Just when you think she’s gone away quietly to bleach her moustache and re-leaden her roots, Nancy Dell’Olio bobs back to the surface.
Rather like those glinting gobs of olive oil do when you’re washing out the Spag Bol pan.
Yes, she’s back, thanks to her latest famous beau.
Her stints in the media spotlight are only ever down to the man on whose arm she dangles.
This time, the Italian-blooded vixen is glinting like a gaudy, over-done D&G bracelet on the arm of Sir Trevor Nunn, the theatre director I’d long considered a normal, intelligent man. A man who until very recently had a rather nice wife in Imogen Stubbs.
Imogen has found someone else, it seems. But she hadn’t even shifted her pyjamas from under the pillow before Nunn and his fancy Nancy publicly became an item.
Heaven help me, I have this mental picture of Dell’Olio’s lacy babydoll - red and black and very skimpy - jostling Immy’s jimmies out of the way.
Smart work though, Nance. Only to be expected from such a shrewd biscotti. She might not be able to remember her exact age - it runs the gamut from 53 to 46 - but she’s all there upstairs. And I don’t just mean with the negligee.
Once a New York property lawyer, she knows it’s vital to lay claim to valuable real estate as soon as it goes on the market.
Nunn needed his bruised ego flattering.
Plus he likes a bit of drama and is accustomed to inch-thick make-up; she knew she was perfect for the part.