You’ve been living here in England now for quite a few years, ever since you married Mockney film director, and all round boor, Guy Ritchie. In that time you’ve emasculated Jonathan Ross (you must be the only interviewee he’s ever had where he had obviously been ordered not to take the piss out of the guest), slagged off the NHS (it’s not perfect, but at least we have universal health care) and, most recently, advised people to not to use public transport.
On top of this you’ve shown what a deep understanding you have of modern British life by hanging round with in-bred aristocrats and going shooting, not to mention opposing the rights of way of the country in order that the proles don’t tramp across your front lawn (maybe you should have checked a map before you bought the house?) How we’ve laughed at your many whims. Well frankly the joke’s getting tired, so would you mind awfully buggering off home?
In your latest outburst you suggest that struggling musicians should be exempt from the congestion charge & other taxes. Now you may not be aware of this seeing as you undoubtedly manage your taxes ‘efficiently’, much like those other horrible hypocrites U2, but taxes are what pay for the services that us normal people have to rely on. Like the NHS hospitals, buses & tubes that you so obviously have never used.
I’ve actually got another suggestion to alleviate the burden on up & coming artists. Maybe there should be a tax on using other peoples’ innovation to prop up one’s own career. This would probably see you owing several million in back-payments, seeing as you haven’t had an original idea in 30 years and have, instead, relied on sucking the excitement out of a clutch of promising producers; from William Orbit to Stuart Price, Mirwais to, most recently, Timbaland, you rely on others to continue the fallacy that you are, in someway, an innovator.
Well it seems like the reviews of your latest record may finally have punctured that particular myth, so maybe it’s time to piss off back to LA where fantasy and reality are entirely interchangable, and you can continue to believe that you’re some kind of trail-blazing musical revolutionary when, in fact, you’re actually a tired old record, desparately in need of changing. A record who will, mind you, be first up against the wall when the revolution comes (no matter how many times you dress up as Che).*
Anyway, don’t bother to thank us for having you for the last few years; you can repay the kindness by taking that sorry joke of a husband with you.
Love & kisses,
*That bit’s a joke – I’m sure there won’t be a revolution. But that picture of her as Che surely must rank as one of the signs that the apocalypse can not be far away.