Cheryl Cole

So poor woor Cheryl has flown out to see Camp Bastion? About time! She could sure do with a decent stylist. Oh, you mean the Helmand hellhole our brave boys are garrisoned in? Well, forces sweetheart worked for Vera Lynn, and it might be a step towards reclaiming her title as the nation’s sweetheart (how quickly we forget). There’s speculation about Chezza returning as a ‘shock’ replacement for Tulisa for the X-Factor finals. How come? Somebody tell Simon Cowell the new panel works just fine. Why not sign Cheryl up alongside Camden comedian Kathy Burka (pictured) for his next cash cow, Afghanistan’s Got Taliban? ‘Eeh Farrukh, pet, Yah really nay-yulled that Osama tirade.’

The Beckhams

Much restlessness at Beckingham Palace. As the chatelaine prepares to pop the alternative royal family’s first daughter, one is reportedly finding it hard to sleep. Is there a pea under Posh’s mattress or has bambina inherited Daddy’s reflex kicking gene? I reckon the couple is up all night calling Suri Cruise for styling tips and deciding on that all-important name. I’ve heard rumours but Felicity Beckham sounds like a dull lesbian librarian, frankly. If you fancy a flutter, Burberry, Blancmange, Barbarella and Biggleswade By-Pass are all priced 15/2. I'm told you can get odds of one million to one on both Rebekkah - not exactly the most popular girl's name right now- and Rebecca, as in Loos woman. 

Princess Beatrice's Hat

As pictures were beamed from the abbey, incredulous viewers gasped in horror at the prospect of The Thing that had attached itself to Panda-eyed innocent  Bea’s bonce like something out of a low-rent sci-fi B-movie. Now the preposterous pretzel/ crab/ loo seat/ cat flap/ model of someone's fallopian tubes  - which, admittedly, I've grown rather fond of over the past few weeks - is being sold on eBay in aid of childrens charities. Duncan Bannatyne - who'd look pretty as a picture in it - has seen his £5k opening bid bettered: we’re currently close to £100K for the co-star of Will and Kate's nuptials. More power to Bea's elbow for turning the Treacey tragedy into a personal triumph: flogging it in aid of a good cause while making sure the entire world now knows which (fun) young (altruistic) royal she is. You'd pay Max Clifford a small fortune to raise your profile so adroitly.  Mummy, who has never quite rivalled her daughter's nose for a smart publicity move, might learn a thing or two from her daughter's canny reversal of fortune. Who will win the auction? Having failed to sign up that other wedding day talking point - Pippa’s perky posterior - to replace one of his US TV show  panellists who often appears to talk out of hers, could a mystery buyer yet nick the heinous headpiece? Wouldn’t mental millinery make more sense than seemingly mad-as-a-hatter Ms Abdul, Simon?

John Galliano

Which ingredient is common to Kiss of Death and Perfect John cocktails? Galliano. Did too many such libations inform the Italian liqueur’s namesake’s  pro-Hitler rant in a Parisian bar? Where next for the ex-Dior Wunderkind? A stretch at Sarko's pleasure in La Bastille? Hezbollah Fashion Week? Given the Führer’s track record, a self-employed Galliano can forget commissions for glitzy bar mitzvah gear, his‘n’his civil ceremony suits or big fat gypsy wedding dresses. Will he submit his CV to Chanel? Kaiser Karl’s record is without blemish but Coco’s wartime dalliances were reportedly way dodgier than John’s corrosive utterances. Ill-advised drunken braggadocio, one imagines, rather than in vino veritas. Either way, the seam queen has stitched himself up spectacularly.

Gordon Ramsay

Timed to perfection like a soufflé in one of his kitchens - on the odd occasion, that is, when Big Sweary isn't busy berating lesser mortals in theirs - up pops Britain’s most watchable TV kitchen nightmare since Fanny Craddock to banish those post-Crimbo blues. Best giggle of 2011 so far? Those post cosmetic-procedure pics showing what happens when vanity, ego, a brand to promote and money-no-object collide. You haven’t seen them? Think cabbage patch doll with a face swollen like a half-cooked Fray Bentos pie. When he’s not emoting - that hilarious, icky, open letter to Mummy-in-law - he’s off playing the manly chest-flashing action hero in Costa Rica, tracking down shady shark fin dealers only to be held at gunpoint and doused in petrol by the cheeky f*****  who presumably confused new improved white skin Michelin Man for a giant baked Alaska. Ramsbo, comedy legend, we salute you.  

Pete Doherty

Garrard, Asprey and Bulgari must be quaking in their Louboutin boots. The big jewellery news is that the nation’s favourite Babyshambles is doing a Jade Jagger, designing a range of luxury baubles in conjunction with Hannah Martin, late of Cartier. Given his street appeal, I’d have thought his collection, Albion Trinketry, would be perfect for Argos to add to the dazzling bling they offer from other latter-day Benvenuto Cellinis such as er, Justin Bieber, Lily Allen and Alesha Dixon, but it’s reported that the porky chops pork pie hat wearer’s gear is to sell exclusively through upmarket clothing chain, Joseph. Apparently, the muse for his collection is none other than Doherty himself, so expect vein (sic) urban junkies to be lining up in droves. There's said to be a selection of pins, cufflinks and the rest of the distressed dandy around town wardrobe staples but will he do spoon brooches? Whatever!  The good news is that if Pete works in tin foil, you’re unlikely to be mugged by some zonked-out smackhead fixing to flog it for a score at the nearest pawn shop.

Cheryl Cole

At 9.51 pm on Sunday, our queen of hearts made a decision that would affect us like no billions in Coalition cuts ever could. Now, 250,000 Facebookers are demanding ‘off with her head’ and death threats have been issued. Her crime? Putting two contestants through to the next round of a game show. Now, some may lambast X-Factor as orchestrated farce but, to Chezza - delirium, a side effect of malaria, possibly - it all feels real. Will promoting a hard-faced Machiavellian Madonnabe desperate to ‘be a legacy’ and some croaky wee anchovy who’d make an excellent lead in Mrs. Overall, The Musical (thanks to Marina O Loughlin for that apercu) prove more fatal than any mozzie’s bite? If the ambition of one modest wee soul with a big voice is really to be rewarded with a free one-way ticket to Harare, in Chezza’s shoes, I’d sod off to the States with SyCo. You what? Americans wouldn’t understand a single word? Better stay and tough it out, pet lamb. Cheryl Rocks? Not according to most of Scotland and all of Zimbabwe

      

     

Fergie

Welcome to the world of Fergie

Poor Sarah Ferguson is so broke - I use her commoner’s name on the assumption that Brenda and Phil will by now have had her stripped of the HRH bit, shackled in the Tower for crimes against the royal we - the ‘complete aristocrat’ is reduced to peddling dodgy cash for access deals. Boo hoo! But in my (bank)book, ‘not having a (Fabergé?) pot to p*** in’ doesn’t allow for a jolly to Naomi Campbell’s 40th birthday bash in Antibes. If only she were more like her hardworking ex, the industrious trade ambassador, obviously, not the joyrider duke of popular myth accused of flagging down jets and helicopters like they’re cabs for hire at our expense. How about Hollywood? Produce a warts-and-all sequel to The Queen giving us the real filth on the Windsors. You could pocket the leading lady’s fee too, playing your old toe-sucking self and wouldn’t Maxwell Caulfield make an ace Air Miles Andy? Box office gold. Future, sorted!   

Philip Treacy

I’m love-love-loving reports that mild-mannered Irish milliner, Treacy, is taking on a new intern. Step forward, Lady Gaga!  Apparently, the chapeaued-up chantoosay, who has worn everything from a telephone, a flying saucer, antlers and what appeared to be road-kill to a brown paper bag over her head - her most flattering look yet, according to bitchy detractors - is keen to master Phil’s craft. It’s a move that displays the Irishman’s shrewd business acumen. Their collaboration - a Gaga for Philip Treacy at Debenham’s range, perhaps? - could be a licence to print money. Can’t wait to see their outlandish creations on Scouse tea-bag tan trollops on Ladies’ Day at Aintree. It’s said Philip needs to assess the Lady’s sewing skills first but I reckon she’s a shoo-in, for isn’t the critical CV requirement ‘must be mad as a hatter?’        

Cynthia Nixon

I don't know why she looks to have been sidelined in the new film poster because Nixon’s screen character, Miranda, has always been the coolest of the Sex and the City girls;  ‘girls’ whose next film will, at this rate, be shot on location in The Hamptons retirement home for senile, sex-obsessed, Dior couture adult diaper wearers. Interviewed in the Advocate, Nixon relates how she dumped one PR hellbent on keeping her secret sex shame - as a certain fit-only- as-chip-wrapper red top would likely have described her burgeoning Sapphist tendencies - under wraps, hiring openly gay publicist Kelly Bush to get her news ‘out.’ Way to go, girl! Not for her, any South Park jibes about being stuck in Carrie’s closet. Now the actress is free to show off her other half, fiancée Christine Marinoni, not necessarily Nuts cover material and described, affectionately, by Cyn as ‘like a short man with boobs.’ On that basis, could Johnny Vegas be in with a shout if things ever go pear-shaped?   

Joni Mitchell

In a recent interview, having branded Madonna as ‘like Nero’ and Grace Slick and Janis Joplin, effectively,  as drunken slags, when the subject of Bob Dylan was raised, the usually retiring Joni branded the icon ‘a plagiarist, dismIssing both his name and voice as fake. Come on! With an eye on a rock stardom, would anyone stick with Bob Zimmerman as a handle? As for that voice; fake? Why affect an adenoidal whine that, at times, sounds like a Strimmer on the blink? If he’s such a plagiarist, don’t go covering various Dylan tracks such as Mr Tambourine Man, Joni! Could the lady's pique stem from rumours that, with Mitchell present, Dylan pretended to fall asleep, snoring, when previewing her Court and Spark album in 1974? Let’s hope that if the pair ever meet in France, they kiss (and make up) on Main street.

Mount Eyjafjallajökull

A virtual unknown a fortnight ago, Iceland’s Got Talent winner Mount E is now a Subo-style global superstar. Its forte? Spewing out toxic bile and effectively sealing our borders in a way the BNP can only dream of. Not only has its ash cloud prevented Miley Cyrus, Justin Bieber, Adam Lambert and a rash of irritants from invading these shores, the drone of planes overhead and tea-bag-tanned barrage balloon Katie Price announcing her latest ‘exclusive’ have been silenced - Jordan stuck in Egypt. If only we could make them erupt on command when media hogs such as the Geldofs,  the Osbournes and the Beckhams are out of the country, Mount E and its backing band, the Volcanoes, could have serious potential. Time to revisit Jon Ronson’s book The Men Who Stare At Goats for pointers? 

Amanda Holden

Is there no end to Holden’s talent? The question is rhetorical. I mean, did you witness her jaw-dropping turn on BBC flop, Big Top? Now the multi-faceted TV fixture talks of releasing a country album, telling one interviewer she enjoys singing in a Southern belle accent. Her stage turn as Thoroughly Modern Millie may have garnered kind reviews but, somehow, I’m guessing Holden’s plans will have Patsy Cline spinning in her grave. But isn’t it a rule of country music that you must suffer for your art? Enduring Simon Cowell, Piers Morgan or a face full of Botox needles in the past doesn’t quite compare with Tammy Wynette’s epic heartbreak. What songs to cover? Tammy’s Stand By Your Man dedicated to cuckolded ex-hubby, Les Dennis? Amanda’s performances on Britain’s Got Talent do have something of the Dolly about them, however. Parton? No, the Dolly I’m reminded of is Tiny Tears. 

Coolio

So far off-radar has Coolio slipped since Gangsta’s Paradise, it seems the chap couldn’t get himself arrested these days. Literally, in the case of his brush with the LA law this week. When Coolio failed to attend court as his probation order demanded, a judge issued a warrant of $10,000 - loose change to more successful rappers who’d spend fifty times that on bubbly to fill their bath-tubs - to apprehend the substance abuser. You may recall Coolio was arrested in possession of crack cocaine, understandably, some felt, shortly after his incarceration in the Big Brother house with ghastly, gobs****s Tina Malone, Terry Christian and Michelle Heaton. Having presumably studied mug shots to jog their memories, LA’s finest still failed to finger their target. To the relief of his fan(s?), the dude eventually turned himself in. Maybe he needed to remember what it feels like to be a wanted man for the first time since, oh, 1995?

Amy Winehouse

Madonna, Gwen Stefani, Beth Ditto and Lily Allen have all done it, with varying degrees of success: now Giant Hairstacks is turning fashion designer with a range for Mod-about-town label, Fred Perry, scheduled for autumn delivery. Smart move! The way things were going, could she necessarily rely on income from the night job? Sketches reveal Amy's mostly black and pink preppy capsule collection - all her own work, obviously - respect the brand’s heritage while reflecting her new healthy-living kick. But given past deportment, hopefully the duds will be sturdy enough to withstand fag burns and a good ruck yet still look fresh after a lost weekend rolling around Camden’s skanky gutters. Past lyrics suggested Amy as seam queen was a no-brainer: ‘They tried to make me sew in rehab but I said no! no! no!’ Whatever caused the volte-face, let's hope a stitch in time really does save Wine’.

JAMIE OLIVER

The turkey twizzler’s nemesis was left blubbing as Jamie Oliver’s Food Revolution premiered on American TV this week. The Naked Chef - please God, no! - was upset when the school dinner ladies of West Virginia rubbished suggestions that serving children ‘breakfast pizza’ with chocolate milk is the reason 78-inch waist jeans inhabit the ‘petite’ aisle at local retailer, Tubs’R’Us. Clearly ignorant of official government policy - word is that a cash-strapped Pentagon is grooming a generation of super-obese kids to be dropped on the Taliban as human cluster bombs - Jamie’s health crusade tanked; harassing hefties about as welcome in America as a plate of edamame beans on Billy Bunter’s breakfast table. More tears, one imagines, when ol’ chubby chops learned his new show’s viewing figures verged on the anorexic.

P Diddy

If he ever formed part of Ken Dodd’s boyband, this particular Diddy man didn’t register. But as a global megastar, P, Puffy, Daddy, Diddums or whatever his current handle may be, is nothing less than an inspiration to mankind. Faced with a morning wardrobe crisis, the gospel according to Sean John comforts and guides us: ‘I feel safe in white, because deep down inside, I’m an angel’. As mere mortals, we can but strive to follow his example. Gracing a London fleshpot with his presence and £500,000 to blow - nothing so base as a forthcoming CD to promote - it’s said he was followed wherever he went by a heaven scent perfume skoosher - eau de Diddy to promote? - drank only his own creation, Ciroc -  he can even turn water into vodka? - and was attended throughout by a personal hairdresser, magician and a human coathanger lest his sheepskin coat weigh heavy like a cross on the Diddy shoulders. Lordy! 

Sacha Baron Cohen

The producers of Sunday’s Oscars wanted SBC to present an award at the ceremony: who better to shake the event out of its usual self-congratulatory, schmaltzy torpor? But perhaps haunted by memories of the 2009 MTV awards where, flown in on a wire, Cohen’s Bruno character’s jockstrap-clad bum ended up in a stunned Eminem’s face (whadya mean, ‘it was staged?), the Academy have apparently nixed that idea. After all, aren’t they already taking a huge risk with considered-edgy-circa-1975 co-host, Steve Martin? Presumably, the idea of Baron Cohen eviscerating golden goose/ turkey Avatar in a Jerry Springer-style skit that involved him ‘blueing up’ as a pregnant female Na’vi to confront the alleged father, the film’s seemingly thin skinned director, James Cameron, was deemed too hot for mainstream American consumption, satire not being big in ‘Icksville, Illinois. No matter, SBC is the winner here; being considered too subversive for Oscar is CV gold.

Gok Wan

Eighteen months after splitting from his long-term partner - which in gay parlance usually translates as anything beyond a second date - perennially chipper fashionista Gok - which in my parlance translates as irritatingly cheesy chipmunk - is on the look out for a new man. He’s said to fancy Ryan Phillippe, but Reese Witherspoon might be a hard act to follow while even for Gok’s transformative powers, another crush, Jonathon Rhys Meyers might be a challenge too far. But if you’re just an ordinary bloke that fancies a bit of Gok, take heart!  He admits to being drawn to no-oil-paintings Simon Cowell and gobsh**e Gordon - that’s Ramsay, not Brown - although he reportedly once claimed to find the PM’s former boss, ‘geeky but strong’ Tony, attractive ‘in a totally sexual way.’ Bleurgh! Can’t imagine he Looks Good Naked and isn’t there one big insurmountable barrier there, chérie?

Roseanne Barr

Controversial comedienne Roseanne has raised the bar with a shocking photo-shoot for Jewish American publication, Heeb. In its latest edition, ‘the Germany issue’, the actress - who once fronted a US TV cookery show called Domestic Goddess - appears as an uncomfortably convincing Adolf Hitler in drag, complete with trademark moustache, brilliantined short back and sides and psychotic glazed expression. Would our very own domestic goddess Nigella Lawson who, like Barr, was also born Jewish, ever agree to be pictured as a Nazi hausfrau holding a baking tray of charred gingerbread men that are described on Heeb’s webiste as ‘burnt Jew cookies.’ With her ‘gingerbread victim cookies’ leaving a bad taste in many mouths, what next for her dubious satyrical creation? Fronting a campaign for oven cleaner?