There’s only one thing worse than being talked about, dying alone riddled with syphilis but apart from that not being talked about comes a close second. So Ashley and Cheryl Cole must be feeling relieved as their split replaces bullying prime ministers as everyone’s conversation of the day. Ashley, like some misbegotten character from a Thomas Hardy novel is reaping the ill wind of his bad deeds; attempted house break in, ankle sprained, his woman done gone and left him. He’s like a cross between a country and western song and a Burberry baseball cap.
With indecently fabulous haste, Cheryl has stopped fighting for her love, dumped him by text and is now in LA being comforted by a professional dancer. As Oprah would say, this can be a learning moment; if you insist on getting married to a cheating, arrogant footballer make sure you have a fantastic career of your own or you could end up like Mrs. Terry, clinging to your man like some relic from the 1950s.
Is there a more skin crawlingly, irritating sight that that of a grinning wife smugly posing for the cameras with the cheating husband she’s proudly standing by? It’s almost as stomach churning as the thousands of wannabe wags enviously studying the pictures and silently respecting her for holding onto her man. In terms of misguided pride it’s up there with the surly smug girls pouting in R and B videos as they jadedly hump somebody dressed like Fred Elliot drunk in the jewellery section of Argos. Other women aren’t jealous of you love; you’re wandering around a busy supermarket, packed with fully clothed people, in a g string; you just look cold, go put some clothes on and apologise to your mother.
To rub salt into Cheryl’s marital wounds her X Factor boss Simon Cowell has proposed to his girlfriend of six months, makeup artist Mezghan Hussainy. How gutted must poor old Terri Seymour be, the ex he went out with for eight years who still lives in a quasi granny flat at the bottom of his LA mansion? And what about poor old Sinitta? Poor ex girlfriend, recently divorced wandering around his garden in her palm leaves Sinitta, losing out to the help? Oh the shame.
Also hitting Splitsville, population, you, you big loser is the Romeo and Juliet of the “At risk” register, it’s Kerry Katona and Mark. The former Iceland star has apparently been doing more than just press ups with a trainer at her fitness camp. Despite intense talks at a nearby industrial estate (would that I were making it up...) the pair seem to be no more. Now I want you listen very quietly for the second. That dead buzzing silence you hear is the sound of the entire world giving a poopsie about any of it.
Kerry and Mark splitting the same week as Cheryl and Ashley? In celeb terms that’s like inviting your friends around for some left over beans on toast the same night they’ve been invited to Elton John and Lady Gagaga’s surprise engagement party. Even the former Coles had the sense to delay the inevitable news of their divorce until the fuss about John Terry and his wandering penis had calmed down; they’re not silly.
Kerry has fallen from loveable reality star, to car crash TV to the lowest rung in the celebrity food chain; a boring irritant. Oscar Wilde said there’s nothing more ridiculous than the feelings of someone you’ve ceased to care about and there are no break ups more final than when the public grow bored of a former favourite- just ask Katie Price. What more could Kerry do to tempt our interest? We’ve seen her fat, thin, fat again, thin again, drunk, sober, heartbroken, incandescent with joy. She is like a raggy doll we can’t think up anymore games for. Sorry, Kerry but I think it’s definitely over this time.
The one flickering light of hope in our broken hearts is the news that Robert Pattison is definitely dating “Twilight” co star Kristin Stewart. Now, I know this makes me seem like Ian Hislop on HIGNFY when he smugly pretends he thinks Britney Spears is a type of French root vegetable ( and really swap French for American and he’s nearly there), but that whole vampire movie phenomenon has passed me by.
Kristin always looks as if someone has just asked her to tidy her room and I only know Robert as Cedric from “Harry Potter “ an appearance that provoked such lustful thoughts that I was on the cusp of voluntarily signing myself onto to some register until I remembered he was just playing a schoolboy . Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy for the pair of them, but let’s not kid ourselves; they’re no Stacey and Bradley. Sob.