Following a nasty experience with some wrongly-cooked mushroom stew. three dead English ladies - Agnes, Sophie and Tracey - arrived at the Pearly Gates.
“Hey! It’s your lucky day, girls!” A delighted St Peter explained. “We’re testing this brand-new Heavenly Tardis and you will the very first to try it out. |So before you enter Heaven, you can choose to go and spend the days being anyone you like!”
First came Agnes, a full-strength monarchist from Kensington ::: “I have always dreamt of being the Queen.” > > and Whoosh!! There was Agnes in Buckingham Palace, pinning on the medals and enjoying a sumptuous banquet.
Next came Sophie, a full-on pop music devotee from Birmingham ::: “I have always dreamt of being Taylor Swift”> > and Whoosh!! There was Sophie performing at a huge concert, singing away in he glittering knickers, strumming optimistically on her guitar and soaking up the applause of her thousands of fans.
Last came Tracey, a full-time nymphomaniac from Essex ::: “I have always dreamt of being Zaharrah Pippelina - at least I think that’s how you say it in Italian, She leads my perfect life.”
St Peter looked askance ::: I’m so sorry, Tracey, but we do not seem to have any ‘Zaharrah Pippelina’ on our books. Are you quite sure she’s real?”::: “Oh yes, St Peter, she’s real alright. I read everything about her in the Financial Times.”
St Peter examined the tattered press clipping which Tracey of Essex provided. It read: “Sahara Pipeline laid by 1.800 men in 100 days.”