Sunday 22nd May

Who the blinking hell is this footballer?

I have reproduced here, the front page of the Scottish Sunday Herald which is apparently the first newspaper to name and shame the chap who’d been‘doing’ the girl I’d never heard of from Big Brother.

Because of a super-injunction to prevent the British media naming him, we all know that this Imogen bird’s been shagging a married footballer but I’m not clear on who he is or, and perhaps more importantly, why I’m not allowed to know who he is.

I was under the impression that all footballers shag hookers but their wives get sooper-dooper handbags, their own clothing line and their photo in the paper.



By all accounts, his wife knows who he is. His friends know who he is. The Twitter-using half of the globe know who he is and Imogen certainly knows who he is.

I now have the photo of the geezer and I still don’t know who he is.


I’m no expert but it seems to me that Mr X’s cunning plans to keep his unreliable trousers a closely guarded secret have back-fired somewhat.

Letting the Imogen bird hit the front pages with the news that she ‘did’ a married footballer up against a sink in a hotel but,  he’s so special and important I can’t tell you his name, is frankly, nothing short of a dare.

In my opinion, maybe a tyre iron and the trunk of a car would have provided a more water-tight solution to his predicament.

In his defence though, how could he possibly have known that a former Big Brother contestant would use the opportunity to turn their ill-judged liaison into a media circus?

I feel for the dude – who’d a thunk it?

Where oh where can a married man find a decent bit of totty these days, that can keep her trap shut and her calendar wide open?

S’not fair.

S’just s’not fair.