First published in Portsmouth News, 11/03/14
Unless you have been taken hostage, or have actively sought cover from press footage of the toothsome twosome, one cannot help but notice that Simon Cowell and his partner have spawned.
There is a mini-Cowell at large on the planet, and although he is unable to even focus his eyeballs yet, one day this tiny tot is going to be a powerhouse, with his father’s empire at his feet.
And so what moniker did Cowell and Legs Eleven Lauren choose to bestow upon this future heir to global megadom? Which name, befitting of an international icon, did they settle upon? Drum roll please: ahem, Eric.
Since the arrival of Ahem Eric, we, the unsuspecting public, have been inundated with photographs. And not once in my wildest imaginings did I guess that I would be subjected to so many pictures of Simon Cowell’s nipples.
Nipples sweating on the beach; nipples nestled in moist chest hair; nipples on a night out when everybody else is suitable attired. Utterly unnecessary, and certainly enough to call into question just who is supposed to be doing the breast-feeding.
As well as frequent sightings of Simon’s breasticles, there is also the abnormal addition of his ex-girlfriends. When I was marooned, fat and leaking on the maternity ward, there is nothing I’d have enjoyed more than coming round from all the morphine only to be confronted by my husband and a glamorous troupe of his grinning ex-partners.
Except perhaps for them to then drag me to the beach. Oh, what I’d have given to be surrounded by smug, bouncy-haired beauties, all of whom had intimate knowledge of my partner, and none of whom were trying to keep sand out of their stitches. Nothing cures a post-natal haemorrhoid faster than a spot of salt water.
You have to give it to Legs Eleven Lauren, she’s taking it all in her impeccable stride. The image of her chatting to Cowell’s ex-fiancee, whilst they cooed over Ahem Eric in the buggy, was only surpassed by the fact that Simon was again topless. Why Simon, why? Enough with the nipples already.
Even the Cowell canines, Squiddly and Diddly, have managed to photo-bomb the pictures. Which leads me to conclude that if the world has learned but one thing from the Cowell Family Album, aside from the fact that men should wear shirts on streets, it is that Simon must never again be allowed to choose the name of a living creature.