No it’s not a radical Socialist splinter group from the Somali pirate community but one of the more durable partnerships in the strange C-list fusion world of pop girl and footie guy celebrityness. Jamie and Louise probably rank third in the all-time rankings behind Posh ‘n Becks and Cheryl and Ashley, but look set fair to move up to No 2 in the charts following the recent announcement that the UK’s latest Princess of our Hearts, Chezzer, has decided to separate from the guy whose theme tune could be ‘A rim-full of Ashley on the A45’. Within the same week he’s broken both his ankle and his wife’s heart following a stiff tackle from Landon Donovan on the field and his generous largesse of the afore-mentioned ST with a smorgasborg of wannabee WAGs both live and via his mobile’s iPhoto facility. Blimey he even came close to knocking team mate John Terry off the front pages of the red tops with his salacious antics. Bravo Roman, you must be proud of creating The Bridge over Roubled Daughters.
But back to Jamie and Louise. I have to say that I admire (and in all honesty resent) their ability to re-define themselves after a decent career as footballer, albeit injury-prone, cum pundit and as a singer with successful (was it one or two hits?) girl band cum tv presenter. Life must seem so easy. A seamless transition for both of them from on-field/stage performance to equally lucrative media commentary. I listen to Jamie’s punditry and it’s like watching the Estuary English version of Alan Hanson (£1m per year salary). Lots of gob-shite and little insight. I watch lovely Lousie co-presenting with Tim Lovejoy on TV’s ‘Something for the Weekend’ and realise that she’s had nothing to worry about since the age of 15. Life is just a bloody breeze for her – cook? that’s a hoot; idle chat? it’s all she does; express opinions? give over, just smile sweetly and giggle; look pretty? yep can handle that; flirt with Lovejoy? oh so easy – Tim’s a sucker for a pretty girl; talk earnestly about deeper issues? er – just frown and talk meaningfully about her boys Charlie and Beau. Ummm.
But then we have the piece de resistance; the advert promoting Thomas Cook package holidays. Shots of Jamie playing golf bare-breasted and in his jeans (have you tried to do that on a golf course?) or playing keepie-uppie on the beach in his best suit (as you do), whilst Louise in her bikini drools about how they ‘dream aboud it’ and even ‘fantasise aboud it’ in a Scouse meets Brooklyn kind of accent. There’s even a ‘From Here to Eternity’ bit where they’re rolling in the surf about to make love no doubt because, lucky buggers, the kids are nowhere to be seen. Where are they? No doubt tucked in the dug-out back at White Hart Lane with grumpy ole grandad ‘arry as he urges lazy Ledley to get ‘is bleedin’ ‘ead in there where it fa*kin’ ‘urts. Ah the joys of grandparenthood.
You and I both know that Jamie and Louie wouldn’t be seen dead on a Thomas Cook package holiday – even on a freebie without the lads. But do you know what? That ad has generated more new business for Thomas Cook than any advertising they’ve ever done before. It’s hugely successful because people think they are going to be joining J&L on the beach playing jeans-only golf with sex-in-the-surf to follow. Is it just me or are people more gullible than I give them credit for? Or maybe J&L really will be on the beach in Famagusta after all. Think aboud it.
Here’s that oh-so-believable-come-and-join-us-in-the-surf ad:
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Pasta Paulie 