She's seventy and looks it. Someone looking at her silhouette from behind said on the telly the other night that she looked like Miss Piggy. From the front she looks like Hylda Baker in a cheap wig. She talks like she goes through a hundred Woodbines a day, and she can eff and blind with the best of them. But she also has what NONE of the other contestants have:
ABSOLUTE, BLISTERINGLY RED HOT CHARISMA.
This woman is a LEGEND, and I predict she will run rings around everyone else in the show.
The young man from 'Jersey Shore' who kept exposing his abs, a millionaire pudding-reality show regular who calls himself a chick magnet and who could end up in the sack with twenty Pammy Andersons and still be able to wrap his willy around his little finger.
The woman who 'knew' the impresario and looks like she's been around--'bag of spanners' doesn't even start to describe her. And what is is with those LEGS?
The writer who told the world how beautiful she was, and who I predict will end up a quivering wreck before she gets booted out of the show.
The Judo champ with a skunk on his head, the one with the big boobies with the IQ of a raisin.
Harvey's okay, quite personable, and Colleen Nolan is--well, Colleen Nolan. Then there's Cheryl Ferguson, a dipsy, lovely, charismatic gal whose acting last night when pretending her fella had been knobbing Bet, or something like that, was better than anything she ever did in Albert Square.
The others I've forgotten already, but a word must be said about the show's royal personage.
Prince Lorenzo Borghese. Forty, a walking dream, he's been on the US version of 'The Bachelor', he's said to be worth $50 million...and he still can't find a woman.
Stick with Our Bet, Lorenzo. She'll teach you a thing or two--she's forgotten more than those bimbos have ever known about the art of love! Or maybe you might fancy an escapade on the other side of the fence? I'm sure the tremendously gifted and funny Julian Clary would oblige--just watch out for those fists! If I know Jules, though, he'll slaughter everyone in his path with that wonderfully waspish tongue.
And if Our Bet doesn't win the show, I'll stand on the London Palladium's revolving stage and publicly eat Pamela Gurney's knickers!