The Wag's Diary (Alison Kervin)****

I know I’m supposed to admire Wags for being so well-dressed but I’m really not sure if they’re the ideal role models. Just because Victoria Beckham can cope with being Size 0 when she has three young boys, a ‘busy life’ as the wife of a footballer and a career as a fashion designer (and sometimes a ‘singer’) – not to mention the fact she seems to spend half her life shopping, which is exhausting – it doesn’t mean everyone in the world can cope with being Size 0, and it certainly doesn’t mean people ought to try.

Your health is a million times more important than how you look, and you certainly shouldn’t risk your health just because some footballer’s wife is skinny enough to fit down a drainpipe. I’m Size 0 because I have problems with my stomach, but if anyone decided to start copying me I’d be horrified. It really isn’t that good being thin. I’ve probably only got my stomach condition in the first place because I didn’t have the life skills to feed myself properly when I went to study away from home. Now I can’t eat enough to get myself up to a healthy weight, and I have dizzy spells all the time. People who try to get this thin on purpose are morons. And Louise Redknapp (who is kind of a Wag and isn’t Size 0) would agree with me.

As for the clothes thing, I’m just not interested, and if I do ever marry Gareth Southgate, which I won’t because he’s already married and there’s NO WAY I’m moving to Middlesbrough (it looks like a lovely place, but it doesn’t have the West End, and no I’m NOT talking about shops). But anyway even if Middlesbrough was relocated to London and I did somehow end up being a Wag (according to this book, football managers have Wags too), I WOULD NOT start wearing short skirts and little tops and high heels to football matches. I’d rather DIE. There’s only one kind of top you should wear to football matches (and no I am NOT giving you fashion advice) and that’s a shirt featuring the team you most want to win. High heels are stupid because there’s a million steps to go up and I fall over when I’m wearing them on flat ground and how are you supposed to jump up and down when your team scores if you’re wearing heels? Skirts are okay, but not without underwear. It’s too cold, and if I want to relax and sit with my legs open like my guy mates, I’d like to be able to do that without being indecent. And if you think it’s indecent for me to have my legs open under any circumstances – well, all your idols do it! That’s how we know they’re wearing no knickers.

Tracie Martin, the fictional Wag in this novel, is the Waggiest Wag in the universe. She spends most of her time thinking about hair extensions (I’ve never knowingly even seen a hair extension: if you want long hair, just grow it, that’s what I say) and what she’s going to wear to her husband Dean’s next match. So it should really be the most boring book in the universe for me. And some of the time, it is. But it’s also really funny because (I hope) Tracie is an exaggerated version of a Wag, and the way she worries about things I’ve never even heard of is hysterical. And her driving is worse than mine, which is always nice to see.

Tracie is completely ridiculous – but she is a very nice person, and that’s part of what makes the book really fun. We’re not just reading about some bitch we’re expected to admire for her dress sense. We’re reading about a not particularly intelligent but really lovely person who happens to care very much about clothes. I can put up with the clothes business and the hair business and the makeup business (although I’d rather die than go shopping with her) because it’s great to read about such a likeable character. A lot of the time, we’re laughing at her for being so stupid, but always in a very sympathetic way. Tracie always means well. And it’s not like I’ve never done something stupid. Maybe not in the last half-hour or so, but certainly in the last hour.

Alison Kervin clearly knows both football and Wags very well, which makes the book even better. Tracie’s daughter is named Paskia Rose, which is somehow the most perfectly Waggish name I can think of. I’ve never heard of anything called Paskia (maybe she was born at Easter?), but it’s not a real name, and that’s all that matters. Tracie wants Paskia to grow up to be a Wag like her, but unfortunately she takes after her father, Dean, and is a very gifted footballer. The only difference between Dean and Paskia is that Paskia always scores into the right net. (I do find it a bit hard to swallow that Dean once played for Arsenal, but I suppose even Ashley Cole played for Arsenal.)

The only thing I don’t like about this book is that Tracie becomes a hugely famous blogger. Apart from the fact I don’t like reading about writers, and I especially don’t want to have to read samples of their work (it does seem a bit like Kervin is congratulating herself on her own writing ability every time a character says how great Tracie’s writing is). But Tracie’s blogs are hysterically funny. And they really are great and it's not surprising everyone loves them. And yes, I am jealous!

There is a serious storyline in this book but it’s really a bit weak. It is interesting but it’s a lot less original than the rest of the book and I don’t think even mild child abuse really fits in with a comedy. Also, some parts of the story are left unresolved at the end as Tracie seems to have forgotten about them. But perhaps we’ll find out more in Kervin’s sequel – which I’m really looking forward to reading.