Posh is a battered fish out of water
Victoria Beckham and I have much in common. For a start, we're both on an alkaline diet. And we've both recently been in a chippie.
Where we differ is that I'm only rarely followed by the paparazzi. Also, she was carrying a handbag that cost £1,995. Mine cost only £1,600.
But, really, I pity the poor gal. She wasn't even buying the fish and chips for herself, but for her wee boy, Gerald.
She looked incongruous, in her big boots and shades, standing next to the see-through oven with all the pies, puddings and sausages in it. The grossly pleasant aromas must have tortured her.
I bet she felt awkward asking for the delicacy. Just as well the boy didn't want a pickled onion an' all.
Victoria recently moved back to London with her husband Derek, a footer player, after living in LA, which I understand is in America.
Recently, she told a packed meeting of government ministers and senior clergy: "We are starting a new chapter in our lives."
Well, good luck with that, hen. She'll soon find there's more to Britain than chippies. There's the nation's favourite shop, Poundland and, if she fancies a flutter, well every second emporium is now a bookmaker's.
Soon, she'll be able to put LA behind her, like a bad dream.