Girls, the Trouble With

According to this article, fat, repellent soap-dodger Rik Waller is having difficulty finding a girlfriend because of his “fame”. Grubby sweatbox Rik (who didn’t win Pop Idol in 2001. 2001!!) is concerned that it’s really hard for him to “meet someone genuine who isn’t interested in me for my success”.

Rik. Rik, Rik, Rik. Let’s face the music, shall we (but let’s not dance – your heart might not stand the strain). It’s not your fame that’s preventing you from finding a lovely girl to spend your life with. You haven’t been famous since you were thrown out of ITV’s Celebrity Fit Club two years ago, for crying during the hundred metres race and refusing to stop eating chips. It’s not even your weight – there are plenty of man-mountains out there who are in happy, fulfilling relationships. I would suggest that the problem with your personal life stems more from an apparent aversion to soap, along with the petulant personality of a four-year-old who’s just been told to share his Lego, and delusions of grandeur that would have Laurence Llewellyn-Bowen feeling embarrassed for you.

I’ll never forget, Rik, the interview conducted with you when you crashed out of Pop Idol owing to a poorly throat. As you were ill, the production team came to chat with you over a cup of tea in your Mum’s kitchen. I presume you and Ma Waller knew of this visit in advance – did you not think to give the place a quick going-over with a J-Cloth? The image of you standing there, next to the white Argos kettle now covered in an off-brown film of deep-fat-fryer and Rothmans, is burned on my brain.

You are second only to Daniel “I sleep in a ditch, me” Bedingfield in the people-who-are-or-were-inexplicably-famous-despite-looking-grubby-and-as-if-they-never-wash-their-clothes stakes. Your demeanour is sweaty. You look to me as if you smell like the inside of an empty corned beef tin, with a hint of damp towel. And still you trouble the press with stories of unfulfilled romantic desires, of the perils of fame….of your conviction that the trouble with girls is their lack of morals rather than their sense of smell and preference for a man who might have changed his trousers in the last month (they always look like they’ll do another wear, don’t they Rik? But if you gots to sniff them to check, they really ought to go in the laundry).

Your stoicism in the face of public indifference is to be applauded. Your assertion that the innocence of girls you might meet via the glossy filter of the internet will swiftly turn to fame-hungry, tabloid-fuelled lust once they realise that you are, indeed, “the” Rik Waller is so deluded it’s almost fabulous.

Rik, I salute you!

Now bugger off and have a wash. Please. And take Bedingfield with you.