Trophy Wives

It seems that my old friends in the City have been raking in another years worth of enormous bonuses – and very welcome it is too. The poor chaps need cheering up, what with them wrecking the British economy and all that. And if that wasn't bad enough I read that the county's divorce lawyers has been inundated with trophy wives hoping to get a good divorce settlement before the economy goes completely belly up and all the poor chaps in the City get the sack. The good news is that the weak pound will make it cheaper to import a new wife from the far east. Or if you don't fancy that, I understand that you can get a good one from Russia for a song – and the song only needs to be good enough to win Eurovision.

If only Tony Blair had obtained a wife who would quietly spend his money instead of writing books. I have been reading Cherie Blair's memoirs in which she reveals that she and Tony conceived their youngest son at Balmoral whilst visiting the Queen. She says she was too embarrassed to take her 'contraceptive equipment' under the same roof as Her Majesty. One wonders quite what she means by 'contraceptive equipment.' The mind boggles. You'd have thought that the thought of some grubby journalist finding out about it and printing all of the sordid details in whichever rag of a newspaper was prepared to commit such a callous invasion of privacy upon the Prime Minister's wife and child would have put a dampener on the mood. Hang on a minute while I read that last sentence back.....irony is a wonderful thing, isn't it.