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?

Megan Fox

Touted by some as the next Angelina Jolie - despite a range that doesn’t appear to stretch much beyond evading robots disguised as cars - Fox reckons to have ‘some kind of mental problem’ as yet unpinpointed. Could the issue be more physical in nature? Like foot in mouth disease? This might explain a penchant for outlandish, unfiltered quotes that would cause most stars’ PR people to vomit or suffer uncontrollable diarrhoea - the avoidance of which - along with tripping - are among Megan’s stated objectives whenever she is on stage according to an interview in Wonderland magazine. Suggesting she’d really like to let rip on the topic of Michael Bay, her director on the latest Transformers flick, she reins her comments way in, comparing him to nobody more frightful than Napoleon - a syphilitic, baldy, megalomaniac midget with delusions of grandeur, then? - or that perennially fluffy kitten, Hitler - a description unlikely to commend Bay to Hollywood’s Jewish grandees. ‘He’s a nightmare to work for,’ she says. Just as well the batty brunette won’t have to in future.