 |
|
Dearest
Britney,
I was mesmerised by your latest video and, watching it,
missed an appointment at a local shop to sign my new memoir,
"Experience: A Memoir." I notice you have a memoir
of your own, and, at last count, no fewer than seven biographers
(which is, my dear, more than Nabokov and Bellow combined).
We share a history, you and I, having survived similarly
traumatic childhoods (I having been raised by alcoholic
parents, and you by unfamous ones), and I should like to
write a profile of you—a loving portrait, a billet-doux—for
Tina Brown’s Talk. I shall call it "Spears of
Influence," for surely I am within yours.
Julian dislikes you. He prefers the Spice Girls (but then
he is famous for his awful Britishness, isn’t he?).
For a long time, Julian and I didn’t speak, and you,
Britney, were the reason. Salman thinks you are keen, but
it seems his current crush is Christina Aguilera (who, compared
to you, Love, is nothing but a modern-day Charo, a kootchie-kootchie
girl for the Harry Potter set). You must alert me straight
away if Salman writes. After all his years in hiding he
pens terribly seductive letters and, although they say the
fatwa’s been lifted and Salman now dines in New York’s
best-illuminated restaurants, when you attend theatre with
him (perhaps seated in a row with Judi Dench) you always
suspect you’ll be machete’d to death at intermission.
It really is quite stressful.
Do you know John Travolta? I do.
I hear you’ve been jousting with the tabs over your
alleged breast enhancement. I endured a similar row with
Fleet Street when I had my teeth straightened, an event
that scandalised literati on both sides of the Chunnel (I’m
sure you read of it in The Economist). Nevertheless, I think
your American-made breasts are brilliant, and (like my picket-toothed
critics in London) the flat-chested American media are only
jealous of your sudden and precocious bounty. In bloom,
you remind me of Ann-Margret, who knew Elvis and adores
me.
The moment you feel ready to accept my love, I shall leave
immediately whichever wife or girlfriend to whom I am shackled
at the time. Although your virginity is celebrated (and
revered by me), and I am certain your heart was left wounded
by your epistolary romance with dull Prince William, know
that I will always wait for you, and that I hope to be the
man (someday, and at last) who is able to put the "Brit"
in Britney.
All my love,
|
|
|
|
