Happy New Year ... Cheryl Bloody Cole ....

I will try harder to update the blog once I've fully gotten over the faux excitement of Christmas when the world seems to stand still and all worries about the women go out the window in favour of scented candles and champagne. Argh, I've turned into one of those people who thinks there nothing better than spending a Saturday afternoon in John Lewis. I'm off there later for a butter dish. That's right a butter dish. I've skated past the mid-twenties, when as women we're supposed to be in our physical peak (tell that to my hair that's turning a weird pigment sapping blond) into middle age-dom.

Anyway back to the reason why I've blown the dust off this blog. I'm no Cheryl basher -I've praised her once before on here - awe she's so shiny and you could brush her hair with one of those big pink Barbie combs - it would be so much fun blah, blah, blah. But the other day something truly horrifying happened.

I was sitting in a hospital waiting room (bad enough), surveying the crumpled literature of mangled gossip magazines laying limp on the table like dusty relics to a by-gone era of celebrity - 2009 to be exact - and deciding to plump for The Shining instead, when a wee girl skipped in with her mother. They plonked themselves down on a couple of chairs, the little Ugg-booted girl (probably no more than 3) proceeded to thumb through one of the said celeb magazines. This was shocking enough, but not as shocking as the classic straight out of the mouths of babes moment that followed. Scanning the page with the hawk eye of any 3 year old well-read in celebrity, her finger hovered over the image of a lady with bounteous hair. 'Cheryl Cole!' the little girl exclaimed with obvious glee.

'Aye it is' her mother replied lacklustrely (evidently not everyone loves la Cheryl) 'she get's bloody everywhere ...'

All this would have been mildly amusing if the rosy cheeked cherub hadn't then turned the page and hovered her eye over another lady. 'Lady Gaga!' she squeaked ...

I could lament over this tableaux in a mournful air similar to the little girl's mother. I could wax lyrical about how awful it is for the next generation having to grow up in a celebrity obsessed, hyper sexualised culture where looks (Cheryl Cole) eschews talent and sex sells absolutely bloody everything (Lady Gaga's cynical derivative music). But instead I'll just leave you with the image of a small child pointing at a picture of a woman wearing a leotard and nothing much else and instantly being able to recognise her. It was George Orwell who said if you want an image for the future imagine a boot stamping on your face ... forever. Perhaps this should be rephrased - if you want an image for the future imagine a celebrity gossip magazine being rapped around your head ... forever.

Happy new year ...