[Omah]

‘Hold it right there, sister,’ shouts a familiar, porky voice. ‘There is no one on the planet to compare with moi. So don’t even try it.’

A frisson of something runs around the hotel room. Let’s call it fear. Miss Piggy clip-clops quickly across the petal-strewn floor, her hooves sheathed in her custom-made glitter Louboutins.

Up close, Miss Piggy smells of jasmine and cordite, with a faint tang of smoky bacon crisps somewhere in the mix. Her snout is like a giant pink marshmallow and she is rather beautiful but oddly terrifying. She’s an enigma, wrapped in a riddle, covered in crackling.

There is a trumpety little vibrato in her voice which seems to suggest suppressed anger. After a long period languishing at the lower levels of the celebrity stratosphere - Miss Piggy has made a triumphant comeback.

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