PUT a sock in it, Beckham!
Oh, it appears you already have... or maybe a pair of socks, depending upon their thickness.
Here we go again, being “treated” by the runaway Beckham publicity juggernaut to another selection of images of Becks in his kecks.
“Nice picture,” purred my colleague, as I retrieved it from the office photographic library.
“Noooo!” I shouted to myself. “It’s a Narcissistic shot of a fading footballer whose publicity-mad wife is probably pulling his strings again.”
As far as I’m concerned, it’s an “emperor’s new clothes” scenario, not about Beckham’s new knick-knicks. Everyone’s drooling and fawning, when actually he’s not done anything mentally challenging. He’s been given lots of assistance to create some ordinary (but no doubt overpriced) undies and used his fame to promote them.
A lot of women find Beckham fanciable, although I’m at a loss to see why. Tattooed from wrist to shoulder, he stands there in his newly designed boxers pouting and frowning like a naughty kid.
Obviously Queen Vic, aka Pushy Spice (left), has been giving extra lessons in how to look mean and moody.
Boring! For goodness’ sake, can’t he pack up his pecs, zip up his hips and stuff his undies where we’ll never have to see them again? When will he stop parading his torso - when he draws his pension?
Picture the scene. It’s the year 2045. Out hobbles Sir David Beckham in a silver lamé dressing gown, which he shrugs off to reveal his new line of thermal long johns.
“Keep your meat and two veg hot,” says the poster behind him. Yes, you’ve got that pleasure to come, ladies.