Proof that you can take the boy out of the East End, but you can’t take the East End out of the boy (not snobbery I was born a Cockerney), comes with the much-tattooed, bearded, raddled, publicity-loving David “PLEASE give me a Knighthood, Guv” Beckham. The ageing footie star celebrated his 50th birthday this past weekend, along with his chavvy, skinny wife, a former poster model for famine relief, and all but one of their offspring. Dave’s problem is that he chose to have his knees-up, not in the East End hovel he came from, but a more upmarket area where the neighbours don’t appreciate all night karioke and hot dogs, and throwing up on the pavement, and they called the council who “advised” them on how to conduct their party (“shut up and fuck off”) I assume.
The silly bugger still thinks he is an entitled twenty year old footballer, and seeing how that is failing he is trying to turn his kids into little mini-me’s – I can’t see yoofs being as impressed by a little pansy called “Romeo” or “Cruz”, as they did with plain old Dave, in his pre-undercracker advertising days. They all have the same ugly tattoos and sense of entitlement. I suppose Dave and the missus are hoping the kids will look after them when they reach their dotage, which doesn’t look that far off now:
Nominated by : W. C. Boggs