Not to be outdone by the Daily Mail and other such high quality journals, The Bollocks News Agency will be covering the Rooney's hols in Dubai, in all the lurid detail one could ever possibly want. Whilst we can't run to the expense of sending a reporter and several photographers, we came up with the next best thing.
Whilst Wazza was asleep on the flight to Dubai, and with the help of a bit of KY jelly, our man inserted a state of the art Supposi-Sound(TM) microphone and transmitter up Wazza's arse. Coleen was equipped with a micro-video camera, concealed in a handy bit of space between her ears. Then we sat back and waited.
Given that Wazza now earns almost twelve hundred knicker an hour, this holiday was never going to be a modest affair.
This is how the holiday began.
Wazza wakes to the sound of a ten thousand quid Rolex alarm clock, scratches his balls and goes and has the mother of all shits. He wipes his arse on floral printed Laura Ashley bog roll, which costs thirty quid a sheet. Meanwhile, Coleen is simply lying in bed, trying to add up how many shopping trips she will need to do just to make a small dent in their newfound wealth.
Wazza phones room service and asks for two old brasses to be sent up to give him his morning workout. Both get a free facial treatment for their troubles. Meanwhile, Coleen has been on the laptop, doing a spot of online shopping.
Down at the pool, Wazza rubs sun tan lotion into Coleen's back. This is not just any old lotion, but is specially formulated from oils collected from the coat of live Sumatran Tigers, at a cost of fifteen thousand quid a bottle.
Next they order some long drinks. Wazza has a pint of creme de menthe, at twenty eight quid a throw. Coleen has a double mojito.
For lunch, Coleen chooses a quail and swan club sandwich, a bargain at three hundred quid. Wazza shows he is all class and goes for the one hundred and fifty quid chicken nuggets and chips, his selection being swung by the free toy that comes with the meal.
After spending the afternoon splashing around in the pool, telling all the other guests who they are and how much money they have, Wazza and Coleen retire wearily to their five thousand quid a night suite.
Coleen spends the evening surfing the Louis Vuitton, Chanel, Gucci and Primark websites. Wazza phones home to pay his daily respects to his mother-in-law, before phoning room service for his evening workout.
Exhausted, Wazza and Coleen both finally collapse into bed.
And so, thank God, to sleep.