At a time when her billionaire brother Sir Richard is deservedly taking a pounding for trying to rape the state, multi-millionairess Vanessa Branson could have perhaps postponed the launch of her self-indulgent autobiography
It’s not Vanessa Branson’s fault that she’s the sister of the all-round dickhead Sir Richard Branson, but it is she alone whom made the choice to gauchely publicise a book about her anything but modest life during the worst pandemic since Spanish Flu.
Serialised, as only it could be in the top paying publication for such guff, the Daily Mail, Vanessa Branson’s One Hundred Summers: A Family Story has a stench of what the Scottish would call “guff” about it. Aside from bemoaning “sulking about” buying a tidal island complete with 9 houses in the Inner Hebrides – which she terms “Neverland Found” – this privileged woman boldly touts her book as: “Taking the reader on a journey from the dying embers of Edwardian England, through the trauma of two world wars, the hedonism of London in the 1980s and ‘Cool Britannia’ in the 1990s right up to the present day.” How utterly endearing.
Just like her self-publicising brother, this constantly crying 61-year old former art gallery owner plainly cannot get enough of herself. Here is a ramble through holidays in palazzos in Venice and trips to LA; there’s an arts festival in Morocco and there’s a second home in Sussex. Life ain’t that shabby for this woman, but all she does is moan. Her husband comes and goes (and comes and goes again and again), but with such she name-drops how Grayson Perry gave her a pot charmingly featuring the words “Marriage Wrecker” next to “images of fat middle-aged men with drooping breasts and sagging scrotums” and Tracey Emin wrote her a poem for her to use on her headboard. Its read: “Oh God you made me feel so beautiful/ And then I wanted to feel it again and again. With myself, by myself/ Never forgetting.” That’s surely enough to make anyone join in blubbering with this very, very rich multi-millionairess.
With her brattish brother condemned even by that pillar of capitalism that is The Telegraph as “Now Virgin Atlantic’s biggest liability,” Vanessa Branson could not have chosen a worse time to launch her tome. Though lauded as: “A vivid and charming tapestry of English eccentricity, fortune, fate and passion,” One Hundred Summers is more likely to ultimately be remembered just as a tale of the pathetic appendage of the deservedly most loathed man of the 2020 coronavirus pandemic. Here is one book we most definitely will not be recommending as essential lockdown literature.
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