Celebrities In Their Own Right

Would we have even heard of Heather Mills, Trudie Styler, Sharon Osbourne and similar media fixtures, if it wasn’t for their famous spouses? When it comes to so-called ‘celebrities in their own right’, one, in particular, gets my goat. Step forward, Nancy Dell’Olio; Sven-Goran’s ex, a ‘charismatic’ diva who could have given Louis Armstrong lessons in blowing your own trumpet. In a short interview for a Sunday supplement, taking self-aggrandisement to a whole new level, the ‘I’ word crops up around 100 times: ‘I’m fascinating; I’m beautiful; I’m a very loved person; I know how good I am; I’m invited everywhere; I love to look 30, like I look now.’ Ha! 30? In dog years? To paraphrase the old musical number, I Yi Yi Yi Yi I Like Me Very Much. Me? Not so much! Delusional? The old Prada bag reportedly reckons she filled the void Princess Di left in Middle England's hearts and that she's the most intelligent person current squeeze, Trevor Nunn, has ever met. Well there's Nunn so foolish as an old fool, I suppose. Can someone explain why fancy Nancy gets photographed at all, other than - like Carmen Miranda - as reference material for drag queens?

The star of Case Histories

Case Histories: the action may be slow. the plot twists more far-fetched than Midsomer Murders crossed with Rebus, but you sure can't knock it for eye candy. I mean, just how handsome is the star of BBC1’s new Sunday/ Monday detective series?  Giddy types may swoon over Jackson Brodie, portrayed by the Mel Gibson-esque Jason Issacs, but for craggy good looks, you can’t beat Arthur’s Seat, the extinct volcano that rises above the show’s real looker, Edinburgh. Admittedly, I’m biased; I was born and raised in its New Town, the area much of the action takes place in, but does any other city photograph so well? Sweeping rain-swept shots over its iconic skyline; moody night-time vistas; cobbled mews locations Phil and Kirstie would die for: the tourist board must be beside itself with glee. Whether it’s in The Illusionist or The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie, Auld Reekie always appears magical. What about squalid Trainspotting? Sorry, that was mostly filmed in Glasgow.   

Scripting The Bottom Of The Barrel

Mockumentaries aren’t exactly new: the genre can be traced back via Spinal Tap to 1938, when Orson Welles's War of the Worlds panicked gullible American radio listeners into near hysteria. But the current rash of British scripted mock-shockers is really scraping the grubby bottom of an already well-emptied barrel. Just when you thought The Only Way Is Essex - its vacuous vajazzlers manipulated into ever more preposterous situations - was the nadir of civilisation, along came Caggie Dunlop,  that mane-tossing tosser in the Union Jack trews (Ollie? Mollie? Nelly?), and the rest of the SW3 gang to demonstrate why so many Londoners hate Chelsea and all that’s Made (up) In it. But for sheer mind-boggling inanity, visit Geordie Shore, MTV’s lurid British answer to Jersey Shore. If any of what its revolting clap magnets get up to is less Fake than their Bake, it will be a blessing to mankind if Orson’s Martians nuke Newcastle.