Forever Autumn

Welcome to the penultimate post of 2010. It's been a year of ups and downs, with more than a few sideways glances. And as we sweep up the remains of the decade, along with all the tattered wrapping paper and empty vodka bottles, there's time to take a quick look as what Autumn brought us, in addition to a skip-load of damp leaves.

The month of September got off to a great start for Peter Hitchens, who felt he'd finally identified the smoking gun that confirmed what he'd always suspected - that the BBC leans to the left. No-one had the heart to point out that the telling bulge in the corporation's corduroy slacks had given the game away years ago.

Elsewhere in the pages of the Daily Mail, the knives were drawn for Lady Gaga, Davina McCall and Chloe Mafia. The paper's ill-concealed misogyny spilled out all over the place, as these women were attacked for being too calculating (Our Lady of the Tenderloin), too liberal (Big Mutha) or too slutty (do I really need to point that one out?).

However, it was clear that the real enemy of our traditional British sensibilities, was the growing Islamification of this great nation, as evidenced by the pernicious spread of Halal McNuggets. It was clear, to the Mail at least, that although most people don't give a Towering Zinger about what they put in their mouths, they do care about which religiously associated slaughtering methods are being used in the abattoir.

Which leads me rather neatly onto 'Fuck You' - Cee Lo Green's chart-topping, foot-tapping, profanity spouting retro throwback. Although a radio friendly version was released (managing to squeeze an extra syllable into the title), it was the explicit version that really caught people's imagination. And it was just one of a number of fairly innocuous pop songs, spiced up with some dockyard language. In the past, singers have recommended gargling with warm, salty water before going onstage - these days they'd be more in need of soap and water.

The first few Christmas decorations were already popping up in certain stores, so naturally our thoughts turned to gifts - even though we planned to leave buying anything until the last minute, certain that our postal service wouldn't be impeded by any seasonal snowfall.

Answering the age-old question 'What do you buy for the man or woman who has everything?', we discovered a rare malt whisky distilled from diabetics' piss, a pearl necklace of sculpted silver semen, and a new women's magazine aimed at plus-size ladies.

The publishers' timing couldn't have been better, since women's body size continued to be a big issue. Christina Hendricks complained that dress designers were unable to provide her with suitable red carpet couture, thanks to her abundant figure. Used to dressing stick-thin waifs of indeterminate gender, it's no wonder the designers struggled to dress a woman with more curves than an alpine racetrack. Nonetheless, the media's obsession with post-baby weight loss continued, as celebrity mothers were damned if they did and damned if they didn't.

P0pvulture took a trip Stateside in October to take in the delights of New York and San Francisco, most of which came with a gargantuan side order of fries and dipping sauce. The people were friendly, the shop assistants helpful and the choices varied. In fact, it was only the high prices that reminded me of home.

Meanwhile, X-Factor rolled on, giving the UK a fantastic new supervillain to hate. Apparently, these days you can be branded Satan's emissary on Earth just for having curly hair and an over-inflated opinion of yourself. Lookout Mika, they'll be coming for you next.

The Jackass boys launched another assault on taste, decency and each other's genitals, this time in 3D. Apparently, the immersive nature of the technology makes you really feel like you're there. In this case, that means trapped in an airborne Portaloo.

Looking further afield, we followed closely the developments in Chile, as a major rescue effort was mounted to extract a number of miners trapped in a collapsed shaft. Thankfully, all the men were safely removed, although one found himself facing a different kind of jeopardy when both his wife and mistress turned up to celebrate his safe return.

Over in Spain, prostitutes were forced to wear high-vis jackets when working the rural roads - but struggled to accessorise their new outfits. And a different kind of sex scandal erupted in Italy, as children were removed from a prestigious school because of concerns about the sexiness of one of the teachers. You'd think the mothers of the children would be happy that their husbands finally showed an interest in attending parents' evening.

Concerned by a spate of gay suicides, Dan Savage launched the 'It gets Better' campaign, which saw a huge number of illustrious celebrities, and Ke$ha, create encouraging YouTube videos encouraging kids to rise above the bullies. Unfortunately, no-one pointed this out to Amanda Platell, who continued to churn out her own special brand of underwritten cruelty, directed at anyone who happened to catch her eye. Now, I'm reluctant to lower myself to her level, so I'll simply point out that she looks like a snow shovel coated in vaseline and leave it at that.

OK folks, tomorrow's the big one, as we count down the last two months of the decade. Please join me and we'll raise a celebratory glass of something to the year that once was.

Bully for you

Being a newspaper columnist must be a piece of piss. Flick through the papers every day, find a few snippets of news to comment on, and then email 800 words off to the editor on a Friday afternoon. Other than that, just stick a bulldog clip on the back of your head every couple of years and pose for a new headshot.

Which explains why Amanda Platell always looks so smug. Every week she gets to round up a few people she doesn't like (it must take her five days just to draw up a short-list) make a few ad hominem attacks, and then laugh all the way to the bank. Not that I imagine hers is a life with much laughter in it.

In today's edition of the Mail on Sunday, the Wicked Witch of West London takes potshots at Wayne Rooney, Cheryl Cole, Paul Gascoigne, Katy Perry, Russell Brand, Kate Moss, Evan Davies, Nick Clegg, Gordon Brown, Charlotte Church and even Ann Widdecombe. It's not so much an editorial as just throwing a handful of darts at a rolodex.

I wouldn't mind so much if the writing showed any kind of incisive insight. Unfortunately, what we get are gems like "Cheryl Cole proudly poses beside her Madame Tussauds’ dummy and says: ‘It’s mind-blowing, it looks so real.' I’m not so sure. One of them’s got lifeless hair extensions, painted-on tan, improbably pert breasts, acrylic nails and an expressionless forehead.
And the other one’s a waxwork." Someone give the woman Noel Coward's dressing gown - she's earned it.

Maybe it's just yesterday's post weighing on my mind, but I can't help feeling that Amanda is just another malicious bully, although with a slightly bigger vocabulary than the average wedgie-giver. As a die-hard conservative, she longs for simpler, more gentile times when people were nice to one another. But she has to admit that she fully embraces all the ugliness and cruelty of what she dismissively labels 'Planet Celebrity'.

Here's hoping that someone takes pity on Cheryl, Wayne et al, and records an uplifting YouTube video for them. Hang in there guys and don't worry - It gets better.

It's getting hot in herre

Forget Cheryl Cole, Victoria Beckham and Colleen Rooney. Footballers' wives are old news. In the run-up to the impending general election, it's all about the PWAG.

Given that the three main party leaders have all the approachability of a hospital bin full of used needles, they're all dragging their wives out of the woodwork. Having seen the impact that Michelle Obama's poise, style and formidable upper-body strength had on the world's media, they're all keen to appeal to the masses by using their better, prettier halves.

Gordon Brown is sitting comfortably, safe in the knowledge that his unassuming wife has already done her bit to boost his reputation. Interestingly, Sarah is the UK's most popular Twitterer, with over 700,000 followers, overtaking Stephen Fry late last year. Rather worryingly, Mrs Brown has almost five times as many fans as the Labour Party's official feed.

Over in the Liberal Democrat camp, things are a little less encouraging. Despite Nick Clegg making a decent attempt at coming across as a regular guy on ITV last night, the Daily Mail is keen to point out the incontrovertible Spanishness of Miriam Gonzalez Durantez (AKA Mrs Clegg). They love the fact that she's unable to vote in the British elections because she's not a British citizen, and the not-so subtle reference to her 'stealing' Nick from one of her friends helps to portray her as a deceitful harlot.

But we can't expect them to show much interest in Sarah or Miriam, when that leggy icon of loveliness Samantha Cameron is around. In the least convincing display of "Oh gosh, how terrible I had no idea those pictures would ever come to light" since Pamela and Tommy went sailing, some early modelling shots of young Samantha have 'emerged'

Loosen your blazers boys, we've got a hot one right here.

Posing like an uncomfortable giraffe that's been rifling through Antonia De Sancha's wardrobe, Samatha's 'youthful modelling shots' manage to capture all her ravishing natural beauty and effervescence. Don't focus on the white tights (which belong on a Ricki Lake makeover segment) or the damson lipstick that makes her look like she's been chewing on a broken pen, just check out those gams.

In an uncharacteristically complementary article, Amanda Platell practically frigs herself into a coma over the conservative coquette's "enviable long legs" but interestingly makes no mention of her equally lengthy visage. I guess it's a case of horses (face) for courses, since what Amanda describes as "alluring" is more reminiscent of a drugged-up debutante waiting for her driver to turn up.

If nothing else, Platell should be ashamed of misleading viewers with the promise of a "risque fashion shoot" given that the pictures are about as sexually provocative as a recipe for bread and butter pudding. And any erstwhile smut-seekers are going to be very disappointed with the Google Image search results for 'Samantha Cameron shows pussy'.

You can't beat a bit of bully

OK, so writing a post in defense of Heather Mills feels rather counter-intuitive, like shepherding children back into a burning orphanage. But why exactly is there so much antipathy to one of the richest ex-wives in England?

Most of the blame clearly lies with the press, who were quick to portray her as the kind of wicked stepmother that even the Brothers Grimm would find outlandish. Then again, if you were put in the unenviable position of being stepmother to Stella McCartney, you'd be speed-dialling the bearded huntsman or pointing her in the direction of the nearest gingerbread cottage before the wedding breakfast was over.

Of course, Heather didn't help matters, having breakdowns on breakfast TV and turning the divorce court hearings into outtakes from Dynasty, minus the clip-on earrings. As a consequence, she's now fair game for anyone with a spare joke about prosthetic limbs.

So we shouldn't really be surprised that Baroness Blackheart, AKA Amanda Platell, saw the chance for a few lazy digs at Heather's expense, once she got her withered claws on some nefarious pictures of the ex-Mrs McCartney in training for Dancing on Ice. 

Platell's article claimed that Heather was 'desperate' to get on the show, and had recruited a trainer to help her - as though adequate preparation was something to be sniffed at. But the real ugliness came in the form of the Mail's now obligatory rhetorical questions: "Why does she roll up one trouser leg to show her prosthetic limb, yet leaves the other leg covered? Not still milking the sympathy vote, are we pet?"

Unsurprisingly, Heather's not too chuffed with Amanda's spiteful snippery, taking to Twitter to voice her disgust. "She said I kept my trouser leg rolled up to show off my prosthetic, UNTRUE. It was rolled up so Bob Watts the prosthetist could see the alignment and work out why I could not do crossovers without catching my blade and falling over."

The thing is, there's nothing new about Amanda Platell's uninformed, open-ended cruelty. The Daily Mail has been busy developing its signature bullying tone over time, and it's becoming more and more prevalent. Just take a look at the stories from the last week, and how they were headlined:

Can't remember your own songs Leona? 

If Cheryl Cole spends £200,000 a year on her appearance... who was responsible for this Halloween horror?
Get a bra, Britney!  

Mariah squeezes her voluptuous figure into a revealing leotard for new video (but only just)
Isn't it a bit cold for that Lady GaGa?

The snippy, supercilious tone that runs through all of these lines clearly positions the Mail as the journalistic equivalent of the immaculately dressed bitches that figure in most American high school dramas. They spot a weakness or insecurity and exploit it with little or no understanding of the context.

The cruel irony is that today's Daily Mail cover laments the tragic death of a woman who died in a house-fire, whilst trying to save her son, who had been teased for his learning difficulties. It seems that bullying is only ugly and cruel when someone else is doing it.

Now that's a party

We've all had the "what I'd do if I won the lottery" conversation. Some people want to buy their parents a new house, some people want to travel the world and then build a guitar-shaped swimming pool, and others want to give it all to a cats' home. The thing is, until you experience that kind of wealth, it's impossible to know how you'd really spend it.

Simon Cowell, on the other hand, has had the best part of decade to get used to the kind of wealth that even lottery winners can only dream of. We occasionally see glimpses of his fleet of supercars, or get to see the inside of his property portfolio when he brings the X-Factor wannabes to his home for the final selection process. But aside from that, little is known about how the flat-topped media mogul chooses to splash the cash.

This weekend however, the world was treated to a glimpse of the kind of bash you can stage with a £100 million-plus fortune. Arranged by his friend and business partner Sir Philip Green (and his wife Tina) the 50th birthday party boasted a wide variety of tacky but costly novelties, from baby sharks in the bathroom to 'Simon's Chicken Soup', which spelled out the birthday boy's name in pasta shapes. Velvet chairs, waiters wearing Cowell masks and Simon's image depicted on a fake Michelangelo ceiling, helped to complete the party theme. All in good fun, if not taste.

Reading like the index page of a celebrity gossip magazine, the guest list included Ryan Seacrest, Cheryl Cole, Dannii Minogue, Kate Moss, Naomi Campbell, Gordon Ramsay and Leona Lewis, plus pre-recorded messages from the Beckhams and Jennifer Aniston. But one person who clearly wasn't invited was poor old Daily Mail columnist Amanda Platell, who is in danger of becoming a p0pvulture regular.

In yet another spiteful screed, the hateful hack lays into every aspect of celebrity culture and manages to blame it for all the world's ills. Displaying an almost forensic hunger for details, she outlines every vanity-mocking element of the party, whilst choosing tactically to overlook Simon Cowell's notoriously self-deprecating humour and pragmatism - no doubt the real reason for the 60ft projection of the guest of honour or the army of Cowell-faced servers.

The article itself is arrogantly entitled "My verdict on Cowell birthday party... Vulgar, crass and so tacky" - as though anyone gave a shit about her opinion (unless of course she's deciding whether she would like to be drowned or hanged for her crimes against journalism). Picking her targets with all the precision of a five year-old firing a machine gun, Platell takes lazy pot-shots at every element of the party, missing no opportunity to condemn Cowell as a life-wrecking, narcissistic bully with a poor taste in friends.

Having expressed her distaste for the guest list, which she dismisses as "a sad reflection of Britain's 'Get-Rich-Quick' values" the postulating puff adder asks rhetorically, "Is it any surprise that a survey last week revealed that the aspiration of today's youngsters is to be the next Leona Lewis... or Wayne Rooney." As if this was a bad thing. Both her examples have made multi-million pound fortunes by their early twenties, based on talent and determination alone - I struggle to see how anyone could dispute their value as role models for the youth of today.

It's also unfortunate that Amanda misses the irony of critiquing the very culture that sustains her own career. Whether she's skinning them alive in her column, or eviscerating them on one of the many 'pop culture countdown' shows, Amanda's never happier than when vomiting into the hand that feeds her. She may lament the existence of these 'celebrity creatures' and 'shallow beasts' but they're the source of all her evil powers. Here's hoping someone drops a house on her before she finds someone else to write about.

Daily Heil does it again

If the newspapers are to believed (and God help us if they are) the biggest story currently gripping the nation is the change to the judging line-up on Strictly Come Dancing. Since the original announcement was made, the BBC has been beset with accusations of agism and attempting to fix something that wasn't broke, by replacing Arlene Phillips with series five winner Alesha Dixon.

This weekend the show returned to much fanfare, despite a line-up of celebrities so inauspicious they'd be hard pressed to muster a gig opening a supermarket between them. But all eyes were on new judge Alesha - was she up to the job, or was she just there to look pretty?

It's safe to say that Alesha didn't exactly burn up the screen with incisive commentary or catty put-downs. But she empathised well with the plight of the performers and gave constructive notes where she could. But this was not good enough for some people, with fans taking to the messageboards in their thousands to decry the BBC's decision and demand that the pretty singer be instantly axed.

Smelling the chance to roll around in some mindless cruelty, bitter Australian hack Amanda Platell sharpened her quill, dipped it in blood and wrote yet another staggeringly pointless article for the Daily Mail. As a regular talking head on those dreadful compilation chart shows that clog up the schedules whenever CSI Nantucket isn't on, it's a shame that Amanda misses the irony in condemning Alesha's for 'scaling new heights of inanity' and making 'asinine comments'.

Platell even manages to throw in some ad hominem attacks on Cheryl Cole, star of ITV's rival show X-Factor. Comparing Alesha to Cheryl, Platell concludes that they're both as vacuous as each other and have limited facial impressions, but Cheryl wins the day by having a saccharine sweetness and the ability to turn on the tears. Then again, we can hardly expect a cast-iron bitch like Amanda Platell to understand the nuances of human emotion. And given that her own face is about as warmly expressive as an angry scribble on a sandwich bag, the specifics of her critique seem particularly inappropriate.

But Amanda's not here to make friends, which is probably for the best, given her track record for upsetting people with her hateful columns and ill-concealed prejudices. Rather tellingly, Amanda uses an unfortunate turn-of-phrase in her character assassination of Alesha that indicates just how ugly some of her views are: "...we want a critical, intelligent, well-informed assessment of the performances, not the judging equivalent of being licked by a chocolate labrador."

Debate is currently raging as to whether Platell was making a racist remark in comparing half-Jamaican Alesha to a 'chocolate labrador'. Many people are arguing that it was simply an unfortunate slip of the keyboard, and an entirely innocent remark. However, I can't help but wonder. Kittens, puppies, labradors - all would have made for suitable similies. So why bring the colour of the dog into it? Especially when describing the first person of colour to join what has historically been an all-white judging panel.

Casual racism aside, Platell simply doesn't like Alesha because she's nice. Her article gives the impression that she would only be happy with a format change if it meant that each week's loser was hanged from the studio ceiling with their throat slit. After all, human sacrifices and supernatural pacts are the only logical explanation for how she manages to stay gainfully employed as a writer.