Dull and void

There are certain things that no-one ever wants to hear from a celebrity:
Jeremy Clarkson giving you fashion advice.
Joan Rivers' recommendations for aging gracefully.
Paris Hilton offering her career progression tips.
Lindsay Lohan making detox suggestions.

But the ultimate case of 'pot calling kettle an orange whore' came this week, when Jodie Marsh accused the carotene crew of The Only Way Is Essex of giving her fair county a bad name.

Talking to the press about the latest reality TV phenomenon, the walking stretchmark complained "I think the people are just making us look stupid. It is embarrassing and the people on that show are probably the worst possible examples of people from Essex." 

Actually, they're not the worst, that particular honour falls a little closer to home. And let's be honest, any woman who appears in a TV show to find a husband and then marries him in The Sugar Hut nightclub, doesn't need any help in looking like a grade-A fuckwit.

Thankfully, Jodie's harsh words are likely to fall on deaf ears, as the characters of TOWIE are clearly enjoying their time in the spotlight's ultraviolet glow. They're busy launching books, bars and all manner of merchandise to supplement their meagre appearance fee (£50 per day) for starring in the show. Given that their Stateside counterparts have just signed a new $100,000 deal for each episode of Jersey Shore, it's hardly surprising that they're keen to leverage their newfound celebrity status.

Yesterday, Mark Wright turned up to promote the show's latest high-quality brand extension - the official TOWIE 'Vajazzle Kit'. Because nothing screams quality like a gusset full of cheap stick-on crystals. The perfect gift for anyone who fancies a little sparkle on their twinkle, it'll leave you looking as though you've just been violated by Edward Cullen.

Hamstrung by some fairly stringent indecency laws, Mark and his glamorous assistants were unable to demonstrate the true wonders of a groin that sparkles like a petrol station whisky tumbler. Instead, Mark had to make do with demonstrating the easily-applicable bedazzlements on the assorted models' legs and stomachs.

Cue flashback music... I once went out clubbing with a girl called Gemma, who'd decided to embellish her not inconsiderable decolletage with a squirt of glitter gel. At the start of the evening, she was shimmering like Shirley Eaton in her big death scene. But by midnight, the heat from the disco lights had taken its toll, and the gel had begun to peel. At this point, one of Mansfield's most eligible bachelors sidled up to my friend, looked her up and down, and asked "Is that tit-wank?"

Needless to say, a similarly post-coital effect can be achieved by wearing a clump of assorted vajazzlements at the top of the thigh. Come on, who doesn't love a woman who appears to be too busy partying to wipe herself down with a damp flannel?

If their vajazzling empire doesn't take off, at least the cast of TOWIE have a number of other business ventures to explore. For instance, the girls seem to be lining up to appear on Peter Andre's arm, helping him to fill the void left by Katie Price. Although I'm not sure how one void can fill another - isn't that how anti-matter is created?

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.

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.

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.

Divide and conquer

It's long been a Hollywood tradition that when something successful ends or at least begins to stagnate, it's customary to pick out a core element that worked and transpose it into a new setting. It's called the spin-off, and over the years has given us Frasier, Mork & Mindy and Private Practice. Of course, it has also given us Joey.

So congratulations to Katie Price who has taken the principle of the spin-off and applied it to the reality TV show that is her life. Those cynics who speculated that Katie and Peter's split was a short-term fly in the stretch-mark ointment, obviously never counted on Ms Price's willingness to do absolutely anything in front of a camera.

It was announced this week that Katie and Peter have both signed up with ITV for rival 'reality' shows depicting their post-split lives and the gruesome details of their divorce. Since neither of them has any shame at the best of times, the bitterness and ignominy is likely to be at near toxic levels. And if they look like this when they're happy together, you can just imagine how ugly this is going to get.

He said, she said, apparently...

The papers have been unsurprisingly falling over themselves to feed the Jordan/Katie publicity machine this week, with the news that Mr & Mrs Andre are to divorce. The great thing about a story like this, is that there are so many angles to cover.

Cynics can carp that it was fake all along, and Katie was simply biding her time to ditch Peter like the accessory he so clearly was. And the really cynically ones can contradict themselves by suggesting that the whole separation is another stage-managed publicity stunt, and that the couple will be happily reunited with a magazine story about them renewing their vows. In doing so, of course, they accidentally infer that the relationship was real to begin with.

Meanwhile, the rest of the bottom-feeders can flood the press with 'alleged' comments and insights (all in exchange for a handsome fee) into what's really going on between the estranged two-some. And that's precisely what they've been doing - how else would we know about the sexy texts, Peter's tears in Cyprus, the visits to divorce lawyers and, most recently, the two-year sex ban?

At the risk of sounding sympathetic to the couple, the alarming number of stories attributed to 'friends' and other unspecified 'sources' really shows up just how this culture of celebutainment infects the people on one's periphery to such a degree that everyone feels there's money to be made in it. Who cares if it's unquantifiable bullshit - as long as someone's paying, there'll be people who'll talk.

The wryly ironic postscript to all this is that the latest word from Camp Katie is that she's keeping a 'dignified silence'. This of course comes from her regularly updated Twitter feed, which allows her to give updates on the status of her marriage from the Maldives.

Interestingly, for a couple with no boundaries, limits or sense of self-restraint, none of us really have any clue as to what will happen next. Katie Price's talent is for being the most open 'closed book' on the celebrity circuit. And although we might not know what she's got up her sleeve, chances are, it'll turn into something lucrative.