Stop the presses

Typical. The News of the World finally has its hands on an exclusive story that the rest of the world is dying to read about, and for once it's not about Lauren Goodger's tits, Lindsay Lohan's ankle monitor or Jason Gardiner's hair transplant. Unfortunately though, it's unlikely to affect the paper's readership figures, since this is one flagship that's already sailed. Finding itself in the unfortunate position of making the news, instead of breaking it, the News of the World has been forced to shut up shop. And Rupert Murdoch must be kicking himself about the shitty timing of this super soar-away scandal.

You might not realise this, but Murdoch wasn't always a bad guy. He may have spent the last twenty years learning how to shoot lightning bolts from his fingers, but back in the 1950s he was something of a young radical. As the son of an Australian news magnate, Murdoch's first acquisition was the Adelaide News, which was pivotal in overturning the death sentence given to an Aboriginal man called Max Stuart. Despite his belief that Stuart was guilty of the rape and murder of nine year-old Mary Olive Hattam, Murdoch was opposed to the death penalty and wrote a number of editorials and headlines in support of commuting Stuart's sentence to life imprisonment.

As Murdoch's biographer Bruce Page observed, Rupert's activism in this particular case was pivotal in defining his future career: "Murdoch galloped into action, but it was a bad fight for him. The truth is it scared him off from ever taking on governments again. He reverted to his father's pattern of toeing the line." But as his power and influence grew, Murdoch realised that it's much easier to toe the line when you're the one holding the chalk.

For years, he's been the unassailable leader of the world's second largest media conglomerate (after Disney), repeatedly bouncing back from countless attacks, even those made by commentators within his own organisation. Popular Fox shows like Family Guy and The Simpsons regularly take pot-shots at their shadowy overlord, although Matt Groening did come under fire from his corporate colleagues for depicting the inexplicably popular Fox News channel as "your voice for evil".

Despite the weight of public discontent against his propagandist techniques and love of media monopolisation, Murdoch continues undaunted in his quest to seize full control of BSkyB, with the buy-out so close his forked tongue can almost taste it. So there's a delicious irony to the fact that a crucial chink in his armour has finally been exposed by one of his own bestselling red-tops.

When the News of the World's unethical practice of phone-hacking first emerged, the outcry was somewhat muted. Although people were incensed at the paper's illegal tactic for sourcing celebrity 'exclusives', no-one was able to muster too much outrage over the fact that they'd been listening to Sienna Miller's voicemails. If someone had to endure Jude Law begging for another chance, the public figured "better them than us". Similarly, no-one got too upset that Max Clifford had been bitten by the mouth he'd been feeding.

However, things took a much darker turn last week when the full scale of the scandal was exposed. According to reports, the families of Milly Dowler, the 7/7 victims and military personnel who'd been killed in service, had also had their voicemails intercepted. Interestingly, Murdoch and his chief executive Rebekah Brooks were quick to issue carefully worded statements about the scandal. But if someone declares that the allegations are "deplorable and unacceptable", is that a criticism of the phone hacking itself, or the fact that someone has had the temerity to accuse his venerable news empire of underhand practices?

Ultimately, none of it really matters, since this is clearly a case of closing the stable door after the horse has tapped in its four-digit passcode and pressed record. Since the story broke, News Corp share prices have been dropping rapidly, leaving Murdoch with no choice but to shut down the country's favourite chip-wrapper. In a statement today, James Murdoch announced that "The News of the World is in the business of holding others to account. It failed when it came to itself. The good things the News of the World does ... have been sullied by behaviour that was wrong. Indeed, if recent allegations are true, it was inhuman and has no place in our company."

This Sunday will see the final edition of the 168-year-old newspaper hit the stands, and not a moment too soon. No doubt the Murdochs hope that this swift action will quieten the voices of discontent and smooth the passage of News Corp's satellite take-over bid. Even so, the scandal leaves us with a number of troubling issues that still need reconciling. For instance, I'd always assumed that whenever the papers ran another feature about Katie Price citing an 'unnamed source', it was Katie herself who'd been phoning the news desk to plant the story. This whole phone hacking scandal means that people like Katie may actually be innocent victims in all this. And I refuse to live in a world where Katie Price gets my sympathy.

Do it yourself

It's almost as if the world has actually stopped spinning. There is literally no news about anything. So what's a blogger to do?

I could try and write about Katie Price driving her hot-pink horsebox in a reckless manner. But would that really come as any surprise?

How about covering Pete Doherty's arrest over cocaine possession? That's like the Pope being arrested for wearing robes.

Oooh, hang on a minute. Lord Sugar has announced that the new Apprentice hopefuls are all 'credible'. Nope, can't really do anything with that either. They're all likely to be slick of hair, loud of mouth and wide of tie.

This is the problem with writing a daily blog - you're dependent on interesting or surprising things happening. Without them, it's just a random selection of words with little or no reason for being.

Since the celebrities of the world are unwilling to cooperate today, here's a 'build your own p0pvulture' - simply choose your own elements and chuckle away.

First, pick a name:

Katie Price, Amy Winehouse, Paris Hilton, Liz Jones, David Hasselhoff, Simon Cowell, Susan Boyle, Angelina Jolie, Demi Moore, Madonna, Jan Moir, Ann Coulter, Beth Ditto, Lady Gaga, Christina Hendricks, Louis Walsh, Posh Spice, Cheryl Cole, David Beckham.

Now choose a news item:

Cheating, smuggling, whoring, snorting, lying, quoting, slamming, driving, drinking, drinking and driving, adopting, bitching, Tweeting, auditioning, interviewing, singing, judging.

Kick off your sentences with a few loose conjunctions:

However, given that, on the other hand, with this in mind, nonetheless, it's funny, surprisingly, unsurprisingly, predictably, with, but and although.

Then finally throw in a few similes, a little alliteration and a couple of snippy remarks at the end of every other paragraph.

It's that easy. Let me know how you get on. And if you have any ideas for new posts, please let your blogger know...

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...

Walk a mile in her stripper heels

Scientists are a noble breed - devoting long hours in the laboratory attempting to unravel nature's greatest mysteries and, in the process, enhance the lives of millions around the world.

However, not all lab-coat-wearing boffins are dedicated to solving the inexplicable complexities of modern life. Instead, they spend their days attempting to define and categorise facts that require no further elaboration.

In fact, there's a whole scientific sub-genre focused on explaining things that are already accepted as common wisdom. Take Dr Christine Stanik of Michigan University, for example. She's conducted an extensive study into women's reproductive habits to deduce that bimbo's aren't quite the airheads we take them for.

Anyone who's ever had an argument about Katie Price (or is that just me) and has had to listen to the stories about what a great business woman she is, already knows the gist of Stanik's argument. It turns out that, although they may act like they have the IQ of a Marks & Spencer's prawn sandwich, these 'bimbos' are shrewd enough to plan for the financial future of their offspring.

It's scary to think that we live in a reality where the WAGs and Paris Hiltons of the world can be considered 'shrewd', but facts are facts. And unless you have a clipboard and a flip chart full of calculations, who are you to argue?

Apparently it's "only natural" for women with an underwhelming education and crappy career prospects to try and bag a wealthy husband. The Daily Mail's coverage of this story uses the example of Anna Nicole Smith to illustrate the point, reminding readers that she was dismissed as a "gold-digging blonde bimbo" when she married a billionaire 63 years her senior.

In typically sexist fashion, the Mail's article revels in the opportunity to dismiss sluts and career women in one fell swoop. Women are either avaricious whores or emasculating, power hungry monsters living "frantic lifestyles that [are] badly suited to stable relationships". Brilliant.

Still, in light of the revelation that these 'bimbos' are smarter than we give them credit for, we finally have conclusive proof that Kerry Katona is the stupidest woman on earth. Rather than "wooing a man who could provide a stable financial future", she opted for a Westlife-evacuee, Mark Croft, and now a white van man. It's nice to know that in these complicated times, there are certain immutable truths on which we can rely.

Reid between the lines

Thank heavens for old fashioned values. On November 4th, 2008, California voters didn't just elect Barack Obama to the highest seat in office, they also approved Proposition 8, which took away the rights of same-sex people to marry.

Those who actually understood what they were voting on, argued that they weren't being homophobic or discriminatory - they were simply fighting to uphold the sanctity of marriage. In their eyes, marriage is a sacred institution blessed by God, and needs to be respected as such.

So I imagine that glasses of sparkling non-alcoholic wine are being chinked all over the place, in celebration of the fact that Katie Price and Alex Reid were able to exchange their vows in a Las Vegas chapel.

This blessed union may have come as a surprise to some, given that Katie's commitment to the relationship seemed to rest on the toss of a coin. She publicly dumped him last year, after he made the mistake of speaking to the press about his proposal plans. After a hasty reunion, she spent most of his stay in the Celebrity Big Brother house hovering back and forth between pushing him away and pulling him up to the bumper.

However, as soon as it looked as though the square-headed scrapper might actually win the show, Katie's fierce business brain went into overdrive. Planning a campaign of activity with military precision, Katie engineered the whole engagement to maximise the revenue potential.

Speaking to the press, she carefully retracted the comments she'd made before about Alex using her fame for his own career, charitably adding "I said to Alex, forget my house, we should buy a house together. I'm going to downsize so we can both afford it."

Perhaps cognisant of the British public's cynicism about the authenticity of their union, Katie made sure no magazine photographers were present to capture the moment where they became victim and wife. However, the ITV2 crew were on hand to preserve the magical moment for Katie's ongoing documentary series, which has been running so long it makes Mahabharat look like a YouTube clip.

Just in case anyone was still in any doubt of their sincerity, Katie's spokesperson declared "Katie and Alex are delighted to announce they got married in a private, simple ceremony. Their decision to marry has not been made with any media deal in place. It is purely down to their love for each other." It's not often that a wedding announcement feels the need to point out that the couple are in love. I thought that was supposed to be the point.

While he was in the Big Brother house, Alex fell under the spell of Stephen Baldwin, who attempted to indoctrinate him in the teachings of the Bible. At the time, this made Alex look easily manipulated and rather foolish.

But maybe he's not just a used-to-be-pretty face. He claims that his newfound faith will help make his marriage work. Given that Katie is a 21st Century succubus, he's going to need all the supernatural assistance he can get...

I love to hate you

Call it the fickle finger of fame. One minute you're on top of the world, celebrating the title of 'Celebrity Mum of the Year' with a frozen king prawn ring, the next you're named as the most reviled person in the UK. Katie Price and Kerry Katona (both one-time holders of the prestigious parenting prize) have finished in first and second place (respectively) in a poll to determine the 'Most Hated Women in Britain'.

Voted for exclusively by women, this study is another shamelessly misogynistic attempt at encouraging women to fight amongst themselves. For example, check out today's Mail which features a deceitfully disingenuous article about Elaine Paige and Susan Boyle, claiming that Paige said "Susan Boyle is a virus".

As for the 'most hated woman' poll, a spokesman for the market research firm which conducted the study, said of the winner, "Just when she seemed to have endeared herself to the British public again it has gone wrong. Jordan has put her foot in it time and time again." Funnily enough, I think we're all well aware that it's Dane Bowers who put his foot in it, where Katie is concerned.

To be fair though, the top ten line-up is, collectively, about as appealing as a dose of SARS. With Peaches Geldof, Fiona Phillips, Gillian McKeith and Sadie Frost all vying for the top spot, it's like Sophie's Choice in reverse - Meryl Streep would be grabbing the gun and begging for a couple of extra bullets.

Curiously, the winner and runner-up have also managed to bag the most magazine covers and newspaper headlines in the last couple of years. So why is it that we're all so fascinated by the lives of people we just can't stand? Perhaps they're like cream cakes - we know they'll clog our arteries, but we find it hard to resist.

Look at Katie Price. Despite having all the warm likeability of Dolores Umbridge in bondage gear, she's convinced herself that she's a national treasure because her TV show is the most popular broadcast on ITV2 (I guess that means an audience in double figures). The problem is, she remains oblivious to the fact that the majority of viewers may well be tuning in just in case she happens to fall into a threshing machine.

Maybe once we understand why we're able to exalt and abhor at the same time, we'll be able to explain the greatest mystery of our time - Jedward.

I know you are but what am I?

As a graduate of the 'Black Kettle' school of name-calling, Katie Price knows a thing or two about condemning other people for her own shortcomings. At least this time it seems she's learned a new word - parasite. Perhaps someone left the National Geographic channel on over the Christmas break.

The target of Katie's wintry discontent is glamour model Chelsea White, which sounds more like an Essex nightclub than someone's name. Chelsea was a guest at Katie's lavish New Year's bash and made the mistake of sharing some badly filmed footage of the event on the internet.

Wheareas most people would simply be embarrassed by how dull the party appeared to be, Katie is furious that she's been 'scooped' in her own house. As with everything else in her life, the party was being covered exclusively by the camera crew for her woeful unreality show. That meant the guests had to sign a confidentiality agreement, as well as a pact with the devil, in order to attend. And it looks like Chelsea broke the contract by releasing the footage.

It's not the first time Katie has appeared in bootleg footage on the internet. Funnily enough, Dane Bowers was in that one too - well, his toe was anyway. Although if he really wanted to keep his feet warm, he should just have asked for some socks for Christmas.

Taking to Twitter for another one of her famously eloquent monologues, the Ned Sherrin of ITV2 wrote "NEVER trust chelseawhite.co.uk as a friend she is disloyal cant be trusted shes [sic] a grass she will make a quick buck off anyone a parasite." Katie's fierce moral code prevents her from approving of anyone who makes money through exploitative or manipulative means.

In fact, her boyfriend is in for a shock when he gets out of the Celebrity Big Brother compound because she's not happy with him either. Despite looking like a model of Daniel Craig built out of Duplo, he seems like a nice enough guy, but Katie has decided that he's not playing by her rules: “He’s living off my fame in there. He’s only famous because he’s with me anyway. He’s doing the exact opposite of what I told him to do! I can’t believe it.”

Is anyone else wishing she'd just put a sock in it? Or at least a foot...

The Fleshy Bits

Well, here we are on December 31st and what a year it's been. I've loved writing p0pvulture every day (mostly), and I hope you've enjoyed reading it. So I thought I'd mark the end of the year with The Fleshy Bits - p0pvulture's highly coveted awards for the people who helped to make 2009 so special...

The 'I'd Prefer to be Illiterate' Award goes to the champion of bad writing, the Daily Mail

With more factual inaccuracies than a Katie Price autobiography, and a glossy veneer of hate that would make Nick Griffin wince, the Daily Mail didn't just kill the respected art of journalism, it dug up its corpse and paraded around a farmyard wearing a suit made out of its skin.

During a particularly vintage year, Jan Moir got herself crossed off Ronan Keating's Christmas card list, and Amanda Platell replaced Grange Hill's Imelda Davies as the nation's most frightening female bully.

The 'Call the RAC' Award goes to non-stop car crash Kerry Katona

With a woeful taste in men to rival Eva Braun, unhappily married Kerry spent most of the last twelve months like a long-running collision, and the bonnet is still buckling. From the blow to the bipolar, there's not a bad decision Kerry didn't make. Having sustained her 'luxury' (tbc) lifestyle for far too long, Iceland finally cut their losses and ditched the Twizzler-munching half-wit. And you know you've hit rock bottom when one of the Nolans becomes a better bet.

Kerry's now on the processed white breadline, and has even been turned down by producers of Celebrity Big Brother. Maybe they prefer their breakdowns to be a little more drawn out, rather than taking place on the stairs of the compound.

The 'Hollowed-out Volcano for Rent' Award goes to uber-villain Simon Cowell

It's been an amazing year for the king of pap music. He's helped transform Cheryl Cole from a poorly written Viz character into Vera Lynn with better hair. He found a sartorially-challenged frump and turned her into the Second Coming, inspiring a generation of lonely, middle-aged cat-ladies to believe in themselves. And he lost the battle for Christmas number one.

He didn't even realise there was a battle to be fought, until a bunch of internet rebels took exception to his arrogant assumption that the top spot was his to bestow. But just like Keyser Soze, who convinced the world he didn't exist, Cowell will have the last evil laugh. He may have pretended to lose the battle, but there's no denying he'll win the war.

The 'Ignore Them and They'll Go Away' Award goes to ubiquitous bucket and professional fantasist Katie Price

Wherever you looked this year, you were certain to see a picture of Katie Price falling out of something - whether it was love, a nightclub or her outfit. For a while she'd convinced a good percentge of the population that 'Jordan' was her slutty, foul-mouthed and uncontrollable alter-ego. But if you're going to claim 'multiple personalities', there needs to be more than one discernible character.

The divorce from singing ironing board Peter Andre was only the beginning. Amongst this year's highlights were the claims that she may be suffering from swine flu, was a kidnapping risk, and was genuinely in love with a pug-faced cage fighter who looks less convincing in women's clothes than Anne Widdecombe.

She also continued to flog her equestrian accessories range, in the process distressing more horses than the lead in Equus. Ultimately, Katie proved that she would do anything to stay on the front of the papers, and the media were only too willing to comply.

The 'Most Over-used Tool Since Ron Jeremy' Award goes Photoshop

Newspapers and magazines have been feeling the pinch ever since the internet came along, leaving them more and more desperate to snag readers with any old tripe. And in the absence of actual news, they applied the pressure to already overworked graphic designers, in order to fill the extra space in their publications. As a consequence we've been treated to the pleasures of doctored film posters, creepy child pageant participants, and pictures of Kelly Clarkson, with enough flesh removed to create a spare American Idol winner out of the left-overs.

The 'I've Still Got A Crystal Set In the Attic' Award goes to flavour-of-the-month Twitter

In the good old days (according to Joan Collins) celebrities relied on a team of well-trained publicists to keep their darkest secrets from public scrutiny. These days, we're more likely to get real-time updates from our favourite stars as they tuck their feet into the stirrups and take a deep breath. Twitter has made it possible for people to give their 'followers' access to their innermost thoughts, even whilst navigating a tricky underwear hole or fending off a troublesome ex.

I could go on, but it's now 2010. So good luck in the new year, may all your dreams come true. Even the dirty ones...

Punch drunk love

It's been fairly quiet on the Katie Price front, since she packed up her tucker bag and flounced out of the jungle. Sure, she's still in the papers every day, but more like the awful cartoons on the crossword page that you never bother reading - you're just peripherally aware of their continued existence.

But a funny story emerged in the Daily Star today, alleging further trouble in Camp Katie. Despite the fact that we've seen her in various states of undress so often that most of the UK could sue her for sexual harassment, she's worried about being exposed in a different way.

According to the story, she's concerned that Alex Reid is going to talk to the press about 'the real Katie' - even if that is a contradiction in terms. Ever the soft-hearted romantic, Katie made Alex sign a confidentiality agreement when they first got together, guaranteeing that he would 'not speak publicly about Price'.

Pre-nuptial agreements are strange enough, but to sign legal papers before you even start dating is downright worrying. Still, the pantie-wearing pugilist proved that he knows a meal-ticket when he sees it, and managed to pull a fast one on Katie. Apparently, Alex 'outsmarted' Katie by signing the papers as his lipstick-smearing alter-ego Roxy, making the agreement null and void.

Admittedly, Katie could be outsmarted by a damp bath-mat, but for Alex to get the upper hand is even more embarrassing. And let's be honest, signing a contract with a woman's name is about as sophisticated a deception as signing an opinion poll "Donald Duck".

What's clear about this whole ridiculous story is that Katie isn't really worried about her secrets. In fact, the whole concept of privacy is as alien to her as the 'natural look'. Her real concern is that someone else is likely to make some money out of talking to the press about the ins-and-outs (not literally I hope) of her life.

Thankfully, our resourceful heroine has one more trick up the place where her sleeves would be if she wore them - she plans to keep Alex on side until he's appeared in Celebrity Big Brother next year. Then she'll dump him and move on. Warms the heart doesn't it?

Bye George

I've tried to steer clear of 'I'm a Celebrity...' this year, given the astonishingly low profile of most of the 'talent' occupying the camp beds. On the whole it's all been about as entertaining as a bra full of mealworms, and when that bra happens to belong to a passive-aggressive cleaner built like a WWF wrestler in a one-piece swimsuit, the appeal tends to wane pretty quickly.

It doesn't help that the incessant Iceland ad-break bumpers keep showcasing food that makes the bushtucker trials look edible by comparrison - any day now we're going to see Coleen Nolan tuck into a kangaroo anus in satay sauce.

Adding to the general sense of ennui is the fact that the camp has had more people walk out than the Sugababes. Camilla Dallerup gave up after a couple of days, citing 'exhaustion', then Katie price followed a few days later, having finally realised that the audience didn't like the look of her new Mursi-tribe inspired lips.

But the biggest blow to camp camaraderie was the departure of George Hamilton. Despite being exempt from virtually every task on health grounds, he soon established himself as one of the more likeable members of the camp, with his quick wit, gleaming smile and career that involves more than occasionally appearing in heat's 'spotted' column.

After a heart-to-heart with several members of the camp, George decided that he'd had enough and opted to take an early bath. Ostensibly, he did it out of love and respect for the show's other participants, but it's telling how that compassion manifested itself.

Explaining his reasoning to Kim, he said “Here’s the thing, I’m going to tell you what I’m thinking, they’re people who are starting careers... I’m not going to go head to head, so I’m thinking about leaving, pulling out tomorrow.”

The thing about celebrities is that they have to believe that there's an army of fans hanging on their every move. Just look at Katie Price - audiences would happily have voted for her to be bundled into a sleeping bag full of scorpions and beaten with an old hammock frame. But ask her why and she'd shrug and say it might be because the public love to watch her. 

It's the same with George. Whatever his real reasons for leaving the show, he couldn't help but feel that he was a threat to the younger, less established contestants. By selflessly quitting, so as to avoid going head-to-head with a weaker member of the pack, he revealed just how much he fancied his chances of winning. Then again, when you're up against such showbiz luminaries as Justin Ryan, Gino D'Acampo and Jimmy White, it's hardly surprising. 

I'll do anything...

Tonight was the night we've all been waiting for, as the jungle dwelling celebrities had to gulp down some of Australia's foulest foodstuffs. Best of all, it was the latest chapter in Katie Price's ongoing penance at the hands of the unforgiving British public.

The last time Katie spent time in the jungle she was trying to raise her profile, having spent several years appearing in the kind of calendars that you might find hanging in a KwikFit garage. Audiences were surprised to discover that behind the face that's gone through more changes than Optimus Prime, was a steely determined business woman with a refreshingly take-no-prisoners approach. She even managed to snag herself a husband, in the form of Peter Andre a man so unthreatening that a newborn lamb could bully his lunch money out of him.

A lot of botox has dribbled under the bridge since then, in which time Katie has managed to squander almost all the goodwill she's built up over the last few years. In a last-ditch attempt to resurrect a career which consisted mostly of phoning the tabloids on a daily basis to tell them what she'd found in the toilet, she decided to return to the show that made her name.

So here she is once again, almost as though the last four years never happened. Except they did, because now she looks as though she's going undercover in the Australian outback disguised as a platypus. She's also having to win over the rest of the gang who are understandably disgruntled about he fact that Katie got an estimated five times their fee for taking part in the show.

Still, her lesser known (bordering on anonymous) campmates are having the last laugh, as the audiences at home insist that Katie tackles every single bushtucker trial. Although she's no stranger to being debased in public, it's usually on her own terms, so it's no wonder that she's getting a little frustrated. But there's no point looking for sympathy in the camp, since the other contestants are wise to her publicity-seeking ways.

'How Clean Is Your House?' star Kim Woodburn, who resembles a doll's face resting on a pile of mashed potatoes, has already laid into Katie, accusing her of being a publicity seeker. To be fair to Katie, such condemnation seems a little rich coming from someone willing to chew a kangaroo testicle on TV to maintain her own media profile.

Kim's accusation clearly struck a chord with Katie, who admitted that she used to love the publicity but had come to the jungle because she "wanted some peace". Maybe the guesthouses in Bognor were all booked up and a TV show filmed on Australia's Gold Coast was the next best thing?

But for all Katie's protests, it's rather telling that she's now being lined up to appear on the US version of I'm A Celebrity... At this rate, she's going to be a staple of the format, like the platter of witchetty grubs, the bemused Caiman in a fish tank, and the tree-top studio. Next time she complains that she's had enough and is thinking of leaving, check the schedules - it could just be that she's due to start filming the show for another broadcaster. 

Laying the foundations

Great news everybody - it sounds like the days of credit crunchery are finally coming to an end. The banks are posting record profits, Ford is having its best year in half a decade, and Gordon Gekko is stalking Wall Street again. 

Best of all, it sounds like the housing market is finally starting to pick up, with celebrities first in line to pick out new properties, albeit for very different reasons.


Over in New York, Mary J Blige has opened a women's refuge, as an offshoot of her Foundation For the Advancement of Women Now, which she set up last year. Providing psychologists, doctors and day care to women in need, the refuge is open to people from all walks of life. 

Despite being so fierce that her handlers have to throw her half an antelope carcass every three days, Mary J has a softer side that sees her support a number of women's charities. 


As she tells it, "That's why I think as celebrities we're given this job... to be able to touch someone and say 'Me too', because they look up to us and look to us for help and guidance and want to be able to relate to us."


Sadly, this desire to use fame to help a good cause seems to be lost on p0pvulture regular Katie Price, who has also been talking about her own property plans. 


The gay divorcée has her wonky eye on a vast new property, although the only wronged woman who's likely to benefit from it is her. Talking up her ideas to OK! magazine, the tartrazine tart boasts: "I'm building a new home... It'll have a hair salon, beauty salon, stables, indoor and outdoor pools and a cross-country course. It's not going to be all pink. But it will have a pink flag on top."


As grotesque as this My Little Pony palace sounds, there's one consolation for whoever is unlucky enough to be her neighbour - Katie plans to turn into a recluse as soon as her time in the spotlight is done. Which could be sooner than she thinks. 


Apparently, Katie has promised to retire "when people are bored of me..." So I guess she should probably start stocking up on Werther's Original now. 

No laughing matter

The problem with 'alternative comedy' is that, as its very name implies, it runs contrary to conventional views of acceptability. Still, that doesn't seem to stop the mainstream press from creating an outcry every time a comedian makes a joke that falls outside of approved humour boundaries.

The latest comedian to fall foul of this unwritten rule is Jimmy Carr, who is currently facing a barrage of criticism for a joke that he's been telling on his current UK tour. Towards the end of his show at the Manchester Apollo on Friday, he said "Say what you like about these servicemen amputees from Iraq and Afghanistan, but we’re going to have a fucking good Paralympic team in 2012."

Within hours the backlash had started, with all the papers running predictably indignant stories boasting headlines such as "Fans stunned as Jimmy Carr insults our Afghan heroes" and "Fury at comic's amputee gag". Sadly, in the rush to condemn the lanky, doll-faced comedian, not one of the newspapers bothered to consider the real target of Jimmy's joke. Or, for that matter, the painful truth behind it.

The first sporting event for disabled athletes was held in 1948, when Dr Ludwig Guttman arranged a sports competition at Stoke Mandeville hospital for World War II soldiers who had suffered spinal injuries in combat. In 1952 Dutch athletes joined the competition and the modern 'Paralympic' movement was born. So, if nothing else, Jimmy is simply making a factual statement about how participation in Paralympic sport has offered injured soldiers rehabilitation and support for over sixty years.

But that's not nearly as interesting as being disgusted on someone else's behalf. So the papers are full of outraged commentators weighing in with their half-baked opinions on Jimmy's gaffe. Real-life Ross Kemp Andy McNab acknowledged that amputee servicemen do compete in the Paralympics, but stressed condescendingly that "it's not a subject for humour" as though servicemen and women would never use gallows humour as a coping mechanism.

Even more cluless are the politicians. Conservative MP Patrick Mercer takes the traditional Queen of Hearts approach, saying "This was a remarkably dim and foolish thing to joke about. It’s not funny and this man’s career should end right now." Likewise, Defence Secretary Bob Ainsworth commented "Our Armed Forces put their lives on the line and deserve the utmost respect." Of course, they also deserve effective armour, but that's not something Ainsworth would want to get into. Especially since the right military hardware could have prevented many of the injuries that Carr was referencing in the first place.

This revisionist view of recent history is precisely what Carr was satirising in his act. Given that he visited injured troops at Selly Oak military hospital and Headley Court rehabilitation centre earlier this month, Jimmy is all-too-aware of the sacrifices made by our brave servicemen and women. But he presumably has a lot less time for the cynical politicians who find any opportunity to put a positive spin on the depressing parade of statistics that have been leaking out of the Middle East, since we first invaded Afghanistan in late 2001.

Jimmy has since offered a full apology, saying “I’m sorry if anyone was offended but that’s the kind of comedy I do. If a silly joke draws attention to the plight of these men then so much the better but that was not my intention." Funnily enough, I think that's exactly what he's accomplished. And if I was serving in the military, I'd be a lot happier about Jimmy's war efforts than by the threat of an imminent invasion by Katie Price to 'cheer up' the troops. Haven't they suffered enough already?

Styling tips for lunatics

Here's a phrase for you to contemplate: 'Katie Price's style tips'. Like 'Dr. Shipman's Guide to Caring for the Elderly' or 'Ralph Lauren's Photoshop for Beginners' this sounds like the kind of advice most sensible people could live without.

Nonetheless, noted authoress Katie (a woman whose prolific literary output makes Dame Barbara Cartland seem like JD Salinger - in both quality and quantity) has loosened the manacles of her ghost writer long enough to pen another would-be bestseller.

In it, Katie answers the prayers of all those women who dream of her lifestyle, but aren't prepared to simply settle for painting 'unclean' in scarlet letters over the front door. According to the blurb on Amazon, "Katie Price opens up her make-up bag and throws open the doors to her wardrobe" which makes her sound like a modern-day Pandora, unleashing untold evil upon the world. Still, it's a little too late to worry about that now - rather like closing the stable door after the whore has bolted.

So let's take a look at what aspiring fashionistas can hope to pick up from Katie's new book, other than a nasty fungal infection. She's clearly trying to position the book as a 'style bible' - even going so far as to identify her Ten Style Commandments - although Malleus Maleficarum might be appropriate under the circumstances.

For instance, Katie says "Make sure you match" but it's not clear whether she's talking about co-ordinated outfits or picking a new boyfriend using a mahogany swatch from the B&Q laminates department. She also tells her readers "Don't be afraid of colour" but says nothing about the terrifying effects her colour choices may have on innocent bystanders.

"Grooming - it's not just for horses" says Katie, inadvertently pointing out that your thoroughbred isn't entitled to any more dignity or self-respect than you are. More importantly, Katie believes you shouldn't "be a slave to fashion" or "worry about what other people think". But given that she's currently about as popular as a mutated flu virus, there may come a point when Katie will need to revisit some of these rules. Probably around the time that the book comes out in paperback.

The girl who cried wolf

OK, I swore I would never write about Katie Price again, unless she developed a cure for cancer, trained as an astronaut, or stood in-front of an oncoming tank in act of defiant soldarity with Chinese students.

Turns out, that list of exceptions wasn't exhaustive, because here I am writing once again about the world's favourite authoress, entrepreneur and bucket. Despite the fact that she now resembles a Girl's World mannequin decorated by a fingerless epileptic, Katie's gruesome mug is still in the papers every single day.

Displaying a talent for story-telling as-yet unproven in her 'writing', the fullsome fantasist has been weaving a compellingly awful tale of rape that has gripped a nation of bad soap opera-lovers. Ex-husband Peter Andre claims to be "confused" by Katie's rantings, although let's be honest, he'd need help making sense of a Little Chef menu. Nonetheless, Katie maintains she's telling the truth and that Peter knew all about it.

The story itself is a constantly changing beast (much like the one telling the tale). At first Katie's rape revelation was presented in defense of her knuckle dragging boy-friend, whose only claims to fame were having a face like a Greggs Steak Bake and his ignominious appearance in a rape-themed porn film.

Katie stated in her regular OK! magazine column that she could never be associated with someone who glorified sexual violence since she herself had been a victim in the past. Unsurprisingly, the press picked up on this dramatic announcement and began digging for details.

Katie then claimed that she was horrified by the media obsession with the story, arguing that she only ever mentioned it to defend her pugilistic paramour. She even went so far as to phone into Matthew Wright's TV talkshow to discuss the matter in more detail. For someone who didn't want to talk about it, she certainly had no problems with securing more airtime. Given Wright's notoriety for 'accidentally' announcing the name of Ulrika Johnson's alleged rapist, Katie's choice of confidant was either cunning or clueless.

Interestingly, while speaking to Matthew Wright over the phone, Katie was adamant that she would never name her attacker - "Never, never, absolutely not." But in the world of celebrity, never is an awfully long time.

Which is why no-one was particularly surprised when it emerged that within 24 hours of Katie's assertion that she'd take the rapist's name to her grave, she'd 'accidentally' named him while filming her TV show 'What Katie Did Next'.

Whether or not Katie was the victim of a sex attack is for the police to determine, and despite Katie's refusal to talk (without a camera crew present) the investigation will no doubt continue. But it's worrying that Katie seems to have a never ending supply of horrifying personal traumas to call upon, none of which made it into any of the 'warts and all' autobiographies she's published to date.

When it comes to maintaining her celebrity status, nothing is off bounds. There's always another miscarriage, secret boyfriend or sex attacker to dredge up in the name of another new magazine exclusive. But Katie is resolutely unapologetic about the whole affair, claiming that she "takes it on the chin". Sadly, there's probably a tawdry story about that too, although I can't see OK! running the pictures.

She works hard for the money

Another weekday, another fame-hungry trollop kissing her dignity goodbye by appearing on Jeremy Kyle to talk about her car-wreck of a life. Only this time, it's not a velour-tracksuit wearing scrape-face trying to convince her recently paroled paramour that he's the father of her baby, it's celebrated supermodel Sophie Anderton.

Plucking her career management tips from the same well-thumbed volume that Katie Price has been perusing recently (cage fighter dating, rape inventing, ex-husband slating - looking good so far), Sophie has decided that Jeremy Kyle is the ideal platform for personal redemption.

In a special edition entitled 'Celebrities Exposed - the truth behind the headlines', the titchy televised Tourquemada grilled Sophie about her troublesome past and her long history of cocaine abuse. Sophie admitted, in a roundabout sort of way, that she 'probably' slept with men for money in order to keep herself in blow. She added: "I was very promiscuous and I did sleep with a lot of guys and not remember their names the next day. That's what drugs do to you. I really don't remember much about that time."

Of course, if she does want to jog her memory, she could always just re-read the gruesomely embarrassing transcript of the News Of The World's now-famous sting operation. Assuming she doesn't cringe so hard that she slips a vertebrae, she'd recall how she told undercover reporter Mazher Mahmood (apparently the go-to guy for any news story that needs a fake Sheik): "I'm buying a place at the moment so things are tight. I just think short term, and at the end of the day nobody gets hurt... Spanking is cool. But I'm not into any kinky shit, to be honest."

Alternatively, she may wish to revisit her 2004 diary, when she was forced to admit that she'd received £5,000 for sleeping with a client, arranged by a Florentine brothel madam. Both of these incidents are well documented, and suggest that if Sophie's going for the tell-all approach, she could maybe try being a little less evasive with the truth.

Most people find themselves forced into prostitution when all their other options dry up. In fact, just yesterday, The Sun carried a story about a WPC who went on the game to supplement her police income while on maternity leave. Sophie, on the other hand, was saving up for a three-bedroomed house in Notting Hill and managing a £1,000 a week drug habit. Hardly the desperation that drives most into the world's oldest profession.

These days there's a whole generation of attractive young women whose sole goal is to land a wealthy footballer so they can lead of life of Manolo-heeled leisure. Although they may not stipulate an hourly rate up-front, there's still a trade-off taking place. Maybe Sophie's biggest mistake was being honest about it.

Katie has a Price on her head

Desperation is an ugly thing. And no-one does ugly quite like PopVulture regular Katie Price. Incapable of just concentrating on the many pies she currently has her acrylic nails in, Katie is waging a one-woman war on worthwhile journalism by ensuring that her every appearance, utterance and ablution is covered in forensic detail.

The latest fictional update from the imaginary world of Jordan is probably the most disturbing yet. The Daily Star has reported today that Katie has been 'informed' that she is being targeted for kidnapping by Russian gangsters. It seems these nefarious nogoodniks are planning to snatch the luminescent strumpet when she travels to Marbella to promote her gaudy range of equestrian accessories.

The remarkably well-informed source even knows that the gangsters have been studying photos of Katie's last trip to Ibiza and have smartly concluded that Price spends most of her time in 'easy-to-reach' locations, which could also describe any point on the ex-glamour girl's over-exposed body.

Having accidentally revealed herself as a preying mantis in semi-human form, she's keen to portray herself as a victim. And since Peter Andre is about as threatening as a blind orphan wrapped in damp toilet paper, she needs a more viable threat, hence the introduction of these make-believe mobsters.

The good news is that Katie plans to bring her cage fighter boyfriend Alex Reid along to protect her, and no doubt appear in all manner of spontaneously conceived make-out photo opportunities. It's likely that the UK's magazine reading public will breathe a sigh of relief at that. Meanwhile, her estranged husband Peter is busy spending time with his kids and quietly getting to number four in the charts, despite most record-buyers having fully functioning ears.

Since parting ways with her long-term managers about the same time that she and Pete split, Katie's attempts at generating publicity have become increasingly outlandish. This latest dramatic announcement (after her brush with swine-flu) smacks of another poorly conceived press release - the clue was the carefully worded mention of the KP Equestrian range. And although the avid readers of celebrity magazines will happily swallow any old garbage, let's just hope that they're smart enough to recognise the girl who cried wolf one too many times.

Telling porkies about swine flu

Much as it pains me to be writing about Katie Price yet again, I felt it was necessary to acknowledge her latest brave battle.

This weekend the tabloids were beside themselves with worry about Katie's health as it was revealed that she was battling H1N1 (better known as Swine Flu). As it happens, anyone who bothered to read the story accompanying the library images of the orange goddess would have found a less than convincing case.

It turns out that the expert medical opinion responsible for diagnosing Katie with the life-threatening disease was actually Katie's spokeswoman. And the only symptom she could muster was some inflamation caused by treatment for a broken veneer.

This 'dental emergency' was the reason for Katie pulling a no-show at a book signing in Bournemouth to promote her new novel (sometimes it actually hurts to type this shit). Presumably a dodgy tooth would not have appeased the ravenous fans waiting for their latest literary treasure, and so the publicist resorted to the best excuse she could muster - the tabloids' favourite new virus. She told papers "I am a little worried that she may have swine flu. She has been feeling ill over the past couple of days and she is spending some time in bed today." It's remarkable, this woman is like Marie Curie with a BlackBerry.

At least Katie should be applauded for staying on brand, since she's managed to make a second career out of illness and misfortune. When she wasn't making regular mercy dashes to hospital every time Harvey fell in a bath or pulled a mirror off the wall, she was talking to the press about her cancer scare or Peter's viral meningitis.

Hopefully, her angry fans will forgive her for not bothering to show, given her latest brush with mortality. According to a bookshop employee, "There were loads of people who had turned up with some queueing inside the building and some outside in the rain. People were all disappointed." Just imagine how much worse their disappointment would have been if they'd actually got around to reading the book.

Duncan's blue period

These days, if you're a celebrity with a product to sell, it's no longer enough to pop up on a chatshow and press the flesh with whoever happens to read the questions off the autocue. You have to give something of yourself - a confessional tidbit that the papers can claim as an exclusive, and it doesn't matter how personal the details are. In fact, the more explicit the better.

This weekend, Katie Price proved herself the master of this dark art, using a recent miscarriage in an attempt to attack the alleged insensitivity of her estranged husband. Worried that he was winning the majority of the public's support simply by getting on with his life, Katie decided it was time to get her acrylic claws out.

It seems that the management of recently reformed boyband Blue may be advising a similar strategy. With a major tour to promote, singer Duncan James has revealed in an exclusive interview with the News of the World that he's bisexual. Despite crafting a reputation as a permanently priapic ladies man, it turns out that Duncan was into more than just 'One Love'. "Yes I was labelled a womaniser, and yes I did sleep with a lot of women. But there were tell-tale signs I was that way inclined. I've always been theatrical and loved being on stage."

Aside from describing himself as 'that way inclined', and his use of 'theatrical' as a one-size-fits-all euphemism, Duncan claims to be happy and at peace with his lifestyle. It also means that twice as many fans have a chance of being invited backstage at the forthcoming concerts. So that's good news all round.

Following last month's shock announcement that the reunion was 'partly about the money', I'll be interested to see what the other three boys in Blue can come up with when the News of the World come knocking for further exclusives. Failing that, I suppose the dubious tabloid could always just tap the lads' phones and see what comes up.

Katie pays the Price

Oh Katie. It was all going so well. You'd successfully managed the transition from zeppelin-chested trollop to horse-riding, child-rearing, book-authoring (cough), advice-giving everywoman. Suddenly you were championed as an inspirational celebrity mother by women who usually view Page 3 models with the kind of warmth and empathy that they usually reserve for people who drown kittens.

But you didn't know when to stop. Without any fear of being over-exposed (literally or figuratively) you charged into yet another series of fly-on-the-wall fakeumentaries, following your exploits in LA. But it didn't quite work out. It turns out that America already has its fair share of plucked, tucked, pinned and lifted talent vacuums. Turning up in your babydoll T-shirts and ridiculous Ugg boots, you were surprised to find that the birthplace of plastic surgery was a little more sophisticated than perhaps you'd given it credit for. To quote The Castle, the greatest little movie of all time, "The secret is to make them real, but not too real, just real enough to know that they're fake."

But you don't handle rejection particularly well, so you took it out on poor Peter Andre. OK, so he has about as much depth as a leatherette friendship bracelet, but he manages to stay remarkably upbeat, despite the fact that he couldn't sell a CD if he worked in HMV. Maybe you've lived your life in front of the cameras for so long that you forgot they were there. Either way, you chose to belittle Peter for the sake of entertainment, reminding him that everything he had was down to you. And he walked.

When Dwight Yorke dumped you before the birth of your son Harvey, you cleverly managed your reputation, distancing yourself from 'Jordan' and rebranding yourself as 'brave single parent' Katie Price. What a shame you didn't have your wits (or for that matter a decent management team) to help steer you through these troubled times. As a consequence, your fan-base appears to be dwindling as people suddenly find themselves warming to Peter Andre - in itself a concept as troubling as a plague of locusts or a rainstorm of blood.

Just like in any divorce, there's a point where the couple's friends have to decide who they're closest to. Making comments about Peter's 'shortcomings', calling him names via Twitter, and generally acting like an objectionable slattern have given people pause to think about who deserves their support the most. Should you decide to write another follow-up to your best-selling debut novel, you might want to consider 'Fallen Angel' as a title.