Wayne, Please Get Photographed Receiving a Wristy off a Trannie

For those of you down with the cool crowd, it should go without saying what happens next week. Our Wayne and his lovely moron of a fiancée, Coleen McLoughlin, are finally getting married in what we can only describe as a truly grotesque ceremony at an Italian ex-monastery. But before every wedding there must first come a stag, and for a man with bottomless spending power, this was never going to be any normal stag. Apparently Coleen assured herself and gal pals that Wayne wouldn’t be going the usual 10-pints-and-a-stripper route, but instead was planning a more family-based “quiet” stag do. How women are masters of convincing themselves that the patently ridiculous is true...

Obviously having a couple of lemonades and talk about his feelings isn’t exactly Wayne’s style, so it should come as no surprise to most of you that instead he is going on a massive four-day bender to Ibiza with 16 friends. The England striker, conveniently free this summer, has hired a luxurious villa and done the sensible thing by stocking it with hundreds of pounds worth of housewives’ favourite, Stella Artois. The Sun got the real inside scoop on this story though, usefully adding that the streetwise and manly group additionally wanted to neck bottles of pregnant-teenagers’ tipple-of-choice: WKD alcopops. Alas the local villa slaves, sorry I mean staff, were unable to find a single bottle of the subtly flavoured nectar on the magical island, so instead have they shall have to resort to Smirnoff Ice. Great contribution there guys, that incredibly incidental fact really ties the whole story together. Anyway, quite why a group of tough, grown men (and Wayne’s two brothers) would go anywhere near WKD or Smirnoff Ice is beyond me, but I guess maybe they all want to do a bit of avant-garde gender reversal.

Sickeningly the villa costs almost as much to rent for the week as I earn in a year, and comes complete with a swimming pool (la-di-da your majesty), a maid service (happy endings presumably included) and a pretentious white ivory piano that I guarantee none of them can play and will probably end up getting smashed before the motley crew fly home. Ever the disciplinarian, Coleen has warned the group (which strangely includes her father and uncle) not to play any pranks on Wayne that could ruin their wedding photos. That proves that love truly is blind, because anyone with any sense would realize that pretty much anything that could be inflicted on Wayne would surely only be an improvement. An anonymous answer phone message told us: “Coleen has also asked Wayne to get a tan for the pictures, so he won’t be stumbling out of clubs at 8am and then going to bed.” Like I said earlier, women can be so stupid. Within the next 24 hours expect to see a photo on this site of Wayne gurning his face off at midday somewhere, bright-red like a lobster.