I meet a woman – lets call her Dorothy – who tells me of a new development in the first wives’ club: Barbie voodoo. You see, Dorothy had a friend – lets call her Susan – whose husband was cheating on her with a younger woman of the dyed blonde variety. ‘And,’ says Dorothy, ‘Susan wasn’t going to take that lying down.’
Barbie, however, was. Susan bought one of Mattel’s bimbo munchkins, painted its roots black, and left it under the wheels of her husband’s car, ready for him to drive over on his way to work. She ‘sterilised’ the poor thing with a knitting needle, and performed various other indignities on it. She put all her bad feelings into – and took out all her anger out on – that Barbie, only reaching catharsis when she filmed a ‘suicide’ sequence on her phone,
For this finale, Susan enlisted Dorothy, who on a signal flicked the teetering doll from a window-ledge – after which, they chopped ‘er up and buried her. And did the magic work? ‘No,’ says Dorothy, ‘but Susan still hasn’t stopped laughing.’
PS: I thought there were two biographies being planned about Isabella Blow (see below). Now, I hear a third – a collection of tributes from friends – is in the pipeline. Issie would have adored the attention.
