From boys to men

Boybands are a dying breed. Sure, JLS have had considerable (some might say disproportionate) success with their neutered RnB stylings, but they're practically the Omega Men of pop. Where once the musical landscape was abundantly blessed with close harmonies, baggy jeans and random piercings, it's now more of a post-apocalyptic wasteland.

Take That might still be big news, but the term boyband hardly seems appropriate - their next tour bus may well be a Saga coach. Boyzone have also enjoyed a pretty successful resurgence of popularity, although given the amount of time they spend talking about Stephen Gately it's more of an extended wake than a comeback.

And then there's Westlife - the ones who never went away. They've been consistently churning out albums, year after year, for over a decade now and show no signs of stopping. Their songs might all be about passions of the heart, but the albums are clinical, cynical affairs, delivered with all the excitement of a trip to the chiropodist.

As it happens, the boys themselves are more than aware of their own shortcomings, admitting in an interview this week that "We've certainly made a lot of mistakes. We've recorded songs that we should never have recorded. We look back on some of them and think, 'Oh God, that was terrible'." They're not alone in their assessment.

Believing that they've "become men over the last few years", the guys are putting their foot down and making more decisions about what goes on their next album. Better lock up your daughters, 'cos it's getting hot in here.

Inspired by the filthy signage being waved by their rapidly aging fanbase, the 'Lifers hope that their next CD will be "one for the bedroom with lots of juicy and sensual tracks". As Nicky told the Daily Star, "the banners have become raunchier and most don’t leave anything to the imagination." That thudding, tumbling sound you can hear is Barry White spinning.

So far, it sounds about as sexy as a bed bath in a rest-home, but Mark Feehily claims "You can listen to it while you're conceiving." Well, if that doesn't make you horny you must be dead from the waist down.

As much as the boys might want to talk up their hot new angle, there's a danger in being too honest about who they were in the past. Their fans aren't stupid, and they know what they like.

Selling substandard products is one thing, but admitting it is something else entirely. Just ask Gerald Ratner.

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.

Call waiting

So, Pickfords have dropped David Cameron's bike-rack off at Number 10, Nick Clegg's in the shower wondering why the stains won't come off, and the whole country is waiting expectantly for a miracle to occur. They could be in for a long wait.

The much promised economic recovery is still as distant as Paris Hilton's facial expression, and we're all under pressure to make ends meet. The wolf's at the door, and he's got a Betterware catalogue in his paw.

During the election campaign, jobs were a major issue for the electorate, with faceless swathes of 'immigrants' being blamed for taking all the jobs. It didn't seem to matter that in many instances, those jobs that were advertised received no applications from British workers.

As a story in today's Daily Mail shows, there's work out there, but no-one wants to do it. Jobcentre Plus offices in Birmingham, Warwickshire and Shropshire are currently recruiting for a company called Faceclick which offers a rather specialist form of interpersonal consultancy. OK, basically they're looking for people to work on the phone sex lines.

You know the type - "Naughty housewife can't find her crevice nozzle", "Sexy schoolgirl needs help with Pythagorus theorum" - they usually conjure up images of a call centre full of chain-smoking Pat Butchers, all talking dirty whilst pretending to be nineteen year-old nymphomaniacs.

The conversational topics to be covered include fetishes, role-play and domination, which, let's be honest, has to be more fun that encouraging the person on the end of the line to switch their gas and electricity supplier.

Perhaps concerned about the Trades Descriptions Act, Faceclick are also keen to make their hot, sexy operatives visible by offering a webcam service. But that will depend upon their new recruits being willing to perform 'nude or semi-nude' online.

As for the filming, that all sounds pretty low impact too. According to the Mail's article, applicants are encouraged to perform "activities that you feel comfortable with" - which might mean flicking through TV Quick and devouring half a pack of chocolate HobNobs.

Still, these saucy shenanigans came as a bit of a shock to the jobseekers of Nuneaton who were looking for light clerical work. One 19-year old applicant said "I am absolutely desperate for work. But I'm not desperate that I'm prepared to perform disgusting acts on an internet sex line."

The ads are offering up to £100 per day for "a job with a difference", but specify that they're looking for people who are bubbly, confident and have their own internet connection. It doesn't sound as though dongles will be provided, at least not by the Faceclick management.

Birmingham MP Khalid Mahmood has also weighed in on the issue, demanding an enquiry and commenting "I am absolutely flabbergasted... To now discover job centres are encouraging unemployed people to get into this is almost beyond belief."

Unfortunately, subjective morality is more important to some people than making an honest living. There aren't too many well paying jobs out there that allow you to work from home and require no training or investment to get you up and running.

It's just a shame that the people behind this outcry are so short-sighted. And you know what causes that condition, boys and girls...

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.

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.

Dressed for success

Oh dear, they're on the warpath again. The same news media that publishes trashy magazines full of celebrity diets ("for a treat, try a handful of limestone chippings or smear some swarfega on a crackerbread") is pointing an underweight finger at the fashion industry for causing eating disorders.

This time though, it's the boys that they're concerned about. A mannequin manufacturer has started producing a new line of male dummies with a 27in waist which, according to the Daily Mail, is 11in smaller than the average British male.

Rather than question how we reached a point where the average man now casts the same silhouette as Les Dawson, the Mail's article expresses concern that these slender "waxworks" (when have mannequins ever been made from wax?) will drive thousands of young men to a life of starvation or binge 'n' purge dieting.

Apparently, "the company insists they are modelled on healthy teenage boys and will be dressed in skinny jeans and tailoring made popular by celebrities such as Russell Brand." So we're going to be over-run by a generation of pointy-toed dandies with big hair. Great news all round.

Speaking to the Guardian, a spokesperson for Beat, a charity that works with eating disorder sufferers, said "unrealistic images in the fashion world - such as these mannequins - and in the media still abound and the pressures they bring can lead to low self-esteem in often young and vulnerable people."

Although I can appreciate their concern, the fact is, this isn't actually an unrealistic image of young men's body image. Gran Canaria, where your hard-working correspondent is currently residing, is overrun with young men in their early twenties who, between them, are carrying about as much fat as a Muller Fruit Corner.


The big shock isn't that these young people are trying to achieve an unattainable body image. It's the fact that none of them realise that it won't always be quite so easy to wriggle into those teeny-weeny camouflage shorts.

Rather than freaking out about an outbreak of male bulimia, we should be telling them to enjoy it while it lasts.

Animals in the Zoo

If you have a problem, and no-one else can help, you have two choices: call the A-Team (if you can find them) or fire off a letter to an Agony Aunt.

For decades, people have been writing to Miriam Stoppard, Denise Roberts and Deidre Sanders for advice in matters of the heart. Most of the time, these matronly know-it-alls trot out the same unimaginative platitudes - try sexy lingerie, don't have threesomes and here's the number for Relate.

That's fine for 'Unhappily married in Middlesborough', but don't young men also deserve access to the same kind of high quality, empathetic guidance?

Possibly, but something tells me that, when they asked Danny Dyer to act as an Agony Uncle in his regular column, Zoo Magazine weren't taking the whole thing too seriously. For a start, the only advice Danny Dyer would be able to offer is how to spin an irritating one-note persona into a sustained acting career.

But clearly there are some people out there who can't conceive of any kind of support system that isn't delivered by the least believable cockney since Dick Van Dyke assembled a chimney brush. So they write to Danny for advice, knowing that he'll address the subject with tact and sensitivity.

Alex from Manchester was one such reader, and wanted to know how to get over a recent split from his ex-girlfriend. Danny's advice was "I'd suggest going out on a rampage with the boys, getting on the booze and smashing anything that moves. Then, when some bird falls for you, you can turn the tables and break her heart. Of course, the other option is to cut your ex's face, and then no one will want her."

It's possible that, inspired by Neil LaBute's seminal expose of modern day misogyny 'In The Company of Men', Danny was aiming for a satirical critique of gender roles and the psychological devastation caused by a difficult break-up. Or maybe he just thought cutting a bird's face was funny.

Of course, everyone's in a rush to blame somebody else. Since Danny didn't technically write the column, he's saying that it was dictated and he was misquoted. Meanwhile, the magazine's blaming it on a 'regrettable production error'. But someone, somewhere thought it was funny, and the editor happily approved it.

Perhaps we shouldn't be so surprised that a magazine which runs a regular feature called "The Week In Boobs", and once offered readers the chance to win an all-expenses paid divorce, so that they could "unleash themselves back to bachelorhood", has an ugly view of women. Dyer's comment might have been more explicitly upsetting, but there's a good reason why no-one on the editorial team spotted the potential for controversy.

Where the sun don't shine

For almost forty years, Donnie Osmond has been an ever-grinning vision of antiseptic niceness and extensive orthodontic work. Together with his brothers, and later with his sister Marie, Donnie did it all - records, concerts, broadway, chat shows and reality TV.

Somehow he even found the time to regularly cross the Atlantic for some hopelessly uncomfortable flirting with an endless parade of female chat-show presenters. To this day, he's still responsible for the only expression that wasn't an inscrutible frown to cross Fiona Phillips' face.

But despite being more 'middle-of-the-road' than a crash-safety barrier, Donnie is currently in the news for a rather unsavoury reason.

Thanks to a new BBC show called Bizarre ER (proof that we will watch absolutely anything), the internet is currently abuzz with the news that clean-cut Donnie may pose a viable threat to your vaginal integrity.

To be fair to Donnie, he wasn't present at the time of the incident, but the rolled-up poster that was inserted into the unnamed woman's Mormon-munching mimsy did bear his toothy likeness.

Apparently the patient had been rushed to hospital complaining of pain 'down there', only for surprised medical professionals to fish out a poster of Donnie in all his big-haired seventies glory.

Who knows what was going through this poor woman's mind? Perhaps she was having a clear-out but couldn't be bothered driving to Staples to buy a shredder. Or maybe the Daily Mail's regular scare stories about the 'recycling Nazis' left her clueless as to how to dispose of glossy colour-prints.

Donnie may reach the parts that other teen-idols can't reach, but it just goes to show that masturbation isn't always the safest form of sex.

Lift with your knees

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Britain, let's take a look at your best bits

Well, the time has come. After weeks and weeks of tedious analysis and more inarticulate vox-pops that you could shake a junior researcher at, the election is finally here.

According to the experts, this one is really too close to call. David Cameron's probably slightly ahead, but Nick Clegg surprised everyone in the televised debates by being more than just the nice bloke in the middle. Occasionally, his repeated 'I'm not like the other guys' mantra started to sound like he was going to burst into a rendition of Thriller, but on the whole he equipped himself surprisingly well.

Gordon Brown stalked around the country like an angry thundercloud, with fists clenched and a smile of sorts, that hung permanently at half-mast. That left David Cameron to try and convince the world that the Conservatives are the only ones we can trust to look after education, the environment and the NHS. Which is a bit like recruiting a nanny from the sex offenders register.

There's little more that any of them can to to persuade those stubbornly non-committal floating voters. So it's now in the hands of the gods, and Simon Cowell, to tell us which box to cross.

As the unofficial barometer of public preference, Cowell has written exclusively in The Sun that Cameron is, like Obi-Wan Kenobi before him, our only hope: "David Cameron is the prime minister Britain needs at this time. He has the substance and the stomach to navigate us through difficult times."

Cowell has clearly been scrutinising the candidates' policies very closely in order to fully inform his decision: "I have always trusted my gut instinct - and this was a guy who I thought would do the right things for this country." This is the same gut instinct that gave the world Eoghan Quigg.

Although he's careful not to criticise Gordon Brown too much (Gillian Duffy took care of that), he pulls no punches when it comes to Clegg. Ironically, the man whose influence is directly responsible for turning this election into the X-Factor with colour-coded neckties, argues "We are not talent show judges picking pretty-sounding contestants now. The future government of our country is so much more important than that."

Simon Cowell has an uncanny knack for manipulating the will of the British people. If his preferred act is off to an early lead, he savages them in order to encourage the fans to vote. If they're falling behind he uses tactical praise to pick off the weaker contestants. But every once in a while, he misreads public sentiment.

Sites like 'votefortheworst' function solely to irritate Simon, creating communities of fans who'll vote for the underdog on any talent show just to piss him off. It'll be interesting to see whether Cowell's decision to back a favourite triggers a similar backlash.

Now, go exercise your democratic right...