There are no fake Sheikhs hired by the now defunct News of the World with £40,000 bungs, and there are now no whimsical children’s books or getting her big toe sucked by some rich bald American wanker. The days of living off the royals are now also a distant dream for the former Duchess of York, Sarah “Fergie” Ferguson. No more yachts, no more Klosters, no more polo, and certainly no more servants waiting on her every wish. Fergie now lives under Waterloo Bridge in a cardboard box, and it’s all thanks to her former husband Andrew, formerly known as the Duke of Pork, or “Randy Andy” and his sweaty days on Epstein Island, a place that would make the Island of Dr. Moreau look like a fucking holiday camp.
“It’s High Tea in a moment, the servants will bring some of that delish nosh, you know scones, cakes and cucumber sandwiches perfectly cut.
“This is outrageous, I rang the bell twenty minutes ago.
“Absolutely ghastly business. Someone’s in for a good sacking!”
Popping her head out of the blue tarpaulin and cardboard construction, Fergie shouts at an elderly lady pushing along a supermarket trolley full of empty plastic bags.
“Hey you! Where is my High Tea? It’s usually served at 6pm. You better get on with it, or I shall set Andy on to you.”
The woman pauses for a second, looks Fergie up and down, then builds up a large phlegm ball in her throat. She hocks a huge greenie out into a discarded paper cup, then tentatively hands it to the Duchess before trundling off into the fog.






