She looked like an ingenue who has just discovered the world is a wicked place and that people have something called sex. Her wardrobe was also equal to the task: a schoolgirl white blouse with severe buttons and a high neck. Her eyes were wide and brimming, her cheeks blushed to peony, her lip gloss a trembling bubble gum pink.
She had applied her maquillage with care. Ms Willoughby, the nation’s sweetheart, who had returned from holding down a beach in the Algarve, was ready for her personal D-day.
Is it something to do with Brexit, they must have been wondering in the foreign offices of Washington, Paris and Berlin? The rest of the world must think we are mad. Its collective breath cannot have been so bated since Neville Chamberlain announced to the nation in September 1939 that Britain was at war with Germany.Īt any rate, the executives at This Morning had chosen to give Phillip Schofield’s consensual affair with a male colleague, and his subsequent fall from the sofa, the gravity and import of a national disaster. The nation waited with bated breath for Holly’s message.
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