The Beckhams have been in the tabloids with even greater frequency than is usual for them recently. This has consisted of the normal questions and gossip that linger over the state of their marriage, and also the fact that it’s coming up to the anniversary of Mrs Beckham’s business.
In order to commemorate the latter, Vogue have featured Victoria plus kids plus dog on the cover. No David in sight. Cue more gossip.
Victoria has spoken in nearly business-like terms about their marriage, all very unemotional and a bit distant. Cue more gossip.
I couldn’t care less about the state of the Beckhams’ marriage but what does interest me is the fact that when you sign up to a life of celebrity, is anything left private for you ever again?
The kind of pressure that this must exert clearly damages the more emotionally vulnerable, especially younger celebrities (Britney and the head-shaving incident spring to mind).
But how anyone can continue to exist sanely under such microscopic scrutiny, is impossible to imagine.
Perhaps it is only the true narcissists who flourish under these conditions and remain buoyant?
And by using the term ‘narcissist’ I don’t mean simply those who adore themselves, but those who are actually narcissists in the real meaning of the psychiatric disorder.
Many others who become famous court it so far but then beg for privacy once it all becomes too much – Princess Diana and the role that the paparazzi played in her death did of course highlight the issues of playing the press, offering exclusive ‘candid’ shots in return for favours, and how far the press can go in terms of intrusion in life.
But there is also the argument that if you want fame, and fame is what you get, to what extent are you then signing yourself up for public consumption?
In an age when many of our youth are social media-obsessed and claim that they wish to be famous vloggers or YouTubers when asked, ‘and what would you like to be when you grow up?’ this is surely more pertinent to society than ever.
We need high-quality drama on the box all year round
As usual once autumn commences, our television screens are inundated with new drama.
The Bodyguard is particularly gripping stuff.
But once these current dramas have run their six-week course, we shall be left high and dry until the Christmas and winter lot is unleashed.
I’m not sure why producers believe we are all out partying from February to September and therefore churn out utter tosh for months in-between.
If it’s because ratings fall in this time it’s not because the middle-aged and exhausted among us have left our sofas to hit the festival season hard. It’s because we’ve switched to Netflix as there’s nothing else on.
Health and safety rules are a rum do for ice cream lovers
An ice-cream parlour has been told it needs a license in order to keep selling its rum and raisin ice-cream.
Apparently, because the rum content is more than 0.5 per cent, this makes it too strong to sell. But in order to have any effect, one would need to consume so much ice-cream that one would never fit back through the door of the ice-cream parlour.
The owners say you’d most likely be struck down with sickness via ice-cream excess before alcohol excess.
Yet even fresh orange juice can have a natural alcohol content of 0.5 per cent due to naturally occurring sugars.
Will councils start requesting ID before one is allowed to squeeze citrus?