You have to hand it to Paul McCartney. He wrote a few half-decent tunes in his time but was surely at the peak of his creative powers when he sired little Stella.
Macca’s girl has grown up to be quite the clever clogs. In fashion. Yes. I know. Never mind. Have a butchers at what Ms McCartney has just given the world of fashion (aka Planet Follywood).
Warning: prepare your eyes for something of a longitudinal marathon…
OK. So what do you think of those? I think, important as it may be for me to alert you to the arrival of the latest footwear at your local OK Bazaars, the depiction of this undeniably hot fashion item has taken up far too much room on my blogspace. A tip of the red hat to Nechama Brodie of Times Live for precipitating this.
But my dad was a big Beatles fan so I will persevere. Let us assess what Stella has done here. Too much of cleverness, I’d say. She’s obviously gone to a swingers party in an otherwise bland London pied-a-terre, got drunk, stumbled adventurously down to the basement, spotted a portly and middle-aged banker in a gimpsuit and thought to herself, “I’ll have that!” Or, rather, half of that.
The darling has then had her minders, waiting in the black Range Rover outside, hoik the old perv out of the partyjie, rough him up a bit, divest him of his weekend attire and leave him – naked, pink, blubbery and a tad compromised – in a dark alleyway.
Ms Macca has then rushed home, grabbed the scissors out of the cutlery drawer and created a masterpiece for all the luvvies to die for. And so wearable too. I think even Oprah would look adorable in Stella’s vag-ay-jay-high boots, don’t you?