herald

Wednesday 13 December 2017

Celebrity fatigue has me sick of Lily Allen, Jennifer Aniston and Victoria Beckham and more interested in the contents of Glenda Gilson's mobile phone

SO, hold the front page ... breaking news ... Lily Allen is doing a reality TV show for BBC3. Is this the same Lily Allen who, about a month ago, was swearing to retire from showbiz, the music business and (as if she's the queen of England), public life?

At this stage, I don't care what she does, which is a pity, because three years ago when I saw her on Jonathan Ross's show, I thought she was great.

But like the rest of the current crop of celebs, I've been over-exposed, overfed and over-indulged with stories of their love lives, waistlines, holiday plans and handbags.

I'm bored with Jennifer Aniston's plight to find a decent boyfriend and I have no interest in Victoria Beckham's bunions.



Defeat

I don't want to know about J-Lo's triathlon training and, sorry, but I don't really care if Nicole Kidman is as fertile as a guinea pig or having problems conceiving a sibling for 'little Sunday Rose'.

I think the celebs are bored too.

Why else would Sienna Miller quietly admit defeat and trot back to Jude Law without so much as a Hello! Magazine photo shoot?

Simon Cowell is engaged, Rebecca Loos has settled down and Charlotte Church managed to lose her baby weight without releasing a fitness DVD on the back of it. Even Kerry Katona's useless husband seems to have cashed in his chips, gathered up his cars and sold the last chapter of his nasty story to the News Of The World.

We're crying out for a new crop of celebrities.

Hence, I reckon, why we're currently so obsessed about Glenda-gate.

I know I'm far more interested in the contents of her mobile phone than the reason for Elizabeth Hurley's latest Irish visit.

And I'm sure the VIP Style Awards last night will garner a lot more column inches than last Sunday's Oscars managed.

Talk about a damp squib -- they couldn't even find interesting people to give the Oscars to. And I can't even tell you if Angelina Jolie made an appearance this year, let alone what she was wearing.

When Andy Warhol mumbled that everyone could be famous for 15 minutes, he should have gone on to specify this as a curfew, not a start.

And I don't just mean Page 3 girls and reality TV show contestants here, but also those hardy-bloody-annuals who are well past their sell-by date but won't seem to get off Paul O'Grady's couch. The likes of Joan Collins (your time is up), Barbara Windsor (are you still here?) and Cilla Black (you're not listening!)



BLANK

Like an Xbox game that you've overplayed, or a soap opera that's done one too many rounds with a bunch of storylines, I'm suffering from celeb fatigue.

I've given up buying those gossip magazines and it's been months since I've logged on to Perez Hilton.

I'm too old for new faces from programmes such as Glee/The Hills/Gossip Girl, but I'm long over the cast of Desperate Housewives/Lost/ Gray's Anatomy.

I'm a blank canvas, more likely a dry sponge, here, ready and waiting to suck up a new slew.

And this time round, I'd love a crop with talent, good manners, an interesting girl or boyfriend and nice clothes. Is that too much to ask? It seems so, when the best 2010 has been able to offer so far is The Breffmeister.

Now that most of Ireland's female telly totty are out of jobs, if I were a young hopeful, I'd be getting set to launch myself during the upcoming social season when there are lots of image-friendly photo ops to take advantage of.

This would be my moment to shine -- in a smart summer dress at The Derby, looking effortlessly boho at Oxegen, and with hot man candy at the Galway Oyster Festival.

I'd audition for the role of Pippa O'Connor's chief bridesmaid and book in for a makeover with Michelle Heaton.

By autumn, I'd be famous and on Ryan Tubridy's Late Late sofa.

By Christmas, I'd have my autobiography out, a fashion line for AWear and, whoops, a dodgy front-page photo of me falling out my dress at Krystle.

I just hope I'd have the sense to 'retire' before Podge and Rodge employed my assets to front their next TV series.

Melanie Morris is editor of IMAGE Magazine

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