But for the first time I am saluting this vile species for
dishing out a regal snub to spoiled royal PRINCESS BEATRICE.
The
ruddy-faced toff was given the brush-off on Thursday night at
the trendy Cuckoo Club in London’s West End.
B-List Beatrice, or Bea-list as I am christening her, was
blocked from getting into a private party by nightclub security
because her name wasn’t on the list.
FERGIE’s daughter — who is fifth in line to the throne —
decided to remind the bouncers of her important royal status.
She declared: “Don’t you know who I am? Do you know I’m
royalty?”
A royal pain in the a***, pal.
Luckily the club couldn’t give two hoots about another girl with
a silver spoon in her mush trying to worm her her way in and
told her to do one.
She must have been desperate to get into the after-party for the
opening of the new Jean Charles de Castelbajac store.
With the brass neck only the spawn of Fergie could possess, she
tried her luck another couple of times — only to be sent back to
the basement bar.
A
source who watched the whole charade said: “Beatrice said that
she was there for the party but was turned away as her name
wasn’t on the list.
“She started throwing around the old ‘Don’t you know who I am?’
chestnut and reminded them of her royal status.
- Peas
- “She tried
to stay discreet about it all but failed.
“She was wound up and getting frustrated but she was sent
packing back to the downstairs bar with the normal punters every
time.”
Beatrice has had her first taste of the big wide world this
summer, working as a personal shopper in Selfridges.
It’s hardly shoveling peas in a factory or waiting tables for
£3-an-hour.
But wages are no problem for Bea-list though. She drowned her
sorrows quaffing expensive Grey Goose vodka with her posh pals.
It’s hardly White Lightning around the back of the bus shelter.
