AKR's
With Anne deBondt

So President Blair got plastered with a purple powder bomb during a House of Commons debate, huh? And there we were thinking all was under control, safety-wise …
Now, I know it would be impossible to cover every inch of everywhere the man went. Nor am I unreasonable enough to think that even the most safety conscious of security systems couldn't be infiltrated if the perpetrator (or perpetrators) were determined enough.
But the House of Commons … really? I mean, isn't that like the Oval Room in the White House as far as hallowed territory goes? Isn't that kind of the hot spot for an attack?
Far be it from me to suggest that I would ever do such a thing … but even I would have considered the House of Commons to be number one on my list of places to start, should I ever get it into my head to stage a protest or call attention to my cause.
Who dropped the ball there? Does it worry anyone else that the President of the United Kingdom can be "got at" so easily? You know, if he were worth worrying about, I mean.

Oh for the love of God … it was bad enough when the Bennifers filled our television screens and manipulated every media publication on planet earth with their dreary lifestyles.
Every minute of their phoney Hollywood existence was written about and captured on camera as though somehow they were going to save the world with their union.
Until, until that glorious day when they broke up. Until that blissful moment when they decided that their squillion dollar lifestyles couldn't be merged into one basquillion dollar lifestyle. Oh heavenly day! The press turned off their lights, packed up their crayons and left them alone. And thus we have been spared any further news updates regarding J-Lo shopping for diamond studded thongs or Benflick enjoying a lap dance, you know, without inhaling.
LIFE was good again.
Until now, that is…. Now the Poshams, the Vichams, the PoDavids - whatever - have taken the baton and are running with it all over our television screens and newspapers! They're unavoidable. And all because HRH Footloose supposedly boinked his assistant. For two days their marital zit actually headlined over the recent trouble President Blair is having justifying the number of asylum seekers flooding into Disneyland Britain, the conflict in Iraq and the fact that, if he keeps telling lies, ole Tone will go down in history as President Pinocchio. I mean the man can tell a few porkpies, huh? (If Blair is Pinocchio, does that make George Bush Dumbo? - Editor's comment)
But what else is new? Isn't schtooping the gals within reach what football players do in their spare time? It's not as though Saint David is expected to perform open-heart surgery in his off time. And he can't just comb his hair all the time, can he?
And as for the singing career of HRH Talentless, the less said about her the better. I mean the gal can't even grow her own hair! And what's with her sudden penchant for baseball caps?
So why the over exposure? Why are we being brainwashed into believing that these two are news? Once again someone somewhere is deciding for us that this is information that warrants reporting on as soon as possible. When in fact I haven't spoken to a single person yet who shares the opinion of the press. I couldn't care less what these two do in their everyday life and I don't know anyone who does. I care even less that they might split up because he couldn't keep it in his trousers and everyone I know feels the same. And, I really, really don't care that Pointless Spice chooses now to risk her botox sessions and crack a smile - you know, in case her hubby's piece of skirt on the side might be watching. (Does anyone else think that perhaps had she shown the man half the attention he's getting now, he might not have needed to stray…? I'm just saying.)
The guy may be a super football player. He might even be a hero to some youngsters. Hell, I'll even go so far as to say that the wunderkind deserves to be paid such a grotesque amount of money even though he doesn't save lives, stop world hunger or invent a new computer programme.
But why such insignificant information can't be confined to the outlet it deserves is a mystery. If you ask me, this kind of stuff is exactly what printed toilet paper was invented for!

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