LONDON – Pages purported to have come from Kate McCann’s diary have been photocopied and leaked to The Sun, England’s tabloid conscience. According to the paper’s managing editor, Malcolm Pease, the diary pages arrived via fax at The Sun‘s lifestyle desk late yesterday afternoon.
“Independent handwriting experts have checked the writing against a sample of Kate McCann’s penmanship,” said Mr. Pease, “and we are satisfied that the pages from the diary are the genuine articles.”
The Sun plans to feature the diary pages in a special illustrated Weekender section of the paper, which will hit newsstands tomorrow. Meanwhile, a source working on that insert provided a sneak preview of the diary’s content.
May 28, Wednesday: I was chuffed to receive an email from “Jo” Rowling this morning, though I was afraid to write back for fear of misspelling a word. Then I noticed that she had misspelled “bazillioinaire” and I didn’t feel so bad. Must remember to read one of those Harry Potter things she wrote in case I meet her at a party or a fundraiser somewhere.
May 29, Thursday: Tomorrow we’re off to see the Big Banger—Pope Benedict XVI. Gerry says we shouldn’t go to confession because we’d look as if we had something to hide. Frankly, I’m more concerned about finding an outfit that fits correctly. Now that I’ve lost weight, I look like some grubby housewife in my old clothes. I’ll say one thing for misplacing a child—there’s nothing like it if you want to drop a quick stone.
May 30, Friday: Met the Pope today. Massive let down. I expected a private audience. Tea perhaps or cappuccino, or whatever the Eyeties have in the afternoon. We flew to Rome on a private jet, so I thought there’d be a private audience. Instead, we had to queue up like commoners. Then all we got was a quick grip-and-grin with His Excellency. His breath smelled like bratwurst, and he kept calling Gerry “Terry.” I had my teeth whitened for this?
May 31, Saturday: This damn Cuddle Cat still smells like Madeleine. I’ll bet the new maid forgot to wash it. I never should have started lugging that thing around in the first place. It makes me look retarded, and that damn smell is getting on my nerves. I warned that child about sucking on her toys.
June 1, Sunday: Gerry wanted to “do it” again last night. He knows I’m about to get a visit from The Curse, so he wants to get his rocks off while he can because good Catholic girls don’t believe in oral sex, so I wish he’d stop pestering me about it. I must admit these £2,000-a-night hotel suites do make me feel sexy. I could get used to being a celebrity.
June 2, Monday: I must remember to tell my personal assistant to wash the hire car inside and out tomorrow. It got a little grotty on our “picnic” yesterday. I was hoping we could hire something a bit more posh than a Renault Mégane, but Gerry says it wouldn’t look right. He can be such a dreary sod sometimes.
June 3, Tuesday: This is the one-month anniversary of the night Madeleine went missing while we were simply trying to enjoy a little time out with our friends. We probably ought to order in this time. I think when all this is over, I might change careers. I’ve got the name and face recognition most people would kill for. I don’t think a career on the stage is out of the question. Let Gerry look after the lame and the halt. I deserve a fresh start. After all, I’ll be thirty-nine again next year :).
June 4, Wednesday: Got more text messages from PM today. He’s been such a dear to think of me what with all the unpleasantness in his own life. I suspect he’s beginning to fancy me. Mustn’t let on to Gerry. He got so jealous because I spent fifteen minutes talking on the mobile to Bono at dinner the other night. Gerry needs to get over himself and accept the fact that I belong to the world now. Besides, it was only a four-star restaurant.
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