Can't Stand You Now.

Who knew Olivia Newton John, that lovely seventies pin up had so much in common with Gail Tilsley? No, she hasn’t been caught scrapping with Eileen Roberts outside Frescos, gorgeous Sandy from Grease has recently found out her ex- boyfriend didn’t drown on a fishing trip three years ago after all but faked his own death. At least Gail had the dignity of her husband actually drowning.

TV makers tracked Patrick McDermott to a small coastal resort in Mexico, where he had been working on tourist boats and living under an assumed name. As he continued to pay into his life insurance policy there was no financial reason for his escape, it seems he travelled to the other side of the world and created an entire new life identity just to get away from the “Let’s get Physical “star.

No matter how many girls’ nights out she goes on, it will take a pretty flattering haircut to get over that little revelation. I would love it if when she finally caught up with him and demanded to know what the flaming gula he’s been up to, he shrugged his shoulder s and said “You know, rocking and rolling and what not”. (For hardcore Grease fans only)

Poor old Lindsay of Lohan has been dumped again recently, this time by an entire fashion house. She was dropped by fashion label Ungaro, before Paris fashion week, after her first and now only collection as the house’s creative director received unanimously awful reviews. Her debut collection featuring sequins and nipple tassles was so bad, Emmanuel Ungaro himself , who no longer owns the fashion label, publically declared it a disaster.

Her recent behaviour has been so rambling, at one stage visiting three nightclubs in Hollywood in one night that even LA police have suggested that she seek help. Caught on the hop by the unexpected deaths of Heath and Brittany, newspapers have prepared obituaries for celebs at risk including Ms. Lohan. The former actress’s career has crumbled to such an extent, she has evolved into a bizarre version of Kenneth Williams. Content to wander onto any chat show that will have her, instead of displaying William’s shrill brittle wit, we’re encouraged to bleakly stare in the grinning face of imminent personal disaster. Maybe she should just go the whole hog and hook up with Pete Doherty.

Kate Moss’s ex has been creating some rock and roll high jinks recently by spitting water on a Five TV presenter. Yes, how hardcore is that? What next? Getting into a fight with Melinda Messenger? Flipping John Barrowman the bird? Crazy horse Doherty is reforming “The Libertines” with Carl Barat, after both their solo careers failed to produce one decent single and will perform at several festivals this summer.

Pete has been kicking off his live shows with appearances at London Fashion Week. Sid Vicious eat your syringe out, nothing says rock and roll anarchy like free clothes. I liked The Libertines music; it’s the too fragile for this world, emo- Christ, prattling on about Albion, fey posing of Pete that I find so irritating and boring. If Pete wants to wander round like a bloated self regarding Victorian chimney sweep, than I wish him well, I just wish he’s written at least one good tune since 2004.

He was recently questioned by police in connection with the fatal overdose of a young director making a documentary about him. Robyn Whitehead , a heiress from the famous Goldsmith family, was twenty seven year old when she was found dead in a flat frequented by Pete and his entourage. When Pete has a bad period, he gets interviews on Newsnight and broadsheets columnists bemoaning the waste of such a delicate talent. The vulnerable young women attracted to his darkly glittering lifestyle end up alone and dead in council flats.

There’s a long history of beautiful blonde waifs falling in with “geniuses” and it’s always the very people that glamorise self destructive behaviour that stay in control. Mick Jagger might have sold the idea of the swinging sixties but it was Marianne Faithfull who ended up living on a wall. Andy Warhol was happy to photograph Edie Sedgwick losing her mind but he ended up one of the most commercially successful artists of all time and she was dead by twenty eight.

Despite all the handwringing and profiles a verb away from being obituaries, Pete is still very much with us. After the arrests, the wandering into court actually in possession of drugs, the crashed cars and blood encrusted gigs, he has become the Queen mother of wasted youth, heading into his thirties, still managing to wake up somewhere safe. As always, when it comes to rock and rolls “lost boys” it’s a case of cherche les dead rich girls.