You have been watching...

Maybe we've been spoiled by the movies. For decades, we've been treated to endless scenes of witty, urbane villains who assassinate their underlings with ruthless efficiency, and live in well-appointed modern properties with every technological convenience at their disposal. No wonder the villains are usually the most interesting characters - they've certainly made the right decisions in terms of consumer durables and real estate. Snappy dressers too.

So seeing the footage of Osama Bin Laden, released by the Pentagon following his recent death, I can't help but feel a little disappointed. For the last ten years he's been portrayed by the media as an all-powerful bogeyman, controlling an invisible network of operatives across the globe from his secret hideout. Blofeld and Hannibal Lecter weren't fit to buff this guy's sandals. Or that's what I thought, until I saw his underwhelming home movies.

Sitting in a hovel that looks like a lazy EastEnders set, Phil Mitchell's crack pipe just out-of-shot, he watches a 14-inch portable TV that wouldn't get him a fiver in Cash Converters. To make matters worse, he seems to be struggling with the EPG for his satellite. He wants to watch Al Jazeera, but I get the feeling he's just accidentally Sky-Plussed a series link for Larkrise To Candleford.

Of course, this is all pure speculation, since the intelligence officials who issued the clips to the news networks have removed all the sound. They say they don't want to help "spread the word of a terrorist", but as Gawker has pointed out, this just makes it easier for anyone with a YouTube account to help create a hilarious new meme using some shareware dubbing software.

I understand that the administration is in a no-win situation. If they don't release information and video footage, they're accused of being secretive and untrustworthy. And by issuing these clips, they've inadvertently humanised a near-mythological figure. Watching outtakes of Osama's propaganda broadcasts, we're reminded of the extended Family Guy skit that turned into a pretty sharp pastiche of Naked Gun. Hardly what we expect from our super villains.

This is not to diminish the very real threat of terrorism and extremism - but it does shed an interesting new light on the media's depiction of our enemies. Even as we label Bin Laden's films as 'propaganda', we have to mindful that we're occasionally guilty of instilling a similar bias in our own broadcasts.

Irrespective of the detail, this is still a fascinating insight into the realities of a world we know so little about. And I'm sure this isn't the last we've seen of Osama flubbing his lines or looking into the wrong camera. How long before Harry Hill gets his hands on enough material for a special edition of You've Been Framed, Assassinated and Buried At Sea? There must be loads of clips - Osama on a dicey-looking rope swing, sitting on a rotten beer garden bench, or getting whacked in the nuts by a dizzy toddler with a rounders bat.

Paying the ultimate price

This week the world lost a true legend, the likes of which we’ll never see again. So as the world unites in grief over their untimely demise, let’s take a moment to consider the toll of living life in the spotlight.

Magazine covers, screaming hordes of loyal fans, and days spent locked in a gilt-edged cage. That’s the bittersweet price of fame for you. Now, all that’s left is an impromptu tribute of flowers, candles and stuffed toys.

Knut, you may be gone too soon, but your contribution to the world of celebrity will never be forgotten. In related news, Liz Taylor also kicked the champagne bucket, but who cares about that when “the world’s most famous polar bear is dead”?

The media loves a good tragedy, especially when it can put a borderline nonsensical spin on things. The death of a four year-old German polar bear being a prime example, as one writer in the Mail speculates that fame might have been responsible for his premature passing.

Waxing lyrical about the ursine urchin’s hunger for audience appreciation, the article describes how Knut suffered from the stresses of an “unreal celebrity-style life” and had a deep-seated “addiction to public adulation”. One of Knut’s keepers, Markus Röbke, has even stated that he often saw Knut cry when Berlin zoo closed for the evening. Early reports that Knut used to tip off photographers prior to leaving his grotto, remain unsubstantiated at this point.

But the life of a celebrity isn’t all lazing by the pool and making the occasional public appearance – there are also the nutjobs and obsessed fans to deal with. Berlin Zoo even received a faxed death threat that read “Knut ist tot! Donnerstag Mittag (Knut is dead! Thursday at noon)”. Thursday came and went without incident, and no-one seemed particularly surprised. Well, it's hard to take anyone seriously who still communicates via fax machine.

During his short life, Knut also had to deal with the public’s obsession with his sex life, as well as the pressures of maintaining a paparazzi-ready appearance at all times. His “weakness for croissants” meant that he was tipping the scales at 130 kilos when he was only two years old. Personally, I don’t think he ever got over seeing his hind flanks featured in Heat’s "Stars with Orange Peel Legs” article.

All the media attention must have weighed heavily on the young bear's off-white shoulders. There were concerns he was feeling the strain when ten live carp were introduced to his moat to eat the algae, only for Knut to bite off their heads and smothered himself in their blood. It was that or try to fashion their fillets into an eye-catching awards gown.

Although the papers were quite happy playing Quincy M.E., zoo authorities made sure that a real autopsy was also scheduled. You know, just in case Knut wasn't killed by the pressure of having to pen another volume of memoirs. Final results are yet to be released, but it's looking likely that he was killed by an "underlying neurological problem".

It's not all bad news though, at least for the papers that were so keen to point the finger at modern celebrity, since they're an integral part of the machinery. This way, they get to throw out their ridiculous accusations and, at the same time, abstain from any culpability in the matter. The disingenuous knuts.

Poetic justice?

Who says God doesn't have a sense of humour?  In fact the BBC needs to stop looking for a replacement for Jason Manford on The One Show - they should just rope in Yahweh. Not only is he a comedy genius, he probably won't get caught wanking at people on Skype.

Yesterday, the big guy showed his true colours with an astonishingly perfect piece of comic timing. Just as millions of American turkeys were having their body cavities stuffed full of bread and seasoning, he decided to call home the man who has been terrorising the avian species for almost sixty years.

It was Thanksgiving, which meant that one turkey got the official pardon from President Obama. Meanwhile, over in Norfolk, Britain's most prolific turkey murderer wasn't quite so lucky. The irony couldn't be more delicious if it was rolled in a crispy crumb batter and deep friend until golden brown.

Bernard Matthews was a national institution, responsible for switching the entire nation onto it's new third favourite white meat. In the process he transformed agribusiness, invented the concept of the cheap mid-week roast and proved that it was possible to spearhead an advertising campaign with no media training whatsoever.

Several generations grew up watching him celebrate his 'bootiful' birds on TV, torturing those vowels the same way he did his feathered friends. And who didn't enjoy a delicious roll of turkey meat on a Wednesday evening, marvelling at how half a pound of salt could make even the most bland and flavourless meat seem delicious?

Bernard's contribution to British life can't be underestimated. His company currently employs over 2,000 people in an area which, lets be honest, probably doesn't boast an abundance of career opportunities. And his success enabled him to transform many of the outdated processes involved in large-scale farming.

Tributes have already been paid to the patron saint of poultry farmers, with the CEO of his company stating "He is the man who effectively put turkey on the plates of everyday working families and in so doing became one of the largest employers in rural East Anglia and a major supporter of the local farming community."

Not everyone's sad to see him go though. Andrew Tyrer, of Animal Aid, turned out in his best grave-dancing shoes to say: "Bernard Matthews has left an appalling and brutal legacy of turning turkeys into denatured units of production … It is time to abandon everything he stood for."

And given his long-running campaign to have the Turkey Twizzler (Hmm, maybe kids would enjoy turkey meat if it was stuffed full of MSG and shaped to look like a pig's tail?), I don't suppose Jamie Oliver will be sending flowers to Great Witchingham.

It's just unfortunate that, for all his innovation and industriousness, Bernard is now likely to remembered as the punchline to a joke about the day the turkeys got their revenge. Then again, he always did enjoy a good roast.