornfully) is on her list of doom.
How can I get Dr De'ath, the company shrink, to up Karoline's dosage of happy pills? With George 'Ozzy' Osborne also spoiling the party mood, I might pop a few myself.
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