What are the seven most irritating words in the world? Peaches Honeyblossom Michelle Charlotte Angel Vanessa Geldof. This cack-handed DJ, dire columnist and ridiculous, glowering clothes horse would surely be on barista duties at Starbucks if she weren't Bob Geldof's boomtown brat. Judging by her insipid Twitter account, if she were any less self-aware she'd be a post.
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Expressing your fears for your troubled offspring to the press is one thing – but forging a media career off the back of it is quite another. Mitch Winehouse, Amy's dad, has not only hosted a radio phone-in on the back of his daughter's desperation, but it was recently revealed that the cabbie has been in the recording studio in a bid to emulate his progeny's chart success. Wind your neck in, love!
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Speaking of la Wino, did anybody else feel their bladder boiling when her ex-husband Blake Fielder-Arsehat, or whatever his name is, started meeping about how he'd saved a drugged-up Amy's life thanks to his prowess at mouth to mouth? He got her hooked on the junk in the first place! Argh! Also, cheers for the mental image of your scabby lips and tongue bearing down on us, Blakey. We don't think.
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Cooing over cut-price school uniforms in supermarket adverts? Talking to her guests on her afternoon chat show with all the interest and sincerity of an budget airline stewardess? Storming out of reality TV episodes with laxativic regularity? Please, please, no more. After all, there can't be anybody left in the land who takes Sharon Osbourne's media career seriously.
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Can somebody please tell us what the oleaginous Piers Morgan is doing on Britain's Got Talent? We fail to see what qualifies him to pass judgement on teenage shape-throwers, semi-knitted sopranos or screeching, spoiled, baby ballerinas. He even makes Simon Cowell seem vaguely tolerable by comparison. Actually, we think we've just given ourselves the answer...
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We're largely indifferent to her please-reboot-me acting. But Gwyneth Paltrow's ludicrous lifestyle advice, benevolently excreted into the hands of us commonfolk via her website, is enough to make us heave. For example, her farmers market salad is "about using what's fresh and grown near you" - and includes fava beans, champagne vinegar, and maple syrup jetted in from Vermont. Honestly!
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Jacko hadn't been dead a week before petulant, chipmunk-cheeked rapper Kanye West declared himself to be "the new King of Pop". OK, so it turned out to be a fabricated quote, but it speaks volumes about the man's egomania that so many newspapers ran the story, certain that it was indeed the latest despatch from Kanye's caravan of dogged and misplaced self-belief.
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Heaven knows what ITV is going to do when it runs out of batty old Tory ladies in need of rehabilitation via reality show. Case in point is excruciating horror bag Carol Thatcher, who has carved an entire career of increasingly shrill media appearances – and all because she spent a fortnight spent in close proximity to some poisonous creatures. Such as Elaine Lordan.
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Amanda Holden makes our teeth itch too. The fake smile is bad enough, but when she started mewling about how awful it would be to have a wind farm near her home in Norfolk, we had an office whip-round to see if we could afford to erect a turbine slap-bang in the middle of her patio. Not that she'd notice, of course, as she apparently spends most of her time in London.
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Why? Why put Tim Lovejoy on a TV series about food – a subject he so clearly knows bog all about? There are only so many laughs that can be had from the spectacle of this heinous, mugging, dad-aged lad trying to slice up a brioche with an egg whisk. Of course, a lot of people would claim that the former Soccer AM host knows knack-all about football too, so plus ca change.
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