One woman’s week, with Karen Fenessey

It makes me gag when I see celebrities getting on the news because of their latest booze-fuelled fixed penalty or suicide.

It’s so unfair they get all the glory even though they’ve not been to university and not had to live foot in mouth in some dank student village like the rest of us. It’s time to ask ourselves: do we hand them responsibility too freely?

When I discovered Jordan owned both stables and horses, I duly credited her with some degree of breeding. I admired her and even wanted to be her because I thought she was trying to lower her carbon footprint. But after watching the documentary What Katy Did Next I learned that she also owns several humungous Jeeps. So what is the point of the horse?

I’m just an ordinary girl trying to make ends meet so I don’t own frivolities such as horses, but anyone who knows me will tell you I never commit to an opinion until I am 110 per cent sure it is true  and so naturally I sought the help of a visually impaired friend. He has a sizeable retriever and after a long afternoon of controlled experiments, I realised that equestrianism is easy and that being Jordan is a sham which requires no special skills. Meanwhile Martin Clunes is just dead to me. I feel so lost.

On the other side of the pond, Oprah Winfrey thought she was being extremely generous when she gave away 275 Volkswagen Beetles to her audience a few weeks ago. But she’s being just as negligent about the planet as Jordan. How will she feel when the news arrives of those 275 extra drive-bys in the nearby precincts?

Jordan’s inane whims and Oprah’s preposterous gestures are tearing up the fabric of society: How long a trail of husbands and noxious gases will there be before our famous friends start learning the consequences of their actions?


I’m loving Channel 4’s My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding! Gypsies have really moved with the times – even using social networking sites such as Facebook to arrange mating rituals in car parks around the country.

But something in me hankers for the olden days where starry-eyed pikey types found their way to the car park using only their sense of smell and touch. Facebook is fraught with risks – I’m sorry to report that I became the latest victim of ‘frape’ in my local Starbucks this week. Having watched the car park scene where 15 year-old Cheyenne has a pretty forceful encounter with a mischievous tink in a darkened bin house, I know she understands my feelings of humiliation and injustice about this, except somehow in a more physical way.