Kate's Anti-World Cup Blog

Position Available: WAG
Location: Global
Salary: £72,947,274,019,456,198,238.00 Per Annum (plus bonuses: free holidays, discounted beauty treatments, instant fame and, upon completion of probationary period, a huge divorce settlement)

Duties Include:
Looking pretty, attending glamorous parties, forgiving numerous acts of adultery, volunteering to take part in reality TV shows (eating bugs may be required), globe-trotting, falling out of nightclubs and flashing your knickers, maxing out credit cards, looking miserable and confused at football games… and really very little else.

Person Specification:
The ideal candidate will possess:

Incredibly long, thick, wavy hair (blonde or brunette – no redheads or baldies)
Perfectly long, manicured nails at all times
An IQ no higher than 54
A size zero waist
Plastic breasts (ideally each one will be bigger than your head)
At least 47,000 pairs of Jimmy Choos
Orange skin
Very limited ambition
Perfectly symmetrical face, preferably jammed full of Botox

To Apply:
CVs will not be accepted. Please send a portfolio of your glamour shots and "charity work" to: ileftmypersonality@thetanningsalon.com

[If you’re struggling to apply and wish to view these job details in ‘Simple English’, please get in touch and we will send you an application pack with no big words in it].

WAGs. Oh, WAGs. They’re one of the most ridiculous aspects of football, and the drama surrounding them is amplified ten-fold during the World Cup. You can’t open a magazine at the moment without seeing a picture of Colleen Rooney’s "cellulite", or an article about Cheryl Cole’s divorce. Are we actually supposed to care about this stuff? It’s bad enough when there isn’t a tournament taking place in the background, and I’m really not sure what’s more irritating at the moment – the drone of those AWFUL foghorns during each game (which I’m being forced to listen to at work, so help me), or the constant newsfeed about Carly Zucker’s Post-Baby Bikini Body (OMG, excite!).

I’m sure that back in the olden days, before the invention of gel nail extensions, footballer’s wives used to be normal, homely women with moustaches and beer bellies, who weren’t afraid to be seen in public wearing flat shoes and carrying a handbag from C&A. But fast-forward a few years when Victoria Beckham tottered onto the scene with her skeletal frame, monstrous pout, sleek hair and painful-but-worth-it bunions, and before you know it the bar was raised (or lowered, depending on your perspective) and the WAG was born. Young girls saw the fame and fortune that came with marrying a footballer and immediately began queuing up outside Wembley Stadium to bag themselves a Premier League "boyf". And it was only a matter of time before the WAGs became more famous than their famous boyfriends, who were the only reasons the WAGS became famous in the first place, if you follow. Fame, fame, fame. What a genuinely impressive goal. Do excuse the pun.

The issue with the WAG phenomena is that not only does it ridicule the very sport that made them, it ridicules women. And I could get into a whole feminist debate here and detail how sad it is that young girls aspire to be these women - dreamless, mindless drones preoccupied by money and not much else; alternatively, I could stick up for those darling Wives And Girlfriends. Legend does have it, after all, that the life of a WAG is a lonely one and we ought to feel sorry for them because they're consumed by paranoia that their partners will cheat, they're repeatedly analysed by the press and their peers, they're pressured into looking like barbies and plastic surgery isn't cheap, they'll have you know... and apparently money can't buy you love, which is something many of these girls are forced to learn the hard way. Who knew? I certainly didn't. I run a credit check on every man I go out with and if he hasn't got an American Express card, he's out. I'm just THAT shallow, much like the majority of 13-year-old girls in this country, who have this sickening desire to be bought.

Truth is, the girl whose dream is to buy into this lifestyle is very aware of what she's getting into. She's also very aware of what she wants, and will do anything to get it. I'm not suggesting that it's completely impossible to fall in love with a football player and marry for all the right reasons, but how often does that happen, really? Research tells us that girls want the posh handbags, designer wardrobes, invites to glamorous parties and the fame that comes with it, and what easier way to bag your dreams than to bag a pretty-boy footballer with more money than sense? I suppose there's always Big Brother if that fails.

The WAGS have already taken over the World Cup this year, despite the fact that they've been barred from entering South Africa and slapped with a "sex ban"; ironically, it's these demands that have only highlighted their existance and given them even more headlines. What's supposed to be the more important topic here: the sport, or the love-lives of the players? Personally, I'm not sure which is preferable

Written by Kate Spalding.

To contact Kate, email kate.spalding@estateagenttoday.co.uk

For those of you who are utterly disgraced by Kate’s clear lack of support for our team, head on over to Toby’s column for the proper World Cup news.