Marbella's got talent?

Apologies for having been away for a but the tourist season has finally got underway in earnest, and sun lover that I am, I found it impossible to leave my new summer office (a laptop-sized space at the beach club roughly halfway between the San Miguel fridge and the Hawaiian Tropic Boutique). But having shaken the sand out of the iMac and returned the sunbed to the upright position, Slitherer is ready and raring to through himself into the heady and hedonic summer social scene, wearing my rather fetching Dolce & Banana thong. I’ve spared you the photo.

Summer marks the end of the football season, and, like a band of blinged up lemmings, most of the Premiership’s finest make a headlong charge to the costas. David Bentley (who owns the Buddha Beach club), Ryan Giggs, Shay Given, Aaron Lennon, Carlton Cole and Jermaine Jenas have all been spotted in and around Marbella, and wherever you’ll find footballers, you’ll find WAGs, those large breasted, slingback wearing, dyed blonde, tabloid kiss-and-tell specialists. They are not, however, known for their intellectual capacity. One of the rumours that was circulating at the beginning of the summer was that the entire Chelsea squad were having a boys' weekend in Puerto Banus. And one of Slitherer’s colleagues, paparazzi of some repute, spotted a WAG enjoying a little, ahem, offshore “Dirty Dorsal Dancing” in the Mediterranean with an athletic tattooed male type. When my camera carrying friend asked said dizzy blonde what she’d been up to, she giggled and said she’d been “’avin a bit of fun with a guy who says he’s one of Chelsea’s second team” My friend then had to inform her of the fact that

A) Chelsea, were, in fact, in Las Vegas and

B) Chelsea doesn’t have a second team….

Summer also tends to bring television crews down all eager to get a slice of the action. Now we’ve had some really appalling TV shows about Marbella – Costa del Dosh and the Marbella Belles spring most readily to mind, and they all seem to show that people gain 10 pounds and lose 1000 points of IQ when a camera crew shows up.

The latest to visit was ex Mirror editor, “Britain’s Got Talent” judge and Jeremy Clarkson sparing partner Piers Morgan. Being one of the most recognisable lounge lizards on the coast (normally spotted snoozing on the Chesterfield by the empty ice bucket) Slitherer was approached by the production crew, who explained that, as in previous “Piers Morgan on…” shows where visited Monte Carlo and Dubai, Piers wanted to go behind the larger lout stereotypes and find the real stories of people who lived on the coast. This all sounded refreshing and I put them in touch with several people and businesses that fitted the bill.

Fast forward to the week that they actually arrived and there had obviously been a change of angle. Appointments were missed, due to Piers’ “illness” (perhaps caused by the night before) or filming arranged to be cancelled 20 minutes before – a tad annoying for restaurants that had closed off sections to ensure that “la Morgan” could conduct his interviews. One Marbella real estate legend was repeatedly questioned about prostitutes as she was showing Piers around a million pound mansion, while both Sir Alan Sugar and David Bentley, who presumably have run into Piers before, flatly refused to be interviewed, knowing that they’d be stitched up.

So who did Piers interview for a real taste of Marbella and where? Non other than Wayne Lineker, brother of England footballer Gary, in his bar Lineker’s, a favourite of the stag and hen night crowd in Puerto Banus, followed by spending the day at Nikki Beach’s champagne spraying party, the favoured hangout of the rich and vacuous, where he interviewed Bianca Gascoigne, daughter of Gazza , Z list celebrity, and “glamour model” who, last time Slitherer checked, didn’t own property here, so was hardly qualified to talk about anything, apart from here latest boob job.

I will probably watch “Piers Morgan on Marbella” in much the same way as I did “Doctor Who” when a small boy.

From behind the sofa with my fingers in my ears….