So approaches the end of days, as detailed by St John the Divine in the Book Of Revelation (and it's not the 'Book Of Revelations', Doherty, you faux-intellectual twat). We already have the Whore Of Basildon attempting to seduce the US (along with her dim-witted Greek husband) and now comes the Fifth Horseman of the Apocalypse, Victoria Beckham, who has dragged her lungs back into the recording studio for one last blast on Satan's trumpet.
Fuck.
The Spice Girls are back, with an album pencilled in for Christmas this year, which is sure to fuck up quite a people's lives when the wrapping paper comes off the CD-shaped presents. Posh ambled into Olympic Studios in London and grunted onto a few tracks which are sure to be so far down in the mix that only pigs with supernatural hearing will ever have to encounter the noise.
"The mike was put in front of me, and I was like 'woah!'" she squealed, presumably because she certainly never got near a fucking microphone in her previous Spice career.
Let's hope she hasn't lost the knack of standing knock-kneed and flashing a 'V for Victory' sign whilst looking moody and porcine.