Tit Launch

Big Brother, the show that launched a thousand tits, literally and metaphorically will be returning to our screens this week, brimming with more desperate souls willing to sell their past, present and future for a Heat front cover and five minutes of our attention, bless, it’s almost flattering really.
It’s strange to remember but when the show first appeared on our screen ten whole years ago, it was considered quite trendy. It was the summer of 1999, the world was a different place, we were still giddy from the marriage of Prince Edward and Sophie (do you remember your street party?), Liam and Patsy were the coolest couple in the world and the only terrorist threats were the IRA and the odd dirty nail bomb in a gay bar in Soho- halcyon days! Remember Anna, the Irish lesbian skateboarding nun, Nasty Nick, officially the most evil man in the world (he wrote names on pieces of paper! Try explaining how wrong that was to people too young to remember, they’ll laugh in your face, but at the time, he was our Joseph Fritzel) and Craig, the large muscular scouse man child the last, lonely voice of reason in a house gone mad. But slowly the flatmates have slid from people we’d aspire to be friends with to people we’d cross the road to avoid, even if it meant being run over. Remember how excited we got back in BB2 when Paul and Helen started holding hands? They were falling in love before our eyes, we swooned! Now days in, hitherto strangers are willing to sweatily rut in the diary room chair, like insecure mating pandas, with only the dream of their own OK spread glimmering in their squinting eyes. Live in front of Big Brother, their friends and family and everybody they’ve ever know, or will know, they will vomit up every dark secret, display every personality quirk and oddity, all with the same confused desperate look in their eye, is this right? Will this make you like me? Love me!! Again, it’s almost flattering.
Their lives post Big Brother also hints at the decline in standards. Anna (BB1) now has a successful career in Irish television as a respected broadcaster, Brian (BB2) appears now and then on obscure digital channels, and Kate (Winner BB9) can’t even afford a television set. She has to look in the window of Currys if she wants to see anything or follow the soaps by reading magazine covers in WH Smith. That is a fact.
A bit like soldiers who faced action, contestants never seem the same after the experience, especially on the later "Celebrity Specials". Take Jodie Marsh. Poor girl, she just wants love, or it’s poor relation, a little bit of attention, but she’s like that annoying girl at school who used to fake panic attacks to try to get people to like her. She briefly appeared on Celebrity Big Brother three years ago, but was so nauseatingly unlikeble and unpopular with the other housemates, she emerged even less likeable than when she entered the house to booing mobs. Since, up until that point she was chiefly famous for having slept with Calum Best, this is not faint praise. Her acclaimed autobiography "Keeping it Real" ("A modern day Pepys…but with better tits" Nuts magazine) reads like a who’s who of men whose job it is impregnate girls from Atomic Kitten. The sort of men who view Lee from Blue as the governor. The most interesting aspect of her time on the show was her friendship with pre fame Chantelle Haughton. Jodie promised to take the skinny unknown under her wing; she’d show her how to pose for the lads mags, she’s bring her to the sort of nightclubs where footballers get accused of sexual assault in the toilets, even a personal audience with Abi Titmus was hinted at.It was like watching "Faust" but the devil was bright orange and looked a bit like a duck with beast implants. Now Chantelle, post an OK marriage and divorce, has her very own fake boobs, orange skin, fish lips and footballer boyfriend and Jodie after a brief but very public flirtation with lesbianism, has now decided she’s going to be a bodybuilder. Will somebody please just give these girls some attention, so they can quietly go away? Maybe this year’s Big Brother twist will be that the show will be based in southern Lebanon, or the West Bank, and housemates have to use their natural attention seeking tendencies to work as part of the UN peace keeping missions. Yes, there might be a few casualties but think of the break we’d be giving their families. We could tell the housemates that for every village they defend against gorilla attack, they’ll get an appearance on The Friday Night Project. Jodie, don’t pretend you’re not interested.

After the Fall

It’s been a relatively slow week in the showbiz world, a shocked community still reeling from the fall of the house of Andre. With newspapers suggesting the whole thing might be a media set up, never before has the term “publicity stunt” inspired so much romantic hope and crossing of fingers. Peter is in Cyprus, Katie is in the Maldives, Harvey is with his Granny in England but whose looking after us? Who’s caring for our hopes and dreams? They may be able to move on from each other but can we move on from them? The list of candidates looking to step into their diamante Jimmy Choos is not encouraging. I can see all the celebrity couple hopefuls now, being lined up by the PR companies like some damned version of Noah’s Ark, all desperate to prove they have what it takes.
Head of the line must be Kerry Katona and her Mark, but they lack the glamour and tend to struggle along like two aggressive Wombles on benefit day. Kerry was diagnosed with Bi-polar depression about a year ago and has recently seized on this like a drowning swimmer clinging on to a new publicity opportunity. Manic depression is of course a condition long associated with great artists, Vincent Van Gogh, Beethoven, Byron, who knew Atomic Kitten would join that illustrious company. Maybe Kerry ,high on the unbearable lightness of being, worked for nights on end on their canonical version of “The Tide is High” like a blonde but slightly less murdery Phil Spector, berating the other Kittens till they got the dance moves perfect. Or maybe, it was in her later work for Living TV, “Kerry Katona, What is the problem?”that she was fuelled with the agony and the ecstasy? Who knows? In fairness to the woman, her childhood does read like the sort of abuse fiction, usually selling for two for one in airport bookshops. You know the sort, they have titles like “Yes Daddy” or “No Mummy” or “Abuse; I was raised by one of those flying monkeys from the Wizard of Oz”. They peddle horrific tales of childhood abuse with pastel covers and vintage pictures of children looking fed up- Marian Keyes with added moral sanctimony. I think their target audience is people who can’t read without moving their lips. Bounced from care home, to foster family, to suicidal mother, Kerry could be an ambassador for this peculiar form of literature, her interviews reading like weekly instalments. So were all those gaspingly awful, aggressive TV appearances the result of her battle with a serious medical condition and tough childhood or just further proof that Brian McFadden is a stronger man than we gave him credit for. Maybe we should worry if we’re any better than the people who buy those awful books, watching them. Come back Katie and Peter please!

Another couple leaving our TV screens at the moment is patron saints of students and sick days Richard and Judy. The former King and Queen of daytime television are retiring from the tube after their new show on an obscure digital channel failed to attract any viewers. This is heart breaking, just when we needed proof that some couples can make it work. Richard, like the uncle who tries slightly too hard to be cool and proudly pronounces “The Artic Monkeys” like he’s self consciously saying a word in a foreign language and Judy, your auntie who asks about exam results and if you were seeing anybody at the moment. They were magnificent, as comforting as hot toast and watching TV wrapped up in your duvet and now gone. Why do the TV gods take the good ones young?
Thankfully, balancing up the books is the return of “controversial” rapper Enimen. Marshall Mathews himself is returning to the radio waves with some of his hippity hoppity happenings. After taking a break to marry and subsequently divorce his ex- wife, battle an addiction to painkillers and just generally regroup, he’s back with a new “outrageous” album, that’s almost certainly going to ruffle feathers- oh yes. He is so alternative-he doesn’t care what people think, the multi- platinum, stadium filling, Oscar winning; star of several MTV specials is dangerous! Excuse my cyncism, but the last time I checked misogyny, homophobia and being pro- gun was hardly controversial, in fact in the States it’s practically mainstream. Loose the tattoos and he could use the same policies to run as the next Republican presidential candidate. If he rapped about abortion rights, or was pro gay marriage or even demanded equal pay for women that would be more controversial. As it is he’s George W Bush in a vest top. As for being a dangerous influence, seeing that his main audience is white middle class, suburban male teenagers, I hardly think he’s about to smash the system anytime soon. Richard Madely got arrested for shoplifting once and he’s friends with Jerry Springer, beat that Marshall Mathews.

The End of Camelot?

The celeb business is a lot like the porn industry- women rule the roost. It’s very rare to come across any story with a male celeb as its lead. Sure, we have famous male actors and singers but we’re not interested in their private life and to express one seems shallow and demeaning to everybody involved. Take for example, Westlife. I couldn’t care less about them, a feeling shared by most of the population. I know so little about their private life for all I know, they may not actually exist, they may be slightly realistic holograms or ghosts that died one hundred years ago. If a member of Westlife got lynched in a forest, would anyone notice or care? Yet, Girls Aloud, their nearest female alternative, I know almost if not better than my only family. The nights I have tossed and turned over poor Cheryl’s latest heartache, the grey dawn that has spread through my window to find me huddled over a cooling cup of coffee wondering whether Sarah was partying too hard, well I don’t care to mention. If you were to show the same attention to male celebs people would think you were mad. Paris Hilton, it’s OK to camply love, Calum Best? people would genuinely question your ability to cross roads. When we do show some interest in the male of the species it’s usually only in relation to the female he has wronged- Jude Law, or Brad Pitt- they’re the subplot never the main star. We love “celebs” be cause they’re messed up, vulnerable but those adjectives only seem to work on women. That’s why we cared about Kerry Katona but not Brian Harvey, why there are no male Jades and unfortunately for Peter Andre, no male Jordan.Where were you when you heard the news? I was tidying my bedroom when the fairytale ended, the dream died, the Swarovski crystal shattered. To the newsreader it was just the divorce of Katie Price and Peter Andre but for a million OK readers, it was the end of Camelot. Call me a romantic, but their sheer awfulness as a couple made me root for them even more. So they met on a reality TV show and sold the story of their relationship before they had even met each others parents but, well, you never know?! There was the matching tans, the matching day glow teeth, their shared love of baring their chests; they had so much in common. Why couldn’t they make it work? It was great; every minor anniversary had at least an OK pull out special and they seem to renew their vows as often as most people checked their face book. Maybe the the camera and TV production crew that followed their every movement had something to do with their demise. Like a small tudor court, the couple were followed and recorded from first date to last slammed door. I’m fascinated by what the last epidsode of their never ending TV series will be? Pete pottering round the house on his own to aqward silence? Newly single Katie’s first desperate night out with the girls? Who will gain custody of the camera crew? Will they divide the kingdoms of “OK” and “Hello” between them? Like the end of any relationship, it’s the unanswered questions that sting.Unfortunately, it was the weird wacky world of “celeb” that did them in the end. Peter was a brave pioneer, ahead of his time in so many ways, in that, without any music career or prospects of one, he swam in the female dominated river of famous for being famous. He could never out Jordan, she would always be the star, he always her “and Peter”. Reports say that it was this living in her shadow that derailed their marriage. If it’s true I genuinely feel sorry for Katie, she but another victim of the “Barbra Streisand Syndrome” where men love the idea of strong women but quickly grow weary of relationships with them. Peter had to choose between his ego and love and unfortunately, his ego in all is orange day glow glory won.Maybe he should go out with Amy Winehouse next. While Katie runs marathons and raises a disabled son, poor Amy can’t even stand up straight. At her semi- official “come back” gig recently Ms. Backcomb herself struggled through her set before abandoning it halfway through. Looking fierce in high heels and a killer dress, the vulnerable star put the aborted gig down to technical difficulties. I think by that she means she technically can’t stop pouring alcohol down her throat. Her ex husband however, is getting over the break up by getting a fellow resident at his rehab facility pregnant. Blake Fielder- Civil, famous for marrying Amy and various assault charges is now sober and an expectant Dad, while Amy, responsible for probably the greatest soul record of her generation is destroying herself with alchol. Sod Peter, I want Katie and Amy together. I think, and mean this is as the highest compliment to them both, they deserve each other.

Shine on you crazy diamond

We all go a little crazy now and then, send a txt message we know we’ll regret, hover on that myspace page that minute too long, search for that house on google earth that hour more than is healthy, but most of us do it in the relative privacy of our friends’ memory and our computer website history log.Spare a thought for our poor celebrity cousins whose every head in hands-should I really have done that moment is shared with millions, analysed, regurgitated, dissected, with all the glee of a sober person recalling a very drunken party, all for our entertainment. Did I really say that- yes, according to the cover of Heat, yes you did….Nursing a spectacular hangover at the moment is the Mr. Chest hair himself, David Hasselhoff. He may have saved lives and broken hearts in tight red speedos, he might have battled crime with a talking car, he may very well, as he suggested, have brought down the Berlin wall through the power of rock, but even The Hoff makes a bit of a numpty of himself at times. Two years ago a video emerged on the web of the “America’s got Talent” judge mumbling drunkenly into a burger on his bathroom floor as his daughter videoed the sad sight begging her Dad to sort himself out. David seems to be still reeling form the nasty divorce from his ex- wife and former Baywatch co-star Pamela Bach. The thing is, I feel personally involved because I remember vividly, flicking through my Granny’s Hello magazine and coming across their romantic Haiwian renewal of vows. Oh from what lofty heights! Pamela filed for divorce and briefly accused Hoff of domestic abuse. He responded with claims the only man who ever broke her nose was her plastic surgeon. Oh dear, they’d come along way from waterfalls and leias. Now, the Hoff has tumbled off the wagon again and was admitted into hospital this week with suspected alcohol poisoning. Oh, Hasselhoff, you crazy diamond, when is Kit when you need him?Also giving into the crazies in spectacular manner is our old pal Lindsey Lohan. Li- Lo split from her girlfriend Sam Ronson in a break up so nasty, she has been barred form attending any of the same parties as her DJ ex. Poor Freckles is turning to her old pals Annie Alcohol and Nancy Night clubs to get her through the split. Hands up who remembers any film after “Mean Girls” Skinny Minnie has actually made? These days her entire living is based around being a bit of a mess and sometimes being too thin. Tsk, I don’t remember those options at career day. Newly single, with no career or income, she seems to be deserted by the young Hollywood scene she was until recently queen of. A bit like Norma Desmond, I can imagine her reclined in a darkened room opining that it’s the tabloids that have got smaller. Paris Hilton doesn’t seem to be calling round to check up on her or Britney Spears hasn’t arrived with a tub of ice cream and a “Pretty Woman” DVD. Instead Li Lo rattles round Hollywood on her own, like the ghost of her former potential, or with her little sister in tow like two doomed little children. There should be some twelve step programme to help people cope with no longer being famous. A half way house they can life in for a bit, a skills programme where they can retrain. You’re used to careless driving, writing off cars and speeding to avoid paparazzi? Have you thought of a career in the ambulance service? So in this world of self destruction , victim hood and anger turned inward, it’s nice to see a celeb completely nuts but not going to take it any more. There was always something a bit weird about that perfect bob that never moved, more than a flicker of crazy in those glinting eyes, that perfect smile hid what we all suspected, the angry mind of a madwoman, put down the gun Pam Ewing, the games up. Actress Victoria Principal famous for playing the archetypal Southern Belle in “Dallas” has been arrested on gun charges. The brunette beauty is used to getting what she wants, she studied at RADA, found fame on the eighties soap and launched her own million dollar natural beauty system, despite having so much plastic surgery she looks a bit like a burns victim. So when her maid took too long walking her beloved Shih-Tzu and then had the nerve to ask for her wages what does Vicky do? Dejectedly pay up, reach for the bottle? Hit a nightclub with Lindsey? No, she calmly pulled her favourite pistol and threatened to shoot the poor woman. Don’t mess with Victoria is the message, not even her dog or she will injure you. She’s hoping the criminal proceedings won’t take too long as she’s training to take part in Richard Branson’s first Space Mission. That’s right, she threatens to shoot people and then flies to the moon. Completely, completely gloriously mad. No wonder Bobby stayed in the shower so long..

Amanda Holden is all that is wrong with the world

The unthinkable has happened, no Lindsey Lohan hasn’t actually acted in a film, Brad and Angelina are rumoured to be splitting. Yes, our generation’s Paul Newman and Joanne Woodward but with more tattoos may be moving to Splitsville, population two, (but hopefully with fantastic childcare facilities).With Angelina rumoured to be cheating and Brad apparently drinking and flirting with his new co- star Natalie Portman; it is not looking good. Brangelina, the once majestic ship of all our romantic hopes and dreams seems to be sinking slowly beneath the waves of rumours and younger actresses. Their story reminds me, as tabloid gossip often does, of the work of medieval philosopher Boethius. His “Wheel of Fortune” warned of the capricity of happiness, one minute you’re at the top, pregnant, happy and smiling smugly on the red carpet for the cameras, the next minute you’re a single mother of six, alone with a cheating ex, trying to hide you face from the paparazzi, escaping down a rubbish strewn back alley, possibly with used syringes. Thus winds the wheel of tabloid fortune. Karma is a bitch, but it’s hard to sympathise with either pair in this sorry tale. Brad just seems like a shallow moron swept off his feet by the new cool girl at school and Angie seems too alpha female, too sexual, too bloody odd to identify with, like Anne Boleyn to Aniston’s Catherine of Aragon.You get the feeling if you were too nice to her she’d start humping your leg or something. Luckily even Hollywood movie star’s powers don’t extend just yet to those of Tudor Kings or the Tombraider could be in trouble. Even in Hollywood you can’t just kill off unwanted ex wives, unless you’re OJ Simpson that is…Maybe it’s just jealousy of course, a deeply unattractive emotion in anyone especially when it’s directed towards a three year old child but there it is, I think I’m jealous of Suri Cruise. I know, I know, her mother looks like slowly deflating Stepford Wife quietly giving up the will to live and her Dad is a “rumoured to be” repressed homosexual who believes we descended from aliens but have you seen her wardrobe? Her daily outfits are now carefully detailed on fashion blogs online and Armani is her official designer- she is three! She also attends weekly dance, art and music lessons and is learning two foreign languages. This is the child whose first baby picture was taken by Annie Lebowitz and made the front cover of “Vanity Fair”. Who on earth is the poor girl going to play with? She certainly puts my weekly Irish dancing classes in the shade. No wonder my ceili / hip hop fusion career never took off.Nevermind. They say everything happens for a reason-. I disagree using the Jewish Holocaust and the career of Amanda Holden as my example. What is the point of Amanda Holden? I don’t mean her as a human being; she could conceivably be less annoying in real life, I mean, what is the point of her career and especially her role as a talent judge on “Britain’s got Talent”? It’s like Heather Mills being a judge on “Britain’s got an Amicable Divorce”. Much kerfuffle has been made of the discovery of an unattractive woman over the age of forty with a good singing voice. The episode Susan Boyle appeared in started as any other, clown music played as she walked on stage, Simon Cowell openly sneereing when she expressed a wish to be a professional singer, the camera panning to gangs of teenage girls giggling at her audacity- so far so normal prime time family television. Then it was discovered that she was actually a good singer and the shows producers decided to treat her like a human being. It’s ok to publicly humiliate untalented people for our entertainment but not ones that can sing. The hypocrisy of the judges swift U- turn, falling over themselves to claim that they were the one’s rooting for her when the audience had been sneering was almost awe inspiring. Matched only by the monkey goons Ant and Dec, cheering her on, when if she missed a high note would have been pulling faces behind her back. If you must endure this violation of everything your Mother told you was wrong here’s a survival tip. Every time there’s a shot of a child singing, and the camera cuts to Amanda simperingly holding back tears, take a shot of something very alcoholic yourself. This is to remind us- she’s a Mum herself remember, bless her, by the end of the show you’ll be so blotto, you’ll be gushing at what a sweetheart she is. Give yourself enough alcohol induced brain damage and you’ll have the right IQ to sit through this rubbish. Am I being too hard? Lot’s of people enjoy the show. Here’s a tip If you are one of these number why not after the show invite Piers, Simon, Ant and Dec and Amanda, all the gang!, around have a few beers and then go urinate on a tramp. Just make sure they have no discernible show biz skills and you should be all right. Britain may have talent but whether it has any decency left is still up for question.

I love making expressions I do...

I love making expressions, sad faces, happy faces, bemused but in a wry way faces, I guess it’s something I just take for granted; I think we all do. So spare a thought this week for Lil’ Kylie Minouge a woman who hasn’t been able to move her face since the Conservatives were last in government. Do you remember how your Mam warned you not to pull a face in case the wind changed and you stayed like that? Well, instead of beinga slightly creepy story to confuse children, that turned out to be the former Neighbours star’s sinister fate. About ten years ago Ms. Minouge pulled a vacant, waxen, simperingly bland face and has remained unchanged ever since. I had thought the secret to her eternal beauty was a portrait rotting in her attic, but that contorted face riddled with sin and decadence just turned out to be Jason Donovan. So what is her secret? Is she actually a Greek Goddess imperious to the flow of time, a vampire or maybe just a figment of our collective imagination? Sadly, none of those things instead Kylie shocked the nation by revealing she has used Botox . I know. I haven’t been so surprised since Jodie Foster came out of the closet and Hugh Grant admitted to being English.The woman uses so much botox she is fast turning into a boiled egg in a wig. Imagine how annoying it must be buying her a present, you would never be able to tell if she liked it or not. You’d be forced to shout frustrated into her immobile, blinking face as she unwrapped the Ugg boots you’d qued hours to get “Describe your feelings Kylie, describe your feelings!”Although, I’m sure being unable to move your face has its advantages. If the showbiz world should ever abandon Kylie and her equally waxen sister Dannii, they could always turn into the world’s best poker playing team ever- Do they have four aces or are they bluffing? You would literally be not able to tell. Or perhaps they could use their enigmatic visages to negotiate hostage situations or broker peace deals in the Middle East. It could be that Kylie has sacrificed the ability to ever show an emotion again for world peace. I knew Charlene would turn out good in the end.I read somewhere that if you ever wanted to bond with a woman you’d just met, all you had to do was mention Keira Knightly and you’d both has something in common. Women hate Keira Knightly, hate her, which is weird as hatred is a strong emotion and she’s only an actress after all. If you were to wander into a crowded ladies toilet and bring up the subject of suicide bombers or Myra Hindley, after being escorted from the nightclub and sneaking back in, you’d probably get some voices of compassion or reluctant defence, If however you were to bring up The Pirates of the Caribbean star I guarantee you would get a unanimous wail of agreement that she was the most irritating, annoying person to ever sully the silver screen, with some girls even vomitting to make their point. What is it about her that makes women want to pull “uggh” faces? I’m sure she even makes Kylie’s face slightly move. Is it the smug pout, the shrill voice, the jutting chest bones that seem to gloat at her ability to live beyond food and your inability to do likewise? Or is it because she reminds you of every over achieving, unfriendly, most of my friends are boys because girls are just jealous of me, teenage girl who made secondary school such a misery? Whatever their motivation, Keira is just not a girl’s girl. Considering, she is the celebrity most women claim they’d love to give good slap; she is an interesting choice for the new campaign against domestic violence on our TV screen’s at the moment. In the advertisements to raise awareness about violence against women, she plays a successful actress who is violently beaten by her boyfriend. We tend to like our victims as likeable and cute, like Little Mo from Eastenders, but since domestic violence affects one in four women, chances are even some of the girls the girls you can’t stand are affected too. Women like Keira and Sienna Miller and all the other women we meet everyday that we feel we’re encouraged to dislike. With two women dying every week from domestic abuse, maybe there’s enough hatred against women in the world without women turning on each other. Even Keira pouty face Knightly...Which is why it’s nice to end on some good news. Colleen Mcloughlan is with child. The wife of Wayne Rooney (apparently he plays football) is expecting the couple’s first child. After weeks of quite glum showbiz news, it’s nice to have some good news for a change. Rumours are circulating that Kylie herself might act as the child’s godmother- she’s said to be thrilled. Well, her faced twitched for a bit anyway…

Famous as Gaeilge

A very strange thing has happened in the land of the Emerald Isle in the past five years; we have celebrities now. Of course there were always well known personalities, we had Gay Byrne, we had Ray Darcy, we had James Joyce, I once spotted Samuel Beckett in McDonalds once but I didn’t say anything. They were famous but on an equal level to county footballers or spotting one of your teachers in the shopping centre at the weekend. You weren’t in awe of them, you weren’t curious about them and you certainly weren’t that interested at in their private life. I remember in the mid nineties when The Corrs burst onto the international pop scene, how hilarious my friends and I used to think it was that anybody could think they were sexy and cool , when we all knew they were only from Dundalk (The Dundalk accent is a mixture of an animal slowly dying and incest)How things have changed? Thanks to TV3, the channel for people who like the “And finally..” bit of the news, so much, they built an entire TV station around it, Irish celebrity magazines like “VIP” and a now extinct animal called The Celtic Tiger, we suddenly had a generation of shiny, orange faced models with rugby playing boyfriends whose private lives we were supposed to give a fiddler’s gold capped tooth about.Top of the list is lanky TV presenter Ryan Tubridy. Seen as the young, hip, fresh face of RTE (he is thirty five so in Irish television terms barely legal) it was breathlessly reported this week that he has split from his girlfriend of four months as it “just wasn’t working out” . Why on earth we are supposed to care unfortunately isn’t explained.Celebrity journalism in a county so small just feels odd. Just as a hundred years ago, the Irish Debutante scene was the dowdy sister of glamorous London social swirl, so now the self declared “It” girls and boys seem like desperate New Look versions of their London peers. Being famous for being famous just doesn’t translate into Irish. Whereas in London, the social gap is so wide there are genuinely nightclubs you can only read about in the gossip pages of free newspapers, in Dublin, you probably went to all the glamorous hotspots in your first year at university. You can’t aspire to an unreachable lifestyle, when you know that most of them live in some dull D4 Dublin suburb, at home with their parents. In London, it’s the Jagger girls that tear up the East London clubbing scene, in Dublin, the Queen Bee is Rosanna Davison and her dad is Chris De Burgh-I think that succinctly explains the difference between the two cities. I don’t mean, isn’t London better, I mean that with a smaller city you just can’t cover up the bullshit. Whether you’re famous for having a Dad that loved Brown Sugar or one that crooned about a Lady in Red, it certainly isn’t your own talent that’s getting you into the VIP section.This new fangled celeb worship was viewed as yet another sign that the Celtic tiger had gorged the countries soul. Now the countries broke again, I look forward to the it boys and girls hanging up their dancing shoes and getting to work on their stream of conscious novels. Tick tock, lads, tick tock.The Granddaddy of the Dublin scene, Mr.God himself Bono is back in the newspapers publicising the marathon world tour he is about to embark on. Apart from saving the world, advising presidents and solving the world’s climate problem, Bono also dabbles in a side project , a musical group called U2. He came under criticism recently when it was revealed that despite urging everybody in hearing distance to donate money to charity, a complicated international banking system meant that he pays virtually nothing towards the Irish economy. Well done Mr. Hewson, absolutely no hypocrisy there then. I’m sure the Irish tax payer considers it a privilege to pay for your roads, health, etc. in return for the wonderful music you’ve provided over the years. My favourite Bono quirk, and there are so many, is the way you can tell if he’s being interviewed in the US, because he will suddenly develop a huge American accent. Watching him on Oprah last time was like seeing an am dram version of “Steel Magnolias”. Could be worse I suppose, he could be from Dundalk.