I've got a Prada cashmere cap warming my bedhead right now, so I know it isn't me; this book is a $%&(*ing menace and needs to be smothered in its crib. I'm talking about This Little Piggy Went To Prada: Nursery Rhymes For The Blahnik Brigade. Even on the basis of the press coverage's overuse of the nails-on-blackboard term "yummy mummy," every copy should be burned, and the authors should be packed off to Strawberry's for life.
And that's before you read even one of the reworked nursery rhymes, which have been stuffed full of every cliched luxury brand name you can think of. [Yep, it's in there. yep.] How wrong can it be? It's as if, while she's babysitting your kid, a coked up Conde Nast editor wrapped a Mother Goose dustjacket around American Psycho so she could read it to him.
The difference with Patrick Bateman, of course, is that Bret Ellis took his lumps like a man; the Piggy author has lamely tried to blunt criticism by donating 10% of her proceeds [? profits? royalties?] to an unassailable kiddie charity in each market. For the UK, it's Save The Children. Meanwhile, the real children who need saving are the ones whose parents think this nursery rhyme is funny because it's true:
Twinkle, twinkle, diamond ring,See how wrong this book is here. And here. And here.
In a blue box tied with string.
Tiffany's new princess cut,
Twice the size of baby's butt.
Twinkle twinkle, show your spark,
Can't change nappies in the dark.