LADY Di? Comedienne Diane Spencer is the first to admit that she is no lady.
We all know one “lady”, often held up as the pinnacle of aspiration for young women.
She smells like a Care Bear’s fart; enshrined in beautiful, elegant clothes, next to her a Harvey Nichols mannequin would feel like Jeanette Krankie on a bad day.
She’s so posh, her toilet paper is Egyptian cotton and she never cooks anything without it first being rubbed on Nigella Lawson’s bosom.
Her family are so well bred they have their own category at Crufts. Their “best china” is Ming Dynasty and they apologise for the carpet not being a hand-woven import.
The Lady. The elegant, graceful social climbing heiress. This state of living, is a cage of its own creation; having to constantly maintain a veneer of outward togetherness and flawless makeup is tiring.
I, on the other end of the see-saw, am horrendously practical and admittedly sacrifice elegance to enjoy myself.
I habitually sit in my pants eating custard from the tin; I drink so much, the blood I donate gets served with food and if Richard Branson could lay a cable like I can, Cornwall would have fibre optic broadband by now.
I’m no lady, but at least I’m a happy, free bird.
• Diane Spencer: Exquisite Bad Taste, Gilded Balloon, until August 26, 5pm, £10, www.edfringe.com