Peaches is the Purest Form of Celebrity
By LORNE JACKSON
THEY came from every corner of the nation to participate.
Well from all round London at any rate.
Girls with large hair and even larger cheque books. Blokes with jackets that didn’t just contain shoulder pads – they sported shoulder plateaus.
Some of them could sing. Others were geniuses of mime and mince.
All of them arrived at the recording studio for one reason – to become modern day saints.
And that’s exactly what the pop stars who featured on the Band Aid single achieved.
Performing ‘Do They Know It’s Christmas’ turned them into saviours.
Not of Ethiopia of course which still has a basket-case economy.
The Band Aid stars did however manage to raise the dead.
Or at least they salvaged the career of Bob Geldof.
By taking all the credit for the duff charity jingle Bob went from being hirsute has-been to holy hot-head awaiting hagiography.
Not only did Band Aid give the reject from The Boomtown Rats a fresh career as the king of the carers it also allowed the British public to get to know his marvellous daughter Peaches.
And for that I’ll always be eternally grateful to the mighty gods of light entertainment who protect and nurture novelty recordings.
Because boy do I love Peaches!
Unencumbered by a single shred of talent she represents the purest form of celebrity.
Little Miss Geldof is also blissfully free of the stunning good looks that can so often drag a gal down.
It’s true that she’s as pretty as a picture – though only a Jackson Pollock drip and drizzle.
Peaches droopy face is twice as long as the queue for the express train out of Georgia. And her cheek bones are nonexistent.
Instead her facial flesh is as flaccid as Samantha Fox’s meal- ticket mammaries. . . when the former Page 3 girl reaches the age of 89.
From every angle Peaches looks disconcertingly like the mutant offspring of Dolly Parton and Mr Potato Head.
And as far as I’m concerned that can only be a good thing.
There are too many preeningly perfect beauties currently being forced down the gagging throats of teenage girls who are already seriously lacking in confidence.
This won’t do. Especially when all that young females really want to do is ogle uglies who make them feel better about their own perceived deficiencies.
Why do you think the Spice Girls became such a huge success in the first place?
It certainly had nothing to do with their singing ability. But Peaches shouldn’t only be celebrated for her below-average attractiveness. She’s also proving to be impressively clumsy in navigating the pitfalls and prat falls of teenage life.
Last week she got hitched in Las Vegas marrying Max Drummey an American rock star who became her boyfriend four weeks ago.
In a few short hours she went from being Peachy keen – to Peachy too ken.
And this followed a recent episode when she mysteriously collapsed then refused to go hospital.
Earlier in May she was quizzed by police after being filmed allegedly buying drugs. What a rock chick! What a teen hick! She’s the Queen Mum of the muppet generation and she’s ours all ours!
Every generation deserves to enjoy the show-boating shenanigans of a talentless ninny.
A few years ago the job went to Jason Donovan the ass of an actor who stumbled then was humbled by cocaine.
Before that there was Amanda de Cadenet. Forgotten her already?
Well she used to hang-out with Duran Duran and eventually married one of the non Le Bon members of the group.
So the next time you feel like scoffing at the antics of Peaches remember as a nation we’re going through some rough times economically and we can do with all the cheap laughs we can get.
There’s only one problem I can foresee in the future for the ditsy daughter of St Bob.
Peaches may be in trouble if Kerry Katona discovers what she’s been up to. After all in British public life there’s only room for one dumb blonde at a time.
(c) 2008 Sunday Mercury; Birmingham (UK). Provided by ProQuest LLC. All rights Reserved.