Oh Bex! This may just be a spectacular own goal

ANOTHER dawn, another day – and yet another set of gigantic Dynasty-style shoulders to demonstrate who’s really Queen of the Wags in the £3million libel battle setting Britain alight.

There’s no doubt about it, yesterday was Coleen Rooney’s day – and not just in the Isabel Marant-designed shoulder department. No, the day was Coleen’s because despite Rebekah Vardy’s jaunty nautical-themed Chanel dress and brave new side parting, the events in Court 13 are not unfurling as Mrs V would like.

In short, she’s having a nightmare. Things start to decline badly and rapidly as she is accused – variously and in no particular order – of having selective amnesia, lying, repeatedly revising her witness statements ahead of the trial and suggesting that the anniversary of the death of Coleen’s sister Rosie (who died in 2014, aged 13) had been an appropriate time to get back in contact with Rooney after she had blocked Vardy on Instagram.

So in that context, the claim she’d arranged for a pap to hide in a bush and snap the entire Wag brigade as they click-clacked down the street to dinner in St Petersburg during the 2018 World Cup comes almost as a moment of light relief for Bex.

Even if it was technically against explicit instructions by the FA that they all keep a low profile – and she hadn’t technically bothered to warn her fellow Wags – it is a relatively lowkey accusation to weather amid today’s storm.

No wonder Coleen’s so perky and pleased with herself. She looks like the Wag that got all the best goodie-bag swag as she scrawls in her leopard-print note pad, smirks at Vardy’s lawyers and sips her water as if it’s already victory champagne.

She even gleefully pokes Wayne at one point with a pencil in his enormous ham-like arm! She wants him to feel included in the fun.

On we lurch like drunk drivers swerving between endless allegations about Vardy’s mad behaviour. That she was the source behind the ‘Secret Wag’ column in The Sun that leaked lurid claims of serial cheaters at Chelsea FC.

And how she dared to christen herself the ‘unofficial leader of the Wags’ in an interview she gave about a no-sex ban for England players during the 2018 tournament.

And, of course, the harder she denies it all, the harder her own expletive-ridden WhatsApp messages smash back in her face.

It’s a terrible buffeting. And Teflon-tough though Vardy clearly is, she’d be forgiven for wishing she had a sturdy husband of her own to lean on in court.

Her nemesis, meanwhile, continues to scribble like a woman possessed. Is it a shopping list, a winner’s speech or just another holiday packing itinerary? Who knows!

Next to her, Wayne glowers and glares and scowls and stares. (If she’d tried, Coleen couldn’t have dreamt up a better punishment for all he’s put her through during their 14year marriage.)

Back on the stand, Rebekah has another cry – arms folded on witness box, head laid despairingly down on arms – apparently triggered by recalling the appalling online abuse she’s endured.

Or perhaps she’s finally realised what a spectacular own goal this whole palaver might turn out to be. A self-administered spatchcocking of her own shameless making. A total car crash of self-indulgence.

BECAuSE even if Vardy wins on the narrow point of law – which she might – she’s clearly also lost in the court of public opinion. (Then again, haven’t they all?).

But perhaps most upsetting of all is the realisation that – even though Jamie’s still a mean, lean scoring machine (another two goals on Wednesday night, thank you very much) and Coleen’s chubby hubby doesn’t play any more (and his team has just been relegated, sorry Wayne) – Vardy will never, ever be crowned Queen of the Wags, however many Duchess of Cambridge look-a-like jackets she packs into her walk-in wardrobe.

Poor Rebekah. How to recover from a day like this? A nice calming spa treatment and a hair mask? A bottle of Grey Goose on the rocks? And then the phone call home... ‘How’d it go, love?’ Jamie squeaks.

‘Oh you know, pretty good. Pretty good! I think we’ve got that **** on the ropes. But also hun, while you’ve got a min... could you be a darling and pop three mill in the current account? Just in case!’