He wants your sex, apparently

It's almost the end of January, but sunny days and bright evenings still feel so far away. Every day is like watching an Ingmar Bergman retrospective. In the original Swedish. It's no wonder half the country is wandering around in a fug, complaining of Seasonal Affective Disorder.

Unless, of course, they're George Michael. Having £120 million in the bank means you can afford to follow the summer around the world, so the only clouds you need ever see are the ones that occasionally form in your bong water. 

Rather than terrorising London's photo developing shops, everyone's favourite mishap-prone Greek (besides Prince Philip) is currently living it up in Sydney, where he divides his time between a rented cliff-top apartment and suites at the Park Hyatt Hotel. In the afternoons he likes to pop into The Hunky Dory Social Club for a glass of white wine, and can often be found grabbing a bite to eat at The Manta Ray restaurant. 

Whether it's the sun, the lifestyle or the countless burly truckers, something about Australia seems to agree with George. And the feeling's mutual - George is still very big down-under, as if all that distressed denim he used to wear left us in any doubt. 

I'm sorry, what was that? You don't care where George Michael stopps off for a chilled Chablis? Well somebody must. Otherwise, why else would the Daily Mail choose to run an entire article about his Australian exploits? 

Reading between the lines (few of which seem to actually connect with one another), the poorly-written story isn't really about George's recreational activities. It's just another opportunity to paint gays with a broad brushstroke, as a subspecies of sexually deviant hedonists. 

It starts out accusing a fan of posting a fake George Michael profile on 'Scruff', a networking app for guys into "bears, furred, inked, uniformed, jocks, geeks and more." This, despite the fact that the leader on the paper's homepage incorrectly states that his profile is on the "sordid site Grindr". 

Six paragraphs in, and the story changes. Now, the paper has decided that it's George himself who has created the profile, using the name 'Sydney rocks'. Another three paragraphs later, it's back to an official spokesperson for the singer, who says "We hear about stories like this all the time and they always turn out to be pranks." So is it George, or an overzealous fan? In the Mail's eyes, it doesn't really matter. 

Interestingly, the writer even makes reference to the fact that George was happy to "rub elbows with the hoi polloi" - a disingenuous statement that manages to make him sound like an aloof elitist, even as it acknowledges that that's not the case at all. And anyway, if he is on Scruff or Grindr, it's not their elbows that he's interested in rubbing. 

But who cares about things like facts and narrative, when you've got a lifestyle to disparage? It's far more important to reference George's entourage of "shrieking male pals" or the fact that he's been busy "painting Australia’s largest city pink for the last month." 

This lazily homophobic article comes as no surprise, especially from a paper which recently caricatured two gay men excluded from a Christian-run bed and breakfast as swastika-tattooed Nazis. Or that ran a Melanie Phillips column this week, lamenting the fact that "just about everything in Britain is now run according to the gay agenda." 

If there is such a thing as a gay agenda, it's been developed by mean spirited tabloid hacks to portray the gay community as a bunch of insidious, morally bankrupt "McCarthyites". They're keeping their fingers crossed that, rather than looking for evidence and reason, their readership will be willing to take it on Faith. 

Got an itch that needs scratching?

According to the old saying, everything is for sale, if the price is right. And a couple of stories making the news today suggest that there may be some truth in that old adage.

Over in Australia, reality TV has a less than stellar reputation, since the 2006 incident when two men had to be ejected from the Big Brother house for giving a turkey slap to a female housemate. But now TV producers are taking things to extremes with the announcement that a new show is being filmed in which virgins will be auctioned off to the highest bidder.

Fledgling fornicators were recruited using posters depicting the Virgin Mary, with the caption reading 'Virgins Wanted', and the contestants will be paid $20,000 plus 90 percent of the winning bid. Best of all, lucky TV viewers will be able to watch the deflowering since "the virgins' first sexual experience will be filmed for viewers".

It hasn't all been plain sailing for the plucky production team though - they've had to film the documentary in Nevada, since the virgins could be charged with prostitution if the transaction took place in Australia.

Of course, the contestants see things rather differently, with one virgin claiming "Technically I'm selling my virginity for money, technically that would be classified as prostitution, but it's not going to be a regular thing, so in my head I can justify that I'm not going to be a prostitute." Well, you certainly can't say she hasn't thought this through.

However, it's not guaranteed that their maiden voyage on the Good Ship Cherrypop will be the magical experience they're hoping for. So the contestants might like to know that an innovative British business is offering just what they need to leave their first sexual partner with a lasting memory of the occasion.

The unambiguously named crabrevenge.com offers a resaonably priced vial of pubic lice for 'novelty purposes' and seems to be particularly popular with people going through a difficult break-up. The homepage of the site features the disturbingly misogynistic strapline "Make that bitch itch" although, presumably, women can buy the lice too.

I guess stitching mackerel into someone's curtain lining or taking photos of a rectal exam using a toothbrush are just so last season.

The people who run the business claim "We sell you crabs to give to your ex-girlfriend or whoever has pissed you off enough to make you seek revenge on them.. If you want a method of revenge that doesn’t involve permanent damage, risk of personal injury or jail time, you have come to the right place."

For the bargain price of £34.99, you can buy the deluxe red package which features "Shampoo Resistant F strain Crabs. These crabs are almost impossible to get rid of and have been through over a year of selective lab breeding to be the most aggressive and most reproductive species on the planet! This species can take up to two weeks to get rid of and apparently bite so much they cause the victim to scratch themselves raw..."

Sex may sell, but in this brave new world of ours, everyone pays for it.

Anything she can do...

With his ex-wife Kerry Katona dominating the red-tops in a PR campaign that would have Max Clifford touching himself inappropriately, it's easy to forget about Brian McFadden. Although, if I'm completely honest, it's never been particularly easy to remember him either.

As part of the world's most popular boyband, he did little more than stand left-of-centre to stop his smaller bandmates from falling over. Perhaps inspired by Kerry's own career-sabotaging decision to leave Atomic Kitten right before they hit the big time, Brian walked away from Westlife to focus on his family. But within six months he was walking again, this time away from his wife.

What Brian had actually meant by 'focus on his family' was 'focus on his solo career' - and he got off to a great start with a number one single he cowrote with Guy Chambers. But public interest faded pretty quickly, and by the time his debut album's campaign was finished, so too was his relationship with Sony BMG.

Ever the optimist, Brian trotted out the age-old euphemism for 'I was dropped by my label' by claiming that they had simply parted ways because he wanted to have creative control over his music.

Since then, he's been based down under where he's continued plugging away at his music career and singer-songwriter Delta Goodrem. Now, with his third album on the horizon, he's hoping to take the world by storm.

With a cool new 'electropop' sound, and an appalingly naff title, Wall Of Soundz could be Brian's ticket back to the top. After all, as he says "People are loving the music... and they're thinking 'This doesn't really sound like Brian McFadden'." Which is probably a good thing for everyone concerned.

Although his sophomore release was limited to Australia (since Brian 'chose' not to release the record in Ireland or across Europe where people might have some fleeting familiarity with him), Brian thinks this one could be big: "My last album suited certain places. This is the first time I feel like I can take a record everywhere because it suits radio everywhere in the world at the moment."

It's easy to scoff at such blind self-belief, but as his ex-wife's media transformation has proved, there's no limit to the amount of successful comebacks that one person can enjoy.

Is this microphone on?

Ever since they first met on the set of Disney's Mickey Mouse Club, Britney and Justin have been in and out of each other's lives. By the late nineties, they were spending so much time at the top of the charts that they could have claimed squatters' rights and stayed there indefinitely. They also made an appealingly perky couple, and often talked about their infatuation for one another.

However, their inevitable break-up drove a huge wedge between the onetime Mouseketeers, with Britney hitting the burritos and Justin reinventing himself as everyone's favourite wonderbread R&B star. But after all this time apart they've both been in the news this week, thanks to their inimitable vocal stylings; one for the sounds they make, the other for the sounds they don't.

After an epic meltdown worthy of the closing moments of Terminator 2, Britney's big comeback caused a bit of a stink on the X-Factor last year. Not only did she seem oblivious to the fact that she was appearing on a talent show, her perfomance involved little more than stamping around a stage in a pair of hotpants, and jabbing her finger at Brian Friedman's dance troupe. Now it seems that her live appearances are getting her into hot water all over again.

She's just landed in Australia on her world tour, but not everyone's happy about it. The Australian government is worried that Britney's fans are being duped into paying over the odds to see a singer who's microphone isn't even switched on.

Virginia Judge, the aptly named Minister for Fair Trading for New South Wales, wants to ensure that people know what they're letting themselves in for when they pay up to $1,300 per ticket. Although Judge has the public's best intentions at heart, it's safe to assume that few people will be buying Britney tickets in the hope of hearing a kick-ass vocal. It's a bit like going to McDonalds with a taste for lobster bisque.

But Justin's voice has also been hitting the headlines this week, for very different reasons. In his quest for silver screen superstardom, Justin has signed up for his biggest movie role yet. Although it's one that may take some of his fans by surprise.

Following hot on the heels of the Scooby Doo franchise, a big screen movie about ursine picnic basket-stealer Yogi Bear has been greenlit, with JT signing on to provide the voice of permanently perturbed sidekick Boo Boo.

Although Justin showed off his comedic chops in Mike Myers' recent flop The Love Guru, it's hard to tell whether he's likely to be successful as an anthropomorphic bear cub.

Still, I can't help but wonder whether the producers missed a trick when it came to casting. Since Boo Boo's outfit consists solely of a little blue bowtie, they might have tried out a different R&B singer in the role. After all, CGI is pretty expensive, and Chris Brown could have at least provided his own wardrobe.