Friday, August 12, 2005


At some point last year people thought that Pete Doherty might be some sort of romantic poet; if he'd have quit then he might have been able to hold on to that image. Now, though, we find out that he's just like every other dull suburban bloke: fall out with the girlfriend; try and get back into her good books by buying her a gift; get it wrong and buy a gift for yourself instead. So Kate can expect to unwrap £300 worth of 'sexy' knickers. He's not Percy Shelley; he's Jack Duckworth.

No comments:

Post a Comment

As a general rule, posts will only be deleted if they reek of spam.