Lady WHO EXACTLY?

I begin writing this blog with the absolute confidence that I have lost the plot.
I’m fairly convinced today that Lady Gaga is the reincarnation of Diana. All the pieces have been slowly slipping into place as I’ve meandered through the labyrinth of my mind and come out the other side holding a trowel and Reubens Barrichello’s ear. I’m 99% that Lady G is everything Lady D ever wanted to be. She’s adored, renowned for her dress sense, slightly risqué (I use slightly in its loosest sense of the word) and has the word Lady in the title. Have you ever seen them in the same room together? No. Because they are the same person. Fact. This is more than just a conspiracy theory by the way. In a recent interview with ‘Nought To Do But Gossip’ monthly, the Queen said that she had no idea who Lady Gaga was.
Coincidence? I think not...
Archaeology dating back to the time Diana liked to go on boats, suggests she actually owned the original disco stick and it was her favourite pet name for Prince Charles before the infamous Camilla moved in. Incidentally, if you rearrange the letters of Camilla you get La Milac – Lady Gaga would know what this meant.
Coincidence? I think not...
It’s been brought to my attention also, the Alejandro was the original name Princess Di chose for Harry, but she had to change her mind at the last minute because he already looked nothing like the rest of the family and this choice of name would only throw fuel on the fire.
Coincidence? I think not...
Paul Burrell was featured in Heat’s ‘spotted’ section this week as having attended a Lady Gaga concert and leaving with several bundles of merchandise which he intended to later ‘stick on ebay’ according to sources.
Coincidence? Potentially. He is a bit grim.
So there you have it. Some (potentially very factually inaccurate) evidence for how Lady Gaga is actually our beloved people’s princess come back to make us happy in a new and entertaining way. About time. I’m bored of Fergie...

And yes, I may well have finally lost the plot.
The reason for this is, I have fringe envy. No, I’m not jealously trawling through an image search of Katie Holmes, Zoe Ball and Eva Mendes (does she have a fringe? SCREW YOU I DON’T CARE). I’m stuck in an office in London, blogging on my lunch break while everyone I know and love and respect is high tailing it to Edinburgh for the start of the most colossally brilliant gathering known to comedian kind.
Sure, I’m joining them in 2 days...but that is two damn days away and I am not there now. I have cabin fever – an unfortunate side effect of unprotected sex with a pirate – and it’s seriously undermining my efforts to knuckle down on either side of this luncheon sixty minutes.
6am Thursday morning I will be bundling myself into a car and acting as entertainment central for my good friend who is driving us up there. I’m not sure he’s aware of quite how weird 8 hours alone with me can get if I’m not properly exercised but here’s hoping he’s got seat belts. BUMPY RIDE.
But for now I have more work to do. And so Douglas (my mouse) and I are going to shuffle back to the real world and content ourselves with each other. Douglas has no balls. Mice with balls end up full of fluff which is unhealthy. I have a mouse eunuch.