'Ello. My name's Dave. I'm in charge of this GaGa bird while she's touring the UK. The missus ain't too happy abaaht it but them bills don't pay themselves. That and crazy birds with more 'eaddresses than pairs of shoes ain't my style. She's nearly had my eye out I dunno how many times in the last 24 hours. Ovvah than that, she's a sweet ol' soul. Tries a bit too 'ard, but sure who don't at 'er age.

Here's been a typical day so far. In the smalls of Saturday morning, I lead her aaaht of her car after her latest gig in Landan's O2 (that Chezza Cole was there too. Crackin'. Ashley, you nonce). Anyway, as you can see here, the Lady's gone for a futuristic arthritic fly with its landing strip on show *rolls eyes* I pointed out what way to go, but she's only got 10% peripheral vision most of the time (somefing about suffering for her art). So, really, it's like wheeling about a crazy blind ol' bird most of the time. Like your nan when she's not had her meds. You land in on her to bring her for lunch, only to find her in frisky form, giddily pawing fruu her umentionables in the 'otpress. You don't care what she manages to put on, anyfing will do. 

Later on that day, she decided she wanted to bring her cuppah to meet her "fans" before a walk to the shops. When I say 'walk', there's only so far one can get a stride on when they're wearing fancy imported trawler netting. Troof be told, she had a fluffy trackie and a pair of Air Max in that massive bag she had me carrying. I'll get a right slaggin' for that off the lads: 'Oi, Dave, where's your studded sack?' and the like *winces*

Now, this was a shambles. Me and Charlie didn't know where to look. I felt particularly ashamed to be bringing her in 'cause she was 'avin a Chinese with her folks AND Brucie Springsteen. I felt responsible for letting her be seen in public like a sordid aquarium, but you've just got tah keep the head daaahn. If your client wants to wear a sparkly lobster on her 'ead and sticky plasters on her wotsits, that's her business. That aside, the missus is going to muder me. I'll explain that I managed to stay aaht of shot (unlike Chaz, he's going to get some ribbin' daahn the local, crab jokes 'n all sorts), but she'll still come down on me like a tonne of rancid Sunday lunches.

Now 'ere's where it got real messy. She was mumblin' about her MSG intake had caused her crustacean to 'ave a panic attack and make a break for it via a toilet bowel, but - troof be told - she skewered two beers on eivah side of that poor fing and started sucking the stream off its tentacles once inside the door. She really should've reigned it in a bit, I mean, comin' out of a posh restaurant lookin' like you're abaaht to lose your guts ain't exactly a ringin' endorsement for the joint. Neivah is a clammy lookin' slapped arse, but I suppose her parents 'ave her best interests at 'eart.

As a result, she toned fings daaahn slightly the followin' mornin', she didn't even need my 'elp walking that much. Shame the same can't be said for this mornin'...... *elongated sigh of Jack Branning off EastEnders magnitude, before rubbing hand down face* It's gonna be a looong day, innit.