Greased, frightening

If there's one sure-fire way of guaranteeing yourself some front-page coverage, it's to get yourself involved in a 'gay sex scandal'. The lies, the deceit, the unflattering photos of you in an outfit you're twenty years too old for - it's the stuff that tabloid dreams are made of.

Here in the UK, the papers are falling over themselves to dig into William Hague's private life, as they delight in the fact that he appointed a 25-year old pretty boy as his 'special advisor' and that they often shared a room on the election trail.

There's something about the inherent hypocrisy of Conservative politicians preaching 'traditional values' Monday to Friday and spending their weekends in a leather sling that we just can't get enough of. In fact, the only thing we enjoy more than the tremulous quiver of a stiff upper-lip is the idea that some of our favourite alpha-male movie stars might be good with colours.

So let's hear it for John Travolta, who's managed to keep professional gossips in business for three decades now, with his less-than convincing portrayal of an avowedly heterosexual man. He's currently the subject of a 'shocking' expose that threatens to lift the toupee on his deceitful double life.

According to the National Enquirer, an author called Robert Randolph is lining up a new book for release, which promises to reveal the "underground secret world of celebrity gay spa sex" in Hollywood, the main target of which is the Saturday Night Fever and Pulp Fiction actor. Randolph maintains that he's come across (not literally, that would be tacky) the Hollywood star in his favourite bath-house on a number of occasions.

Ignoring for a second the tautology of an 'underground secret', it's hard to believe that Robert could ever score a book deal, when his revelations read like a thirteen year-old's bathroom wall grafitti - "I met John in 1998, after he had married Kelly. I believe the marriage is a total fraud because John is totally into guys and has been having sex with them behind Kelly's back for years." Time to start brushing up on that Pulitzer acceptance speech. Totally.

Equally depressing is the fact that the Enquirer considers news of John's man-on-man infidelity worthy of a 'scandal' headline. Even Randolph himself admits that John's "secret gay life is one of Hollywood's worst kept secrets". Surely the purpose of a shocking story is to surprise readers with things they don't already know?

It also doesn't help matters that Randolph attempts to empathise with Travolta's put-upon and pregnant wife Kelly Preston, saying "John should come out of the closet already and stop living a lie. His wife Kelly deserves so much better." He's clearly never heard of an arranged marriage, a beard or a pre-nup.

If John's sexuality is such an open secret, it's hard to believe that Kelly would be the last to know. She might not be the one that he wants, but I'm sure the benefits of their union work both ways.

He shoots, he scores

With the UK football season pretty much over, the players will be wondering what to do with their summer. Obviously there's the small matter of the World Cup for many of them to contend with. Others will be looking at transfer options or heading down to Carphone Warehouse in search of an all-inclusive SMS package.

Over in Barcelona, however, Zlatan Ibrahimovic and Gerard Pique may be more interested in convincing the world of their potent heterosexuality. Having been papped in a 'clinch' that seemed a little too 'up close and personal' the rumour-mill has gone into overdrive suggesting that the players might be striking in each other's box.

There have been a number of high profile 'coming out' stories in the last year from the world of sport. Hurling goalkeeper Donal Óg Cusack struck a blow for gay visibility in Ireland, followed soon after by Gareth Thomas, who was pleasantly surprised by the encouragement and support he received from his rugby teammates.

At the time, people wondered whether we might see a professional footballer off the bench and out of the closet, but that looks pretty doubtful for now.

As speculation mounts about the connection between Ibrahimovic and Pique, reporters have begun questioning the Swedish star about his new striking partnership. And he's not too happy about it.

One TV reporter managed to corner Zlatan and asked outright whether he was gay. His response was "Come to my house with your sister and see if I'm a queer."

OK, a couple of issues here. Firstly, it's a little weird that a reportedly happily married man's first response to this kind of question would be to invite a female reporter to take part in an incestuous threesome.

Couldn't he just have mentioned his wife? Or are double-enders now as integral to the world of football as oranges at half time?

Then again, maybe his blunt response proves nothing at all. It's only our dirty minds that assume that Zlatan was proposing anything untoward. Perhaps he was suggesting a good old-fashioned girly sleepover. You know the sort of thing - cosmopolitans, Ben & Jerry's and a sneak preview of Sex and the City 2.

In which case, he really needs to work on his denial strategy.

Ain't nothin' goin' on but the rental

Next time you're in Blockbuster, or you're choosing something on Sky Box Office, keep in mind what your film selection says about you. If you're watching Brokeback Mountain it could mean you're gay, if you go for Love, Actually it might indicate that you're a woman, and if you prefer Big Momma's House it might mean you require an in-home carer and plastic cutlery.

Actually, that's not true at all. Despite studios' squeamishness over releasing gay-themed titles to a mainstream (i.e. mostly straight) audience, most people are happy enough watching whatever they like, without any fear that their selections might disclose a little too much personal information.

Actually, that's not true at all either. It turns out that an "in-the-closet lesbian mother" is suing online movie rental service Netflix, for publishing personal data concerning her film preferences that might indicate her fondness for flannel.

To cut a long (and astonishingly complicated) story short, this controversy all came about when Netflix attempted to find a way to improve its recommendation system. It works a little like the one on Amazon. You know the type - customers who bought 'Lark Rise to Candleford' also bought 'The House of Eliott' DVD boxset, the 'Alan Titchmarsh Potting Shed Calendar' and a ten-pack of Tena Plus Odour Control Incontinence Pants.

But in order to make the system more effective, they made available the viewing data of 480,000 Netflix customers as part of a competition to find someone who could design a better recommendation algorithm (told you it was complicated). The problem is, this same information was the sort of stuff that Netflix had promised to keep private.

Apparently, this precious data included such incendiary information as rental titles, genres, dates and viewer ratings. And the 'closeted' plaintiff is concerned that these hugely telling details could lead to her being publicly outed. As the lawsuit puts it: “were her sexual orientation public knowledge, it would negatively affect her ability to pursue her livelihood and support her family and would hinder her and her children’s ability to live peaceful lives.” These would be the same children who've already been subjected to repeat viewings of 'Personal Best', 'The Hunger' and 'Showgirls'. Haven't they suffered enough?

According to the lawsuit, it's a classic case of guilt by association - "The member’s movie data exposes a Netflix member’s personal interest and/or struggles with various highly personal issues, including sexuality, mental illness, recovery from alcoholism, and victimization from incest, physical abuse, domestic violence, adultery, and rape."

This utterly illogical conclusion suggests that, based on this year's big box office winners, we've all found ourselves stuck in a love triangle between a moody vampire and a buff werewolf, attacked by skyscraper-sized robots, and forced to live out the rest of our days in the body of a nine-foot tall blue cat. Hooray for Hollywood eh?