After three decades in power, this week has seen the fall of yet another mighty empire, one that has taken years to topple. That’s right folks, Royal Mail has finally relinquished its sponsorship of the DMA Awards, paving the way for TNT to splash the cash. I hear there’s been something going on in Lybia too…
(OK, regular readers will recognise I used that joke a few weeks ago for the London riots but, hey, I like it!)
The top-line is that the DMA is now running an ad on this site and they have asked me to use my feminine wiles to get a few of you good-looking creative types to enter. In fact, anyone entering over ten awards could be in line for a special “Busty Idol Bonus”.
But a bit of advice, it’s no good just entering some pretty pictures, it’s all about the words… Have I ever told you how much I love a cunning linguist?
Mind you, I did say good-looking, so no fat old geezers please. Having sneaked in to last year’s awards with my Uncle Ivan, I reckon most of the blokes there would have had trouble getting it up in the first place, let alone following this year’s Awards’ strapline of “it only lasts for 0.14 of a second”. (And, is it just me, or does this year’s visual – supposedly of the chemical reaction that takes place in the brain at the exact moment you win an award – look just like a “trouser explosion”?)
Ah well, back to me. And, once more dear readers, I have good and bad news to impart.
The bad news is that Tarquin Farquhar has dumped me. Apparently he read last week’s column and didn’t like the fact I’d told you all he was in line for a £50m payout, claiming I lacked “class”. Bloody cheek. Doesn’t he know who I am? Of course the first thing I did was email Sir Martin Sorrell to tell him what a dirty Farquhar that Tarquin is and how he’s just a posh idiot who knows nothing about social media marketing. Bitter? Moi?
Luckily that brings me on to the good news. Yep, I’m single again. Hurrah! It’s all well and good having a rich boyfriend but it does get a little tedious after a while; going out to posh restaurants, staying in plush hotels, being spoilt rotten, being showered with gifts, new shoes, new outfits…er wait a minute, what am I talking about? That Tuscan sun must have gone to my head…Come on Tarquin, how about a Busty Bonus to make up?
