Reid all about it? We al­ready have!

Midweek Sport - - SPORTS -

AM I alone in won­der­ing whether there is any­thing left to learn about Alex Reid?

This week he’s been pic­tured head in hands plead­ing for mercy for the ter­ri­ble crime of send­ing the mes­sage “hope so x” to some bird on Twit­ter.

His mis­sus Chantelle Houghton, preg­nant with their first child, got the huff, ap­par­ently, and was “p*ssed off” for – get this – “a while”.

And in a not-at-all over the top in­ter­view with one of those glossy mags you find years later curl­ing up in a den­tist’s wait­ing room be­neath an old Na­tional Ge­o­graphic and a guide to canal boats, he wails: “I’m be­ing por­trayed as a cheat, which re­ally up­sets me and the gor­geous girl I’m com­mit­ted to with all my heart.

“It’s caused noth­ing but mis­ery and stress for my preg­nant fi­ancée.”


Then, with the kind of hy­per­bole nor­mally re­served for hy­per­ac­tive ring­mas­ters at lower rank box­ing fights, he stares into the cam­era with he thinks are puppy dog eyes and de­clares: “She’s the vic­tim and I’m the evil one.”

Alex. ALEX. You still haven’t got it, have you?

No­body f***ing cares.

You’re a no-mark. A non-celeb.

Some­one who once won Celebrity Big Brother not be­cause the na­tion warmed to

Alex Reid No mark

your daz­zling per­son­al­ity, you dick, but be­cause your then mis­sus had zil­lions of fans.

And she still has. Es­pe­cially af­ter fi­nally di­vorc­ing you on Tues­day.

You, on the other hand, are ob­served in much the same way we crane our necks to see what’s left of a mo­tor­way pile-up.

Your sur­name is Reid but it should be thrush. Be­cause you, sir, are one ir­ri­tat­ing c***.

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