In which we discover The Pirate is into bestiality

I took The Boy to a farm park today. We saw pigs, goats, sheep, llama, cows, guinea pigs and one of The Pirate’s glamorous exes.

How did I recognise her? She’s a Z-list celeb. Had a pretty major role in a pretty major kids’ TV drama in the 90s, and has perfectly preserved herself in Botox ever since. The truly terrible perm has gone – can’t knock her for that, we all had one – but the rest is pretty much as was. She must be older than me and looks about 22.

And she has peroxide blonde hair extensions (I’d gloat that she’s a natural ginger – no point in trying to hide it, we all saw you on telly, love – but I’m the mother of a ginger, and so can’t). And false tits. And false eyelashes. And false nails. And false tan. And really heavy-handed Jodie Marsh-esque make-up.

There was probably a woman underneath all of that nylon and polyester and silicone and oil-and-emolient, but she was hiding really, really well.

I’d like to be generous and wonder what happened to make her hate herself so much that she has to wear a mask (I’d lay the blame at The Pirate’s door, yet from his description of her she was like this before they met).

I’d like to point a naggy, sanctimonious finger at the media for perpetuating the myth that this… creature… is what women should look like. I shouldn’t blame her for aspiring to an ideal.

But I’m not generous, and I do blame her.

I hated her on sight.

I’d have disliked her even if I didn’t know that she’d got The Pirate to a place I couldn’t, meeting the parents, practically living together. She is not my kind of woman, stabbing at her phone with her 3″ nails and ignoring her mute, sparkless children as they listlessly drifted around her knees.

The character she played on TV was spoiled and mean-spirited and snide and bitchy and shallow. It was hard not to overlay these characteristics on her today – not least because her face naturally looks spoiled and mean-spirited and snide and bitchy, and the Botox means she physically can’t move it into a more pleasing arrangement. Everywhere I looked, she was there, peering sourly (and somewhat short-sightedly) at her phone with her piggy little eyes.

(God, it feels good to get all of this out. I’m not naming the TV programme, or her character, or indeed her, as she looked just the WAGgy type to have a Google alert set up for herself. But the programme was set in a youth club in the North East and launched the careers of a double act who have changed the face of Saturday night TV forever with their shitty inane game shows. Her character – whose name rhymes with ‘Bonna Dell’ – had a ginger perm . PLEASE DO NOT SPECULATE IN COMMENTS, British peeps. She is like Voldemort. We will not summon her through search. I already fear for the traffic ‘bestiality’ is going to generate…)

And ever since The Boy has gone to bed, I’ve sat on my sofa and cried, because I’m not a size 6 with false… everything, I can’t be arsed to type it all out again. Because this is what men want. I don’t know whether the lads’ mags are feeding or creating demand, but their pages are full of women who look like The Pirate’s Glamorous Ex. Nothing about her was real. She’s a walking cartoon.

An entirely different species to me. Fucking me really must have been like fucking a pig, if that kind of woman is what The Pirate gets off on… Kind people have tried pointing out that she is an EX, and I came after her, but she made a mark on his life, and I didn’t. I wasn’t worthy of a mark.

And this could well be because I am in fact a neurotic, judgey, snide, bitchy, shallow mess rather than because my boobs and nails and hair are real, but for tonight, I’m hating myself for the way I look, not the way I am. That can have a go tomorrow.

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UPDATE It occurred to me a week later to do some proper Google stalking and I found her on Facebook. She is wearing full drag queen make-up in all of her pictures, has shared a wicked photo of herself in which she is blatantly trying to upstage a bride ON HER WEDDING DAY and actually has a very scary face. Predatory. Like she wants to eat you, and not in a good way. So I feel less inferior now. I may be bitchy and snide and shallow and neurotic, but I have a nice smile and all my own eyelashes.

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