Thursday, 22 April 2010

Somebody please make it all go away.

I’m not usually a bitter person but when I read about Kerry Katona moving into a million pound Brighton mansion I start wondering if I should have ditched my English degree and got married to someone from Westlife instead. Even Jedward is beginning to look like a better option.

The exiled Queen of Iceland has declared war on ex Brian McFadden; branding him a bad father in a recent tabloid interview. Her first husband and father to the younger batch of her brood is currently living in Australia and is a judge on “Australia’s Got Talent” which is like Gordon Brown being a judge on a “Why am I so Adorable?” or David Cameron on “ Britain’s Got Sincerity” or Nick Clegg on “I give it another Week, tops”. Brian has the bittersweet privilege of being the Pete Best of Westlife. He left the band in a flurry of hubris, ready to launch himself as the next Robbie Williams, as if the world hadn’t enough problems, and like an Emmerdale actor earnestly declaring they were off to Hollywood, was never heard of again.

Kerry, now managed by Katie Price’s old management team has been cleaning up her image; out goes the leaching husband and drunken TV appearances and in comes play dates with Peter Andre and washing herself. As a way of setting the story straight, because in this time of economic depression nothing adds more to the folly of the nation, she’s been revealing the sweaty ins and greasy outs of her grubby marriage.

With an honesty that we’re supposed to applaud rather than be physically repulsed by, she describes whole weeks lost to coke and online bingo. Oh, the glamour-forget the golden parties of Old Hollywood; Drinks at the Copacabana, Errol Flynn chasing after underage girls, Joan Crawford beating her kids around the head with wire clothes hangers; we have the image of Kerry alone in a darkened bedroom, the blue light of the monitor flickering over her tear swollen, kebab encrusted face, googling herself and sobbing.

It’s the kids I’m happiest for. Whereas before, they lived with an attention seeking coke child, now they have a Mum selling her most sordid secrets for cash. Days left alone in front of the telly while Mum rustled about upstairs replaced by nights in alone as she attends parties to prove how she’s turned her life around. So every trip to the zoo will now be accompanied a camera crew to prove what a great Mother she is? At least they’re getting outside the house.

I honestly think I preferred her when she looked like a cabbage patch kid on crystal meth, at least there was an honesty to it. The sanctimonious, shrill confidence that if you bleat loudly enough about your mistakes you are not only automatically entitled to forgiveness, but should in some way be respected for it, is a particularly irritating sound.

Speaking of dodgy parent’s, Michael Douglas is rueing a few of his life choices after his son Cameron narrowly escaped a lengthy year jail term for drug dealing. The youngest member of the acting dynasty fell into drugs at thirteen and after his family refused to fund his habit, the thirty one year old began drug dealing. I don’t know what would be more confusing, your Dad choosing “A Chorus Line” over spending time with you or waking up to discover that Catherine Zeta Jones in your new Mum.

However bad Michael might be feeling compared to Jack Tweedy he is positively Christ like. Tweedy is in court at the moment accused of raping a teenage girl he picked up at a nightclub. The professional widow has embraced the Lidl fame left to him by his late wife Jade Goody.

A kingdom of easily impressed young girls, drugs, crazy parties and arrogant recklessness was his for the tasting. Who can blame him for living the MTV dream; easy up for it woman, blinging big cars and being the King of every Wag wanabee infested nightclub this side of Essex? Even if the pimpled reality is a drunk terrified teenager allegedly raped in the toilets of a rented suburban house in the tired early hours of the morning,

The pictures of Tweedy and his co accused friend, entering and leaving the court are a stomach churning study in smugness. How can we be blamed for anything they seem to whine; look how expensive my sunglasses are? Chill out! Fame has a magnifying affect on the personality, like very old age, getting drunk or the mumblings first thing in the morning, it strips away to the your true personality. When Jade Goody first found fame, she seemed truly grateful, like a child who had just been adopted. Unfortunately not all personalities bear up to such close scrutiny.

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