In catching up on my back issues of my favorite UK rag, The Spectator, I came across this paragraph by Piers Morgan, who writes the Diary section. He discusses the move of soccer player and husband of Posh Spice David Beckham’s move to the US.
Why is anybody surprised that David Beckham has gone to Hollywood? He’s an ageing, waning, footballing clothes-horse who has always been more attracted to the glitz and glamour of celebrity than the hard graft of a rainy night in Wigan. Now he’s going to be paid £500,000 a week to be top dog in a league of useless one-footed mongrels, and spend the rest of his time on Malibu beach with his mate, Tom Cruise. Life can’t get much better than that for an inarticulate, ill-educated Essex boy. And there’s always the chance that Mrs Beckham might actually learn to smile. After all, as John Updike wrote: ‘America is a vast conspiracy to make you happy.’ I worked in Los Angeles all last summer as a judge on an NBC talent show (think Simon Cowell without the looks, brains or wit) and I loved it. The sun shines, the people are friendly, the food’s good, and they absolutely adore Brits. The Hollywood crowd are also a bunch of teetotal, vain, paranoid, bitchy, cosmetically enhanced health freaks. So one way or another Victoria should feel at home.