Down at our village local, the regulars are giving their fourpenny-worth on who is the most deluded in the John Terry-Vanessa Perroncel debacle. It's kind of like one of Mrs Merton's "heated debates" - only without the heat.
I tell them Capello was right to take the armband off Terry. He had no choice. Terry's behaviour was scandalously irresponsible, even though the man himself appears incapable of shame. The blokes all stick up for the tainted England ex-captain. It's only to be expected after all. Blokes stick together, don't they? Through thick and thin. Well, apart from Terry and Wayne Bridge, that is.
What I'm desperate to know is, guys, how come a slut of a footballer, with an oversized ego that matches his obscenely-weighted pay packet can command such blind loyalty? "Cos he's a top bloke on the football field," they say to a man. A leader. A warrior. And in the freakish deluded world of the male footie supporter, what happens over 90 minutes plus stoppage time is all that counts. (oops, nearly left a vital "o" out there!)
On the other hand, Vanessa Perroncel doesn't strike me as the sort of woman who inspires such loyalty – either from her so-called women friends or from her past male conquests. Indeed, Ms Perroncel's "pals" were quick to impart the serial footballer-stalker's tales of her lurid affair with Terry to a Sunday tabloid. How very generous of them to get in on the act, seeing as the Chelsea centre-half has bought his ex-lover's silence for the princely sum of £800,000, if the media valuation is to be believed.
Perroncel is most certainly deluding herself if she thinks Wayne Bridge will take her back. She must be bonkers. Frankly love, I've got more chance of shacking up with Bridgey than you – and I'm a devout lesbian.
No doubt, there are many female teenagers out there whose sole purpose in life will be to bag themselves a Premiership footballer – and along with him, the eighteen-bedroom mansion and platinum credit card with no spending limit. When I was in secondary school the girls all wanted to go into banking or teaching. Or journalism, if they were on the posh side. If anyone had told the careers advisor she wanted to be a model - or heaven forbid - a star of reality TV, she'd have been laughed out of the classroom. Nowadays, becoming a WAG is a viable career option – one where a college degree means you're almost certainly overqualified for the role. Hang on, I might have spoken too soon. Someone assures me they've just added it to the curriculum at our local uni. Well I never . . .
As for our lukewarm debate, I have reached the conclusion that the one who is most deluded in all of this isn't John Terry, or even Vanessa Perroncel – it's poor old Toni Poole. Never mind that she says she loves Terry, the soppy idiot. Hasn't she proved that to him over and over down the years, every single bloody time he's done the dirty on her? Sadly, I fear poor Toni is destined to remain Mrs John Terry for as long as he will have her, no matter how many times he errs.
In fact, I'm sorely tempted to jump on a jet to Dubai this very afternoon and whisk Toni Terry off to the nearest tattoo parlour so she can get a doormat etched onto her forehead, ahead of her scheduled meeting with her cheating husband this weekend. If only I felt she could be saved.
Meanwhile, back the local, I gain something of an insight into the female perspective on all this. Mac, 54, who's two weeks off celebrating his Silver Wedding anniversary, says women don't care what blokes like John Terry get up to, providing their hubbies aren't doing the same. Mostly the wives use fear as a deterrent, and in the main it seems to work. In Mac's case, his missus does a rather fine line in curried meatballs. Must make a mental note to mention it to Toni . . .
