Katie's Price

This blog has been a Katie Price-free zone for a while now, which is good because I'd just about run out of analogies for describing the tangerine travesty. But I'd be neglecting my duties if I didn't acknowledge her latest assault on all that is good and true.

There are people out there who still defend Katie, claiming that she's a 'good businesswoman' as though that's some kind of character reference. Fred West was a dab hand at DIY, but that didn't make him a good person.

Anyway, the point is, Katie has singlehandedly proved that an utter dearth of talent, competence and humility is no obstacle to money-making. Everything she's turned her grasping claws to has inexplicably proved successful - no matter how ridiculous the concept. Want you horse to look like a whore? Katie's equestrian range can take care of that.

But it looks as though this plastic-uddered cash cow has finally been milked dry. She's been working the media circuit this week to promote her new single 'Free To Love Again'. Insistent on doing more damage than the Ceti Eel that crawled into Chekov's ear in Star Trek II, Katie has decided to resurrect her dreams of becoming a pop star.


It's not the first time she's stood in front of a microphone and wondered where she's supposed to stick it. She famously attempted to represent the UK at Eurovision in 2005, and performed in a stretched pink PVC catsuit that struggled to contain her pregnancy.

She now claims that her 'Making Your Mind Up' appearance is the only thing in her career is the only thing she regrets, showing just how detached from reality she is. But in characteristically self-absorbed fashion, she chooses to blame everyone else for her poor showing: "I felt like I was used, actually. I feel that as soon as they found out I was pregnant, that Javine won. I mean how fixed is that? Still, that's a long story."

A couple of years later she teamed up with husband Peter to unleash a whole album's worth or torturous reinterpretations of classic love songs, which had all the believability of the couple themselves. It was not a success.

Still, third time's the charm, and this time Katie's come prepared. In a series of interviews and public appearances this week, she's been talking up the single with all the enthusiasm and pride it deserves. Perhaps anticipating a negative response, she argues that she won't be disappointed if she doesn't hit the top of the charts: "It's a bit of fun. I'm not a singer. There's no way I'm a singer, but I love singing, if that makes sense." Having heard the song, I'm not sure who she thinks is going to be having any 'fun' as a consequence.

She may claim to be doing this for the fans (a cruel and unusual punishment, but nothing more than they deserve) but it's clear that, despite what she says, she's gutted that people aren't queuing up in HMV to buy a song that wouldn't have made the grade as a Gina G album track. She's blaming the radio stations for not playing her song, saying "There'll be people that will say 'I'm not playing that song, it's not credible enough." Or maybe because it's fucking awful.

And that's the real problem with this whole debacle. People will be quick to criticise Katie's record, arguing that it's trashy pop garbage. In doing so, they'll be condemning all the artists who make pop with passion, creativity and enthusiasm. These artists might not use real guitars, they might not even sing live - but their energy, imagination and ear for a good tune is unquestionable.

Pop is not music that will change the world - let's leave that to 'serious' musicians like Bono and Chris Martin. But it's no less worthwhile. Sometimes, all it takes is three and a half minutes of escapism to transform a bad day into something tolerable.

Unfortunately, having watched Katie sleep-walk through a badly mimed 'performance' on GMTV, I might need some remedial pop therapy to turn my day around...

One of you will be fired

OK, so I've got this great idea for a TV show. A bunch of hopefuls have to compete for a job by undertaking a variety of soul-destroying tasks, with unsuccessful candidates sacked for our viewing pleasure. What's that? Already been done?

No worries, I'm sure GMTV will buy it anyway. After all, they attempted to capture some of the X-Factor's bottled lightning with its own talent contest - Number One Family.

Although maybe it's best if we don't dwell on that. Winners Beardsmith didn't exactly set the charts alight - not sure whether anyone mounted a Facebook campaign to stall their assault on the charts. They were clearly the judges' favourite, and let's face facts, no-one knows talent like Bernie Nolan.

What's not to love about GMTV, it's the televisual equivalent of Meals on Wheels. All those soft pastels, gently animated weather maps, and charming emails from viewers in Norfolk. Nothing too shocking or confrontational, just warmly condescending presenters and a sense that everything's just a few years out-of-date, like the yellowed newspaper pages you discover when you lift the carpet in an old house.

Hang on a minute. It looks like they've already got their own Apprentice knock-off. But here's the twist - they're using their own presenters as the contestants. You see, budgets are tight at GMTV, and somehow they've got to find a way of making the show even cheaper.

So the axe is going to fall on two presenters. But who will it be? According to one leading paper (no prizes for guessing which one), they're all twitching with anticipation as they wait to discover who's for the chop.

The news story suggests that Ben is safe, since he's a 'massive face on the channel' (although he could just try sitting back a bit), and new girl Emma Crosby is pretty in a 'Young Conservatives' sort of a way so she'll be OK too. But the rest of them are getting on a bit and have the collective charisma of a damp Warburton's loaf. It's anyone's guess really.

I'm sure some critics will moan that it's inappropriate for the public to be told that redundancies are about to be made before the employees find out what's what. But they don't understand how TV drama works.

If GMTV really wants to make the most of this, they'll open the phone lines and start compiling highlights tapes for each of the presenters. Lorraine Kelly can even be on standby to offer consolation and platitudes, and maybe they could rope Brian Friedman in to coach them on giving their presenting style a bit of pizazz.

And since The Apprentice has been pushed back to the summer this year, they could get Sir Alan in for a quick interview, then get him to do the firing live on air. Now you tell me that wouldn't be worth waking up for?

Attack of the couch people

Daytime TV presenters are a curious bunch. Bland, unthreatening and largely pointless, like the human version of a sugared almond, they spend their entire lives empathising with overweight women and soap opera stars from the safety of a chenile couch.

Occasionally, they'll remind their producers of their 'serious' journalism background, and will be thrown a conciliatory bone, such as five minutes to grill Ed Balls on educational reform. Usually, these asinine interrogations are like watching Jeremy Paxman with his hands tied behind his back and a mouth full of peanut butter.

But in the last week, a couple of these pastel people have tired of half-hearted interviews with craven book-wavers and pissed-off pensioners, and decided to bare their fangs. Their inspiration? Queen of the Divas, Mariah Carey.

First up was Philip Schofield, a man so soft and cuddly he comes with a tog rating. Poor old Phil grew tired of waiting for Mariah to show up for the pre-recording of her interview with This Morning, and took to Twitter to vent his frustration. In a series of whinging updates he complained about delays caused by Mariah's late arrival and indecision about what outfit to wear, before poking fun at the size of her entourage.

Although Phil probably felt that he was playing the role of acerbic social commentator, he really just ended up sounding like a yokel describing his first (and only) encounter with showbiz royalty. Presumably This Morning's usual calibre of guest would arrive in a minicab and eat a Boots Shapers sandwich whilst applying their own make-up.

This week, it was GMTV presenter Kate Garraway's turn to take a pop at La Carey, with another tedious tale of Mariah's high maintenance lifestyle. Breathlessly recounting the mesmerising details, Garraway claims "I've heard a lot of rumours about her being a diva over the years and guess what? It turns out it's all true! While Mariah was very nice, the amount of people she had in her entourage was hilarious."

Directly contradicting her promise of 'hilarity' Kate's exasperating expose amounts to little more than the fact that Mariah's image is extremely well managed. Her stylists ensured that her dress wasn't crushed when she sat down, others made sure she was filmed from the right angle, and here's the doozy - she brought her own toilet paper. If I was a multi-millionaire, I'd make sure that certain basic home comforts were always taken care of. And let's face it, there's no way Mariah would take any chances with low-fi loo roll tarnishing the plushness of her pudenda. 

Interestingly, Kate wasn't even present when the 'hilarious' japes took place, she just picked up the crew's gossip when she clocked in later. Which makes her attempt at creating a showbiz exclusive even more lazily inappropriate. Of course, reports of Mariah's diva-esque demands are plentiful, but there's something particularly redundant about these toothless wonders sharpening their gums and going after such an easy target. Especially when both of them have to grudgingly acknowledge the fact that Mariah was both pleasant and personable.