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.