THING: CELEBRITIES
We put an extraordinary amount of faith in celebrities. We never imagine for a moment that they might be dull-witted, grasping idiots who can’t even open a tin of gherkins without needing to call their assistant. We think they hold the key to all that is fabulous and exciting, and we literally worship psychopaths if they wear a shiny jacket and have a memorable catchphrase.
My first celebrity encounter was when I got Peter Powell’s autograph at the Radio One Roadshow in Bowness-on-Windermere in 1982. (Calm yourselves.)
As I stood in a wet field while Peter played Kid Creole and the Coconuts records in the back of an articulated lorry, I realised that celebs were not everything they’re cracked up to be. Since then I have been in rooms containing celebrities, and from what I can gather they’re usually really short and tiny with big lollipop heads, and the level of tedious self-obsession required to be famous is deeply unattractive.
That’s not to say I’m not in awe of them. When society tells you to constantly outsource your own power to an elite group of rich people whose job is mostly to walk on carpets looking nice, you tend to get sucked in. (Like all heterosexual women, if you say the words ‘Paul Rudd’ I howl at the moon and have a hot flush). But all celebrities are not created equal - some are A-list and some are definitely D minus. Let’s review a few random ones, shall we?
TOM HANKS
Tom! Isn’t he just adorable? You could talk to him for hours about his typewriter collection, and I bet he never says anything bad or has ever done anything wrong in his entire life. Tom Hanks smells of summer meadows and smiles at old ladies and one touch from his warm, reassuring Hanky hand can heal leprosy.
VERDICT: Just waiting for him to shoot a kitten in the face
BENNIFER
J-Lo’s resurgence as an age-defying goddess who definitely doesn’t have an over 50s health insurance plan or a pack of Fybogel in the cupboard is great – unless you’re also a woman in your 50s and you look like a bag of sprouts. But although she looks fabulous, J-Lo has never struck me as particularly interesting, and neither is her rekindled relationship with Ben Affleck, a man who has all the magnetism of a Co-op employee finishing their shift.
VERDICT: Dunkin’ dullards
BEYONCÉ
Beyoncé is obviously a true star, because while I can imagine Miley ordering a curry from Just Eat or RiRi rolling a joint on the bog, I can’t picture Bey doing anything other than riding a silver disco ball horse, or thrusting her hips while a wind machine whips her hair into a frenzy. Does she shout at Jay-Z for stacking the dishwasher incorrectly? Does a glimmer of self doubt ever cross her mind? Probably not. Could she be the only human alive who doesn’t do poos? Probably, yes.
VERDICT: Goddess
KERRY KATONA
My favourite kind of celebrity is a D-list one who is about as well-known as a bus driver. I can’t get enough of grainy pictures of minor cast members of Hollyoaks walking through the Asda car park in Ugg boots and pyjamas, and Kerry is the queen of them all. Fuelled by Lambrini, Elf bars and a few oven chips she found down the back of the sofa, Kerry manages to somehow maintain a Loose Women level of fame despite not doing anything but marrying psychos and making other equally regrettable lifestyle choices. Yet she is lovable, and in this photo she also appears to be advertising Burge Gunson Heating and Plumbing Supplies, which is nice.
VERDICT: The Marilyn Monroe of Warrington, Accrington and parts of Grappenhall
JOHNNY DEPP
If you live long enough, celebrities who were once impossibly hot end up looking like this:
VERDICT: That’s enough of celebrities now thank you
THING: Mutti tomatoes
Britain is now an autocratic state that doesn’t have any fresh tomatoes in it, but don’t worry – you can always cheer yourself up with a luxurious tin of these.
Whenever I buy a tin of Mutti I feel like a million dollars. I am Nigella stocking up her storecupboard ahead of a dinner party, rather than a grimacing woman at the end of her rope throwing a tin of Morrisons own-brand chopped tomatoes into a pan and shouting at the dog. They are the Birkin bag of tomatoes, pulped to perfection by the leathery feet of Italian labourers (maybe), and each tin is personally blessed by Francesco Mutti from the infamous Mutti tomato family of Pomodoro di Parmagiana (maybe). Buy them while you can though, before they’re replaced with cans of government-approved pureed turnip with Therese Coffey’s face on them.
VERDICT: Here today, gone tomato
THING: Belvita
I have to admit to being a bit of a snob about on-the-go breakfast food. Surely even the most time-poor person has got five minutes in the morning to slop some milk over some cereal, or put a slice of bread in a toaster and butter it? I mean, how important and busy are you really? How many meetings about nothing are worth drinking liquidised Weetabix in a bottle or eating a pack of sad little biscuits like these?
But then I found a pack of Belvita at work the other day and discovered that they were fucking DELICIOUS. Why didn’t anyone tell me? They have the comforting taste of Malted Milk biscuits and make me feel like a little baby eating a rusk before going down for a long nap.
Now I feel like going on a crusade to establish Belvita as a banging biscuit in its own right. It deserves its place next to other classics like custard creams, Rich Teas and Bourbons rather than a breakfast replacement for disordered eaters. WHO’S WITH ME?
VERDICT: Cereal killer