Last week, I joined the ranks of millions of grateful people who’re more than a bit relieved that ‘model and media personality’ – and in my opinion, low-brow reality show contestant – Rebekah Vardy is not their friend!
Given the massive media coverage it’s generating, it’s probably safe to say the world and its mother is highly familiar with the whole Rebekah Vardy versus Coleen Rooney saga; something which, in my view, is quickly turning into a vulgar, mud-slinging street scrap! To say this pair are no longer friends would be putting things mildly. Indeed, if the unflattering headlines are anything to go by, these spray-tanned, more-money-than-sense, publicity-hungry posturers have now probably got a rapport similar to that of Sinn Féin and the DUP – as in, zero!
However, in case anyone needs to catch up… in a nutshell, the corporate-chic, carefully-coiffed Mrs Vardy has been accused by the Zara-clad, woman-of-the-people Mrs Rooney of ‘leaking fake stories about her in 2019’. Mrs V denies all charges and therefore is suing Mrs R for libel, to er, “vindicate her reputation”.
Whatever happens during this trial, due to the sheer magnitude of the filthy laundry and titillating nature of the highly personal, injurious comments being aired, it’s my belief that in the eyes of the court of public opinion, Mrs Vardy may not come out of this with her ‘reputation’ unscathed! Given the negative feedback this ‘trial’ has been generating, I’d go so far as to say the social frostbite set to be experienced by Vardy at the end of proceedings could probably prove chillier than a case of Moet sitting in her fridge.
I’m specifically referring to the risqué revelations surrounding the kiss-and-tell tabloid interview given by Vardy regarding the ‘one night stand’ she shared with singer Peter Andre. The details of this interview contained her alleged (and unflattering) description of the ‘Mysterious Girl’ singer’s manhood, comparing it to the size of a ‘miniature chipolata’. When I heard about this alleged criticism on the radio, I initially broke into raucous laughter and reflected how Mrs Vardy’s popularity campfire (while not exactly blazing), may, as a result, flicker down to a dying ember! I mean, if the whole unfortunate incident wasn’t so utterly tragic (for poor Peter Andre and his missus), it’d be quite funny.
As Ms Vardy appears to be a highly litigious lady, let me make it abundantly clear that while she says she ‘deeply regrets’ that particular interview, she also claims the tabloid in question (the News of the World), ‘fabricated elements’ of the story. Who knows? However Becky, the fact you recounted any ‘element’ of what was an extremely intimate liaison suggests volumes, as in you’re possibly not the friend who can be trusted to keep a secret… am I right? Indeed, I’d go so far as to say that for me, your kiss-and-tell shenanigans smack of some tawdry, desperate-for-attention, third-rate soap opera actor whose storyline has run stale.
While it’s highly understandable that anyone (me included) may engage in exchanging a nugget of juicy gossip with a trusted confidant regarding a particular experience, there’s never any justification in airing something so personal (concerning another person), to the entire world.
Apparently Rebekah has revealed she’s ‘sent a personal message’ to Peter Andre and his wife regarding the ‘incident’. Really? Wow, I never knew Hallmark did cards that say, ‘I’m so sorry if I turned your husband’s manhood into a national joke… please forgive me’.
Details of how little Santina lost her life broke my heart
The death of a child is possibly the worst type of trauma any parent or grandparent can experience. Therefore (though thankfully a rare occurrence), when a beloved baby loses their precious life at the hands of an individual entrusted with their care, I’d imagine the family’s journey through grief would be so excruciatingly difficult to bear, that their path to healing may feel almost insurmountable.
I mention this on foot of 38-year-old Karen Harrington being found guilty of the murder of two-year-old Santina Cawley by a unanimous verdict. This ruling followed what had been a horrific and harrowing four-week trial, the specifics of which, when listed on the news, made me break down crying and rushing for the TV remote on more than one occasion. How could anyone not be chilled and horrified by the way this little darling died?
Child-killer Harrington, who insisted she ‘cannot give a detailed account’ of how the little angel in her care sustained ’53 catastrophic injuries’, now faces a mandatory life sentence for her heinous crime. Call me unforgiving, call me bitter, even call me toxic, but as a mother and grandmother, let me say that I hope the litany of psychological repercussions regarding what she did to that poor, innocent, defenceless little baby will serve to haunt Harrington for the rest of her miserable life.
May Santina’s precious and trusting soul finally be able to rest in peace. May her heartbroken mother Bridget O’Donoghue and her poor father Michael Cawley (who trusted Harrington enough to place their baby in her care) some day be able to deal with what must be their unendurable ‘if only I’d been there’ self-reproach and overwhelming grief. My heart goes out to them both.
Summer in Roscommon…
I’m going to sign off this week with what must be one of the most discussed subjects in Ireland… the weather!
Yep, more important than wondering how ‘power-sharing’ in the North is going to work out, we Irish just love to focus on the weather, with every single aspect of it – from the status of the sheets drying on the line to the amount of sunscreen we need to slather on – being up for debate.
With that in mind, I’d like to draw readers’ attention to the fact that according to Met Éireann (yeah it’s official), last Sunday, May 15th, was the warmest day of the year so far, with Mount Dillon right here in County Roscommon reaching 20.9°C. Not only were we hotter than the rest of the country folks, the added bonus is, we were also hotter than the UK! Woohoo!
Here’s to a wonderful, memorable, glorious Roscommon summer! Let the craic begin!