Ed Lines

THE lurid allegations surrounding footballer Wayne Rooney have prompted a couple of questions in my mind, not the least of which is what kind of ‘services’ a young woman can offer that are worth £1,200.
That’s what Rooney reputedly paid the class act otherwise known as ‘Juicy Jeni’ for a night of her time. Sorry, but I’d want at least seven nights for that. In the Caribbean. And with all the cheeky mashings thrown in.
In fact by way of journalistic thoroughness I’ve just phoned a couple of random numbers from the classified listings of the Daily Sport, and there’s a lady advertising her wares in our very own readership area who provides a “full service” for between £30 and £50.
She may not be an oil painting – and no, my journalistic thoroughness doesn’t quite stretch to finding out – but I can think of a lot I can do with the £1,150 change. Like take a week in the Caribbean.
Of course it may be that Juicy Jeni’s rates went through the roof when she saw Rooney’s mush, because George Clooney – or Cristiano Ronaldo – the boy ain’t.
Still, whatever problems young Wayne has encountered by way of scoring with his football kit on, he’s been obviously more successful with his kit off (and if he could ‘buy’ goals at £1,200 each, on the money he earns he’d be straight down the bank with a wheelbarrow).
Ahead of Tuesday night’s game against Switzerland, England manager Fabio Capello was said to be worried about Rooney’s “mental state”. What an unfortunate turn of phrase.
Yes, Wayne Rooney is in a state and not half – his marriage particularly. He might have taken the field with one of wife Coleen’s stilleto heels embedded in the back of his skull, had he possessed the balls (pardon the pun) to break the news of his infidelity to his missus in person. Apparently he did it by text – a real class act, eh?
At least one of his wife’s high heels through his noggin wouldn’t impair Rooney’s football ability, because it is abundantly clear that there’s very little going on between those lugs of his; in fact he must be mental to think he could swan about with prostitutes and not read about it in the News of the World sooner or later.
Do these folk never learn?
It isn’t as though Rooney hasn’t had previous experience, having been exposed over his penchant for more ‘mature’ working ladies while he was still a teenager.
I suppose the scallywag Scouser in him could have a larf at that – as a single young man. But while his wife was pregnant? And him with possibly the most famous face in British football? Maybe Rooney really thought the hooker might mistake him for Shrek – his nickname.
Well he should be green in the gills now, although if what we read from his socalled friends is true, he doesn’t know what all the fuss is about and Coleen can like it or lump it.
No doubt this soap story will run and run, and Hello or OK will shell out half a million for exclusive pix in the event of a ‘private’ reunion in a Caribbean hideaway.

Before that however, there’s a chance that Rooney might end up paying the public penance of celebrities and politicians caught with their breeches down – going for sexual addiction treatment.
I admit right now: I really don’t ‘get’ this caper.
Members of the Houses of Commons and Lords always used to be able to put their hands up to affairs of all sorts – male/female, paidfor/free, employees/bosses – and as sure as sugar is sweet, their dutiful wives would stand arminarm with them at the garden gate pledging forgiveness and undying love while the cameramen clicked away.
I never, ever ‘got’ that, either. I’d still be hightailing it down the road hoping the wife wasn’t closing in on me and wondering whether that was a sharp or blunt instrument she was wielding.
All of that ‘forgiveness’ routine might have to change though.
Tory peer Lord Laidlaw recently got caught, confessed to being a ‘sex addict’ and checked in for therapy (he probably put it on expenses.)
More famously, Tiger Woods went about refurbishing his public image by signing himself into a sex addiction clinic and emerging after a few weeks to declare himself ‘cured’ (more on which in a second).
Others opting for this latest sex clinic fad include British comedy wildchild Russell Brand, XFiles star David Duchovny, Michael Douglas (reputedly) and Eric Benet.
‘Eric who?’ you say. Exactly. The bloke who was married to Halle Berry, without doubt the single most babealicious creature since God took one of Adam’s ribs and created Eve.
And the bloke still had to play away?! I’m sorry but that isn’t addiction, that’s idiocy on a scale even Wayne Rooney couldn’t match.
But am I the only person who wonders: a) what exactly the treatment in a sex addiction clinic involves? b) why poor people never catch it? And c) does it cost more than £1,200 a night, in which case sod the treatment and fill yer boots man!
On the treatment front, surely the doctors can’t try to work it out of your system, until you’re fed up of the old rumppumpy? I can’t see BUPA stumping up for that.
Or do they strap you into a straitjacket and play cheeky videos until your eyes – or something – goes ‘pop’?
Is it something so simple as putting bromide in your tea for a fortnight?
Or do they just keep showing you rudie photos of really ugly fat birds in the buff, so horrible that you struggle to keep your dinner down.
Maybe start you off on Jo Brand in sussies, then after a while Deirdre Barlow in a basque (I’m already feeling a bit queasy) before reducing the dosage, perhaps Dawn French in her vicar’s garb, before eventually you get to Joanna Lumley in her Purdey gear (oops, bit of a Freudian slip – sorry darling!)
And finally, when you can flick through a copy of Readers’ Wives without dribbling down your padded jacket, they’ll let you go home, fully ‘rehabilitated’ with a little certificate to say so, and the wife will henceforth be delighted to hear you’re going on a stag weekend to Amsterdam.
What do you think?
What I think is that someone is making a heck of a lot of money out of this exercise in celebrity smoke and mirrors. Not least Juicy Jeni.
And if you, like me, think that Wayne Rooney must have been mad to pay £1,200 for a kneetrembler with a young lady who would undoubtedly have sorted him out for free, then it’s nothing compared to what it will cost him in the long run.
Talk about Fool’s Gold.

THE Bible has sold between 2.5 and 6 billion copies, depending whose figures you trust; the Koran generally agreed upon as around 800 million.
This tells us only one thing for sure – that Christians have generally had more money and access to printed literature over the past couple of hundred years.
The writings within both have been manipulated for various personal and political ends over the centuries which again proves only one thing – bad men come in all colours and creeds, and one person’s message of love and peace is another’s excuse to wage war.
The visit of the Pope to Britain should be a cause for uncomplicated celebration, but I’m afraid it’s too easy a vehicle for all kinds of opportunists to make a noise, whether well meaning or completely bonkers.
That’s 24hour rolling news for you, just waiting for someone to cause trouble – especially if it involves a ‘victimised minority!’ – so they can whip it up into a newsstorm; see if they can’t get blame laid and even better blood spilled before the next ‘story’ comes along.
It’s the same with the controversy over the evangelical, Koranburning nutter in Florida. If everyone ignores the crackpot, who would either know, or care, what he and his acolytes get up to in their own back yard?
Their only impact would be to increase sales of the Koran, because presumably the fodder for their bonfire has to come from somewhere.
It’s the fact that people like Hillary Clinton fall into the trap of legitimising such idiots with their primetime condemnation that fans the global flames the media thrives on.

IT’S no surprise that the taxman has got his knickers in a twist. Gordon Brown contrived so many backhand ways to cheat us out of our hardearned even his own staff couldn’t keep up.
So should we pay back any mistaken shortfall? And should we get back anything we’ve overpaid?
I’ll tell you what I think as and when I find out which of those camps I fall into...

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