Your parents 'like' this

Is facebook a force for good or evil?

On the one hand, it's a great way to keep in touch with all your friends at once without having to spend half the day composing emails to everyone in your address book. The flipside is that it's like a digital crack pipe, sucking you into its vortex of sheep throwing and 'like' tagging.

The Daily Mail has never been in any doubt - accusing the social networking phenomenon of everything from wrecking rental properties and driving people to suicide, to causing cancer. More recently, they ran a bogus story suggesting that young teenage girls could fall prey to predatory paedophiles before they've even uploaded a profile picture.

Since the journalist who penned the inflamatory article hadn't even been using facebook, the social networking giant was quick to respond with the threat of suing the Mail for the "brand damage that has been done".

So they're probably relieved to be able to report that facebook is figuring in another lawsuit - this time one that doesn't involve poor journalistic ethics. Instead, it's a court case focusing on the biggest problem currently facing most facebook users: oppressive parenting.

16-year-old Lane New is taking his mother to court for accessing his facebook account and snooping on his private life. As his mum Denise rightly points out, this is really just the 21st century equivalent of reading your child's diary or peering under their bed.

Of course, it doesn't help that Denise changed the login details on his account so he couldn't access his own page, and posted comments which he considered to be slanderous. Bizarrely, prosecutors have sided with the aggrieved teen, charging his mother under the state's harassment laws, which cover "conduct or... acts that alarm or seriously annoy another person.'

The problem with this, is that annoying one's children is every parent's prerogative. How else would children ever remember to do their homework or eat their greens? facebook has simply given the older generation a new way to show up and embarrass their offspring.

There's a whole subcategory of lamebook dedicated to overfamiliar parents who don't know when to but out of their kids' business:

The curse of interfering parents is now so commonplace that it's even inspired its own music video.



According to a recent report in the Guardian, more young people are living at home with their parents than in the last 20 years. So next time you complain that your parents are exchanging pleasantries with your friends on facebook, just remember that it could be a lot worse. They could still be telling you to wash your hands before dinner.

It shouldn't be Aloud

Everything comes at a price, just ask Girls Aloud. Sure, they've got the famous boyfriends, fabulous frocks and all the lollies they can grab from a bathroom attendant, but their fame isn't without its downside.

In the eight years since they trounced Pete Waterman's hopeless 'vocal harmony group' One True Voice in the race for Christmas number, they've found themselves constantly scrutinised by the press over their ever-diminishing weight.

They might have scored more hits than Mike Tyson, but all anyone really cares about is their dress size. Being in the country's favourite girl band means there's an expectation that the five of them will never weigh more than their own carry-on luggage. But each time they stage another sell-out tour there's a worry that the audience might mistakenly applaud the microphone stands before the girls even take to the stage.

Just a couple of weeks ago, Nadine Coyle (the one who sounds like Rev Ian Paisley with a mouthful of marbles) was splashed all over the tabloids as she negotiated some steps in a pair of uncooperative shoes. The pictures made her look like an ungainly cartoon ostrich wearing heels for the first time.

Nadine was quick to respond that, contrary to journalistic opinion, she'd actually put on weight whilst recording her debut solo album. Understandably, the press scoffed at this, given that she could feasibly double her BMI by simply putting on a hat.

Cheryl Cole has also been steadily shrinking, even as her celebrity continues to expand. By the end of 2010, it's likely that she'll be so famous that people will be seeing her face on burritos and pizzas, but she'll be small enough to borrow clothes from her own doll.



When they first auditioned for Popstars: The Rivals, none of the girls were concerned with anything other than securing a place in the band. At no point did any of them express a desire to play role model for a generation of girls. Unfortunately, it's a responsibility that comes with the territory.

So it's disappointing to see Sarah Harding, who has the voice of a diva and the liver of Oliver Reed, advocating weight loss, so soon after her band-mates have been hauled over the coals for their shrinking statistics.

Then again, maybe the coals were her inspiration, since it turns out she's been munching on charcoal to help her shift the weight. Unwittingly confirming every worried parent's fears about setting a bad example, Sarah says "I crumble it up and put it on my food. I found out about it on a fashion website. It has a strange texture, but it doesn't taste of anything and apparently absorbs all the bad, damaging stuff in the body." Well, that certainly sounds scientific to me, even if parmesan is easier to grate.

It might sound extreme, but Sarah knows what she's doing: "It's not the regular charcoal you put in fires, though - I'm not that mad! I get it from the health food shop and I think it's good for hangovers, too." Suddenly, her bizarre diet makes a lot more sense.

Cherry and sour grapes

Fans of quality soap (as in opera, not Cussons Pearl) all remember the day their favourite show jumped the shark. With Dallas fans clamouring for the return of their favourite hirsute hero, kind-hearted (and deep pocketed) producers relented and resurrected Bobby Ewing in the now infamous shower scene that ended the show's ninth season.

Although many viewers found Bobby's Lazarus-like resurrection a step too far, it proved that there's no such thing as 'dead' when it comes to long-running drama series. Especially when those shoulder-pads and extra-marital clinches start to lose their luster.

It's a lesson that the makers of Desperate Housewives probably have ringing in their ears. With the show's once unstoppable ratings now on the slide, they seem to have found a surprising, but kind of appropriate, way of generating some publicity.

Another long-dead character has made a return to Wisteria Lane for more bitchy fireworks and dramatic showdowns. The only difference is that these are happening away from the picket-fenced set.

Nicolette Sheridan, who brought her all-natural beauty to the show as slutty realtor Edie Brit, is suing Marc Cherry (Desperate Housewives' creator and executive producer) for assault and battery, gender violence and wrongful termination.

Although these are pretty extreme claims, like all preposterous plot developments on the show, the clues were always there. When Nicolette's character Edie Britt made her exit from DH last year, she and Cherry were rather blunt in describing their parting of ways.

Nicolette was happy to tell the press that she had wanted to leave the show much sooner, but was tied to a contract. She also expressed dismay that the frothy drama had lost its edge: "When the show started it was such a different beast. It was exciting and dangerous and funny and edgy and bizarre. It started feeling a little complacent, and that was very frustrating."

She also felt that Cherry had underused her formidable skills, arguing "When you have a jewel, why not polish it and put it out there for all to see?". Cherry disagreed, believing that we'd all seen quite enough of what she was putting out there, thank you very much.

As well as saving somewhere in the region of $150,000 per episode by ditching Edie, Cherry saw an opportunity to mess with the successful formula and take the show in a new direction: "What I won't do is cast another fortysomething sexy blonde. She performed the aging, neighborhood tramp better than anyone has ever done before." Damned by faint praise, I believe that's called.

Like all great soap vixens, Nicolette is having the last evil laugh, with a $20 million lawsuit lined up against the ABC network. Following it up with a formal statement, the actress claimed that she'd been a "model employee" and accused her former boss of behaviour that was "nothing short of abusive and appalling."

Perhaps over-egging the yolkless omelette, Nicolette's lawyers even position her as a hard-working team-player who just wants to "help protect others who have had to work in a hostile environment". No mention of which battered women refuge the $20 million has been earmarked for.

As a self-confessed "gay republican", Marc Cherry must experience his fair share of internalised rage. And there's every chance that this simmering resentment might occasionally bubble over.

Having said that, it's also possible that Nicolette is disappointed that the offers haven't been flooding in since she departed the show 12 months ago. Although she's only 44, her skin is now so leathery the only role she'd be suitable for would be stand-in for a pair of Louboutins.

Like all good soap operas, this is the kind of plot that can run and run. Just don't be surprised if we later find out that she's actually a pre-operative transsexual and Marc had been replaced by his evil Hispanic twin. Compared with some of the storylines on Desperate Housewives, that'd be almost believable.

In your face, Hollywood

Call it two steps forward, one step back. James Cameron spent longer on Avatar than on most of his marriages, in the hope that he could make 3D technology a viable story-telling tool, rather than a gimmick to drive up ticket prices. This was no 'smell-o-vision' novelty - it was the future of cinema.

So he's probably feeling a little disheartened to see how quickly Hollywood has raced to dig out those old polarised-lens glasses in the hope of repeating his multi-billion dollar success. Virtually every major movie heading to the big screen has been hastily retooled to ensure that audiences are kept ducking in their seats and waving their arms hopelessly in front of their faces.

This weekend, cinema-goers were treated to Louis Leterrier's remake of Clash of the Titans, replacing dated Harryhausen stop-motion effects with shiny new CGI, and even more dated Harry Hamlin with flavour-of-the-month Sam Worthington (hot off Avatar, funnily enough).

Although reviews were fair-to-indifferent, the real criticism was directed at the film's crappy attempt at a multi-dimensional spruce-up. As the LA Times critic commented: "It's doubtful that records are kept about this sort of thing, but consider the possibility that 'Clash of the Titans' is the first film to actually be made worse by being in 3D."

The problem is, Clash and other movies like it, weren't filmed with 3D in mind. Instead, they were completed in 2D and then converted on the cheap. Well, OK, 'on the cheap' is a comparative term, given that conservative estimates place the cost of that extra dimension at around $120,000 per minute.

Asked for his opinion, Cameron was diplomatic, simply pointing out "It's never going to be as good as if you shot it in 3D... They're converting 'Clash of the Titans' in eight weeks. But I'm guessing six months to a year to do it right."

Nonetheless, the extra five dollars per ticket to see Medusa's ophidian weave wriggling in your lap helped the new version of Clash of the Titans to a stellar $60million opening weekend.

Interestingly, while the debate was raging about the film's depth-enhancing effects, viewers in California were unwittingly treated to a fourth-dimension for no extra cost. During mid-afternoon screenings on Sunday, just as the monstrous Kraken rose from the sea, a 7.2 magnitude earthquake hit Southern California, giving movie-goers a rumbling, shaking sensation that even ILM couldn't fake.

For the majority of audiences, it seems that this new retelling of Greek mythology makes for an instantly forgettable experience, no matter how many dimensions you happen to see it in. As Michael Bay said in an interview recently, "You can’t just shit out a 3D movie". However, as he's successfully proven on more than one occasion, a Transformers movie can be easily evacuated from Hollywood's bowels.

Bi bi baby

No sooner had we gotten used to the earth-shattering revelation that Ricky Martin 'Shakes His Bon-Bon' for the boys, along comes another celebrity to upset the applecart with revelations about their sexuality.

This time around, it's Anna Paquin, the one-time Oscar-winning child star, who is throwing her closet doors open wide.

Anna made her announcement while filming a public service announcement for Cyndi Lauper's Give a Damn Campaign, which promotes equality for the lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender community. The video was shot at the end of January and features a number of high profile stars (and Kelly Osbourne) encouraging the public to "give a damn" about discrimination.

To say that people were surprised by Anna's declaration would be something of an understatement - apparently even people present at the video shoot had no idea that Anna had something she wanted to get off her chest. But there she is, telling the world "I'm Anna Paquin. I'm bisexual and I give a damn."

Within hours of Anna's story hitting the news, the servers at wegiveadamn.org had crashed, presumably because a bunch of frustrated men thought they'd be getting something very different when they heard about 'Anna Paquin's bisexuality video'.

Although most people seem to be pretty accepting of Anna's lifestyle, the concept of bisexuality still seems to be a little troubling for some. Since Anna is engaged to her True Blood co-star Stephen Moyer, some Daily Mail readers are confused as to how that's all gonna work, making comments like "If she's bisexual why get married? Has she read the vows?"

Oftentimes, bisexuality is seen as the easier option - somehow more palatable and less extreme than fully fledged homosexuality. It's something you try in college, like braiding your hair or voting for the Green party. But bisexuals are also tarnished by a reputation for omnivorous promiscuity - as though they'll screw anything that moves, and still have a good go even if it's tied down.

The gay community isn't particularly sympathetic either - often believing that bi-people don't have the courage of their convictions. To some, bisexuality is like driving school - somewhere you go to practice before your full licence is issued.

Bisexuality is far from the easy option. There's no discernible 'identity' or culture to follow. And you'll be unfairly judged for the inability to commit to a relationship, simply because you choose not to commit to a single gender.

Woody Allen once said that "Bisexuality immediately doubles your chances for a date on Saturday night." He's right, but it also doubles your chances of getting your heart broken.

On your way to five

The dinnerladies of America had better watch out. After transforming British school dinners (and in the process driving several mums to poke Dairylea Munchables through the school gates), Jamie Oliver is now attempting to save the morbidly obese youth of the USA.

He's certainly got his work cut out for him, given that two thirds of the US are overweight. And the other third are just plain massive. Jamie's hoping that he can relieve the pressure on the Land of the Free's collective arteries, and maybe entice them away from a life of elasticated waistbands.

Of course, this isn't a one-man mission to save America, it's also a TV show. So the papers have been filled with PR for the show, revelling in photos of saggy arses, downcast rednecks and burgers the size of a Renault Clio. The latest story devised to promote the show focuses on the challenges Jamie faces when attempting to overhaul the school menu.

Visiting the high school in Huntington, America's fattest city, Jamie was disheartened to see his chicken noodle dish rejected by Rhonda McCoy, Director of Food Services. In its place, Rhonda recommended that the kids be given French fries, since Jamie's meal didn't contain the requisite amount of vegetables.

Although Jamie was happy that Rhonda had given him access to the school kitchens, he criticised her for "doing her job which is protecting these rubbish guidelines". Which is a little unfair, given that isn't just the judgement of one ill-informed school official.

If Jamie had been following US politics, he would know that the US Department of Agriculture changed its rulings back in 2003 to reclassify frozen French fries as a 'fresh vegetable'. Thanks to the sterling efforts of the Frozen Potato Products Institute, the fast food industry was able to reclaim its rightful place in a healthy, varied diet.

It was really just a matter of time, given Ronald Reagan's embarassing u-turn a couple of decades earlier over everyone's favourite condiment. Back in 1981, the USDA proposed a directive designed to reclassify ketchup and pickle relish as vegetables so that public schools could serve cheaper lunches. Thanks to the journalists at Newsweek, who ridiculed the proposal mercilessly, the policy was never implemented - but it did grow into something of an urban legend.

Jamie's programme is all about education - teaching people how to shop for, and cook with, fresh ingredients. But if he really wants to change the world, he needs to educate people about the decisions that are made in the corridors of power. Where powerful corporate interests are seen as more valuable than the lives and wellbeing of the nation's youth.

As the old Chinese proverb says, "Give a man a fish, he eats for a day. Teach a man that Scampi-flavour NikNaks are made with fresh fish, and his kids will end up riding mobility scooters to school." Or something like that.

Skin deep

Beauty is a strangely intangible concept. What floats one person's boat might have the next onlooker dry heaving into their cupped palms.

It's also a constantly evolving concept, adapting to reflect other societal pressures and influences.

For instance, after decades of unattainable, cosmetically-enhanced hotties dominating the glossies, FHM tried to broaden people's minds by recapturing the magic of those 'girls next door' with its High Street Honeys campaign.

Like the grimly depressing 'Readers Wives' magazines that clog up the top shelves in your local newsagents, but without the hamburger shots, HSH makes a virtue of the kind of girls usually seen pushing a double stroller around Lakeside. Rather than airbrushed, many of these girls look like they've been given a good sand-blasting. Similarly, their make-up isn't so much artfully applied, as hurled from across the room.

But even the High Street Honeys look like candidates for the Paris catwalk, when compared with the hard-faced harridans gathered under the unpleasant banner of BNP Babes.

Profiled in a recent article in so-cool-it-hurts Vice magazine, the BNP Babes are a collection of low-res lovelies with the political beliefs of Enoch Powell and the collective intellect of an ASDA Bag-For-Life.

Deciding that the BNP should be hoisted by its own retards, Vice interrogated the girls' deeply-held and well thought out perspectives on issues of modern racial integration. The results were akin to asking a fourth-grade student to explain the motivations of the Tolpuddle Martyrs.

Sample exchange: What first attracted you to the BNP?
I don’t know. I couldn’t really actually tell you. There were a couple of the sentences I agreed with. Basically about how immigrants are coming and taking people’s jobs and that.

Throughout their interviews, Rebecca, Jo and Helen happily play along, utterly oblivious to the fact that they're being ridiculed. Admittedly, most people would become suspicious when asked "Has anything amusing ever happened to you in connection with spoons?", but the girls gamely attempt to soldier on, even choosing between "Hieronymus Bosch or a Bosch electric sander?"

Aside from an alarming insight into our falling standards of education, the article portrays three girls who've been easily manipulated by more forceful personalities into adopting an ugly perspective on the world.

The problem is, education and dialogue is the only way to break through the culture of ignorance and misinformation that swells the BNP's ranks every day. Not pointing and jeering at these misguided young women, as they pout in their cheap underwear and drape themselves in the Union flag.

In the war on drugs, law enforcement agencies have two choices - punish the end-users, who are really just victims themselves, or go after the suppliers. I wonder whether maybe racism demands a similar approach.

He bangs

Well colour me shocked. Ricky Martin is gay? Next you'll be telling me that Sean Hayes wasn't just playing one on TV. Oh, right. To be honest though, when it comes to Ricky, the clues were always there.

For instance, like 67% of all gay men, Ricky spent several years in a boyband. Admittedly, Menudo was a boyband with a difference, having been through more line-up changes than the Sugababes playing musical chairs. But at least with Menudo that was always the point.

As Latin America's most popular teenage musical group through the 70s and 80s, Menudo was created by Puerto Rican music producer Edgardo Diaz. He came up with the idea for a boyband where the members would rotate as they get older - being replaced on their sixteenth birthday, or when they grew too tall or hairy.

Rather than a homoerotic spin on the story of Sleeping Beauty, think of it like military service. In countries like Greece and Denmark, young men face mandatory conscription - in Latin America, you simply serve a couple of years in Menudo instead. And young Ricky was more than happy to be drafted.

Post-Menudo, Ricky spent the best part of a decade working as a solo artist singing predominantly in Spanish, before branching out into English. One summer smash later and the whole world was Livin' La Vida Loca. Ricky sang about waking up in a cheap New York hotel after a crazy night with a woman who took his heart and his money, arguing "She must've slipped me a sleeping pill." On reflection, it may have been rohypnol rather than Ambien.

Nonetheless, Ricky had arrived as a major pop star and was soon racking up the hits. He was even fortunate enough to team up with the 'Queen of Pop' for a duet called 'Be Careful (Cuidade con Mi Corazon)', although he found her a fearsome taskmaster. Ricky told the press that Madonna had even reduced him to tears, but that's not difficult given that she could probably make Robert Mugabe pretend he had 'something in his eye'.

With his profile higher than Lindsay Lohan at two in the morning, Ricky foolishly subjected himself to one-to-one with the grand dame of celebrity interviews Barbara Walters. Unconvinced by the rampant heterosexuality coursing through tracks like 'She Bangs', Barbara interrogated Ricky about his sexuality, only for the Latin heart-throb to clam up.

Even though she's been interviewing celebrities since Buster Keaton was a pin-up, Barbara counts her Ricky Martin interview as the biggest regret of her career. Speaking to the Toronto Star, Barbara said "In 2000, I pushed Ricky Martin very hard to admit if he was gay or not, and the way he refused to do it made everyone decide that he was. A lot of people say that destroyed his career, and when I think back on it now I feel it was an inappropriate question." Barbara's egocentric viewpoint aside, Ricky's fading star probably had more to do with the fact that audiences had moved on from the cheesy Latin craze that dominated charts in the early noughties.

Since then, Ricky has had a couple of low profile releases, most notably the twins he had with a surrogate in 2008. Let's face it - if you want to squash those gay rumours, making babies in a rent-by-the-hour womb probably isn't the best way to go. Just ask Clay Aiken.

So now, Ricky has finally told the world what we already knew, announcing on his website "I am proud to say that I am a fortunate homosexual man. I am very blessed to be who I am." In a fairly lengthy open letter, he claims that now is the right time for him to tell the world about his sexuality, although it's been suggested that his timing has more to do with the pressures placed on him by his boyfriend, who is tired of skulking in the shadows.

But maybe all of this cynicism is a little unfair - the clues were there all along. As the photo above shows, Ricky's well-versed in the art of shirt-lifting. And to think, we just assumed he was showing off his abs.

When "fudge" is just enough

Here's an interesting moral conundrum - is it appropriate for children to appear in a movie meant for adults only? As long as there have been films with adult themes, there have been key roles portrayed by young actors not old enough to see the finished product in a cinema.

From Jodie Foster as a 12-year old hooker in Taxi Driver and Linda Blair as the demon-hosting schoolgirl in The Exorcist, right up to Natalie Portman as a pint-sized assassin in Léon and Isabelle Fuhrman as a murderous Orphan - Hollywood has never shied away from depicting kids in child-unfriendly scenarios.

The latest tabloid-troubling teen is Chloe Moretz, who plays the 11-year-old Hit Girl in Matthew Vaughn's graphic novel adaptation Kick Ass. Decked out in a skin-tight costume and a fetching purple wig, the young actress is portrayed shooting people in the head and using the C-word.

Outraged moral guardians have been predictably quick to condemn what they've decided (without seeing it, of course) is an "offensive and inappropriate" film.

As for Chloe herself, she seems pretty well-adjusted about the whole thing, telling The Sun: "Obviously a little girl can't beat up and kill huge, heavy men. It is a controversial role, but it was a role I wanted to do. If I said a sixteenth of the words I say in that movie at home, I would be grounded for the rest of my life for sure." That's because Chloe, like Jodie, Natalie and Linda before her, has parents who make sure she understands the difference between what she's portraying on film, and what's acceptable in real life.

With that in mind, it's interesting that another 'innapropriate roles for kids' controversy has erupted in the last couple of days over a viral film that's currently doing the rounds.

Posted by a woman called cindymomof6, the youtube clip is of Cindy's son Jaydon's performance in a surprising school play. Rather than a traditional nativity with tea-towels and Tiny Tears, Jaydon's school apparently decided to re-enact Brian DePalma's classic drugs 'n' guns epic Scarface.

Some might say that it's a little strange that they picked a modern-day gangster classic, especially one with 226 uses of the f-word. In fact, Scarface's famously foul mouth isnpired a series of Swear-A-Long screenings - like Sing-Along-A-Sound of Music, if Julie Andrews called each of the Von Trapp kids a motherfucker.

Don't worry, the kids' version has been carefully rewritten to replace every f-bomb with the word 'fudge'. The bowl of cocaine is a dish of popcorn, and none of the guns fire live ammo.

Nonetheless, people are still up in arms about the school's choice of performance material, with comments posted along the lines of "Jaydon's school and teacher should be sued. This is just toooo wrong. What have we become. Shamefull" and "Its just wrong,the school needs help and so do the American people,to teach this at any age,no wonder they shoot each other in the street."



What's most worrying about this whole debacle is that fact that anyone thinks for a second that this video is the real thing. Everything, from the careful crafting of the script to the surprisingly adept camerawork, suggests that this is a joke. That and the fact that it's clearly supposed to be funny. Anyone who's ever sat through, or appeared in, a school play knows they're about as entertaining as an omnibus edition of Cash In The Attic.

It doesn't take a genius to discover the story on TMZ confirming that it's the work of an LA-based production company that's made videos for Lady Gaga, Bowling For Soup and Adam Lambert. What's not yet known is the purpose of the film itself, other than to give the easily disgusted a bit of a work-out.

And that's the problem - when exactly did we become so hungry for outrage that any sense of credulity went out the window? Does our sense of moral indignation mean more to us than any semblance of curiosity or rational thought?

Oh, and one more thing. For all of the outrage over kids re-enacting mobster movies and shooting each other with toy guns, it's worth remembering that Alan Parker did this 34 years ago in Bugsy Malone. And the only troubling thing to emerge from that was the career of Scott Baio.

Enjoy your stay

After what seems like the longest, most depressing winter on record, it's hardly surprising that people's thoughts are turning to holidays. A chance to get away from it all and soak up some much needed R&R.

But with the recession still biting like Edward Cullen with the munchies, many people will be forced to take their vacations a little closer to home. So it's depressing to see, based on a couple of high profile news stories, that English guest-houses can't always guarantee a warm welcome.

Michael Black and John Morgan had planned on a nice Friday night away when they booked a double room at the Swiss B&B in Cookham, but when they came to check-in, the greeting they received was less than cordial.

The B&B's owner, Susanne Wilkinson, turned the middle-aged couple away because it was against her Christian beliefs to allow a gay couple to stay in a double room. Speaking to the press, Wilkinson argued "They gave me no prior warning and I couldn't offer them another room as I was fully booked."

Presumably, when she studied the Bible she missed the bit where an over-subscribed innkeeper found lodgings for a couple with an unborn illegitimate child.

Indignant at the fact that the gay couple reported her law-breaking discrimination to the police, Wilkinson argued "I don't see why I should change my mind and my beliefs I've held for years just because the government should force it on me. I am not a hotel, I am a guest house and this is a private house." Her delusion runs deeper than the fact that she thinks she is a 'guest house' - she also seems to think that her personal preferences (or lack thereof) overrule matters of law.

Sadly, she's not alone in her misplaced sense of 'injustice'. Private hoteliers Ben and Sharon Vogelenzang have also fallen foul of those pesky progressive politics. Apparently, these days you can't even hurl religiously motivated invective at a paying guest over poached eggs without the moral police getting involved.

The Vogelenzangs have been charged with using "threatening, abusive or insulting words" after they had a heated conversation with a Muslim guest at the Bounty House Hotel near Aintree. The woman's crime? Having stayed at the hotel for four weeks whilst receiving treatment at a local hospital, she came down to breakfast on the final day of her stay wearing a hijab.

The fact is, she could have entered the dining room dressed as Colonel Sanders and it would have been no-one's business but her own. And yet somehow, "pass the ketchup" quickly devolved into a 'debate' that ended with the hospitable hoteliers suggesting that "Mohammad, the founder of Islam, was a warlord" and that the unnamed guest's choice of outfit was "a form of bondage." Checkout's at noon and let us know if you used the minibar.

Of course, the Christian couple argue that they were simply defending their beliefs and deny the allegations, despite the fact that they are, by their own admission, "fully aware that a robust exchange had taken place and the woman had been perhaps a little offended". At the same time as fighting the prosecution, they're facing up to the fact that their bookings have dropped by 80%.

Apparently, the local hospital which had previously referred outpatients to the hotel felt that it was an unsuitable venue for convalescence, given the management's vocal take on personal faith. Now the self-righteous couple may have to sell the hotel to make ends meet - a handy way of turning the story back on Islam, which should always be the villain in the story.

In both instances, personal religious beliefs have crept into the workplace and ultimately resulted in discriminatory conduct. These 'wronged' hoteliers might defend themselves with cries of "religious freedom" but their first obligation should always be the provision of services to the guests.

Just like the registrars who refuse to officiate over civil ceremonies because of their faith, they're ultimately failing to fulfil their role. More importantly, they're hiding behind a wilfully misinterpreted belief system in order to validate ugly bigotry and intolerance.

In these enlightened times it's easy to look back at racist TV shows from the 70s, like Love Thy Neighbour, and laugh at their primitive take on modern life. But have we really progressed that far from an era when guesthouses often featured signs that said "No blacks, dogs or Irish"?