WAGS Boutique

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WAGS Boutique 

 For some reason the above picture came up when I googled ‘wags boutique’. It seems strangely apt. Now look. I watched Freaky Eaters again last night but don’t tell anyone. It was actually not as bad as the others, but it was still shockingly terrible television. But not bad enough to be described in any detail beyond this:

Bald gay man learn how cook.

What I did watch was the repulsive ‘WAGS Boutique’ on ITV. The opening credits spell the title in that format, as I’ve just done, even though it’s patently incorrect. I think (and I’m trying my best here) it should be W.A.G.s’ Boutique. But no, they conveniently forget that we’re talking about the possessive of a collective noun, which is in itself an acronym, and they just go and write ‘WAGS Boutique’ with the ‘s’ capitalized even though it’s not even part of the acronym and should be apostrophised, if apostrophised is even a word. It’s ‘wives and girlfriends’ isn’t it? I suppose it might be ‘wives and girlfriends (shits)’ but then they’d have to put the ‘s’ in brackets, and they haven’t.

No wonder this country’s gone to pot.

W.A.G.(S) Boutique is perhaps the most empty of all the empty programmes I’ve ever seen in my thoroughly empty life. It took me a good five minutes to get my head around the concept, just after the credits had rolled. The wives and girlfriends (shits) of several famous (and not so famous, as it turned out) footballers are renowned for their ability to afford expensive designer items and their absolute inability and lack of common sense when coordinating them into an outfit. In the event, they end up looking like scrubbed up fabric-witches. So ITV rent two teams of them a clothes shop each in London’s famous Carnaby Street. Great. The formula doesn’t even look good on paper.

The reality is such a tedious non-event that an hour went by and I honestly couldn’t remember a single thing that had happened in the show once the end credits had rolled. Every single WAG(S) is a blonde (without even the common sense to break that stereotype) and a brainless husk. They’ve willingly submitted their entire existence in the Universe to being ‘the ‘wag’ of someone based on their ability in the much-celebrated ball-kicking arena. That’s fine, I consider myself a football fan, with a fair bit of knowledge in that area, but even I was squinting at some of the big name’s these girls are seeing and saying ‘who?!’. One of the biggest names was Justin Hoyte, a 22 year old at Arsenal who occasionally gets a game in the Carling Cup but has barely been seen in the Premiership, let alone Europe. Hardly a superstar.

So there we go – another hour of my life wasted, and all for you. I hope you’re satisfied.

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