THE warm and good-hearted people of these islands like to see our celebrities suffer for the crime of being famous, but don’t feel they deserved these relationships:
The unsavoury penchant for strawberry blondes notwithstanding, Laurence Fox must have seemed a safe harbour after Chris Evans. No more headline-chasing controversy with a vainglorious knobhead obnoxiously inserting himself into the national discourse; just a nice, quiet, respectable actor. Until she found herself muttering ‘F**k, not again’ in early 2020.
The 16-year-old boob model – a phrase that caused no alarm in 1983 – went out with Australian conman Peter Foster whose conman career foundered due to the notoriety that comes with dating Britain’s barely-legal sweetheart. He was last seen reduced to conning Cherie Blair into some cheap flats.
Though it’s hard not to harbour a grudge against Perry because of Roar, her punishment outweighed her crime. Even before the credible accusations it was unignorable that Russell Brand was a misogynist sack of shit in multiple leather belts. Few divorced women have ever been proved so right.
A simple man who likes huge bosoms, the nation watched Peter fall in love in the jungle and then every painful moment of marriage to a woman who hated him, herself, and everyone else in that order and wasn’t shy to say so. Got out and pulled the sweet trick of remaining famous while not having to put up with any of that shit.
After her ill-fated 11-minute marriage to basketball player Kris Humphries, Kim chose her next spouse carefully. Uniting the houses of California Reality and Chicago Hip Hop went well for a while until it really, really didn’t. She escaped intact before Kanye’s full cancellation, with four children to feed into the fame sausage machine.
Hasn’t received a great deal of sympathy for it but f**king hell. Millions of your money gone on your wife making a tit of herself? None of your teammates coming round because they don’t want their glamorous Championship lifestyles exposed when she gets on the blower to the Leicester Mercury? The man’s a saint.