It’s always extraordinary the kind of things people put up for sale (as well as the kinds of things people actually BUY); e-bay is full of such strange transactions. Everything from pencils to faecies. Uri Gellar, allegedly, bought a house once belonging to Elvis Presley off e-bay. But, on that subject, a house once belonging to Adolf Hitler is presently for sale in Austria for 1.2 million pieces of wad. Now, who’s going to want to live in that place? Maybe Nick Griffin could buy it as a holiday home…

Another strange, and somewhat morbid, item going up for sale recently was the fedora hat worn by Jack Ruby when he shot Lee Harvey Oswald. Again, who would want it? Other than some gun-toting cowboy all in favour of executing innocent patsies on live televison?

Lee Harvey Oswald’s autopsy photographs have been in the public domain for some time, and make for grim viewing, as do all such photographs. And there are rumours now that a high-resolution photograph of Michael Jackson’s autopsy is being passed around TV execs. in Hollywood, having originated allegedly from a police officer. The picture is said to not show Michael Jackson in a flattering light. I, for one, hope the picture never sees the light of day. I have always hated this morbid penchant people have for displaying or viewing dead celebrities, and personally have zero interest in seeing such unflattering images of people in the public domain.

In some ways, it seems like a natural extension of our society’s epidemic interest in seeing a variety of unflattering photographs of celebrities whenever possible – glossy mags make their entire profit out of playing to the bitch factor; any chance to see Angelina Jolie having a bad hair day, or someone or another wearing the wrong dress, or Amy Winehouse looking unwell. It seems a logical follow-through to subject the celebrity in question to the next level of public degradation – the death photo.

To my mind, it robs the person in question of their final dignity. It was disgusting when such pictures of Anna Nicole Smith were allowed to go public – how nice for her daughter to one day have to stumble upon those pictures – and it would be just as bad for Michael Jackson to be subjected to the same indignity.

The nation’s obsession with reality TV shows no signs of abating, with the annual onset of endless, incessant talk of The X-Factor, and now ‘I’m (not really) A Celebrity… Get Me Out of Here (i.e: ‘Get Me In Here, Please; My Career’s Dying’).

What’s with all the outrage over Simon Cowell pushing a half-decent female singer onto the guilotine in order to increase the chances for those Irish twats (I mean, twins)? The whole thing is a cynical, tactical, premeditated enterprise. It has been since the beginning. The moment those kids stepped onto the stage for their first audition, it was evident to all that they’re destined to be massive pop-stars (this country loves shit music and glossy haircuts), and a massive money-spinner for Simon Cowell, Louis Walsh, and The X-Factor. Trust me – they’ll be as big as Boyzone or Westlife. They will be around forever.

The show is not about who can sing the best, or who has the best tecnhique or even the most charisma – it is, plain and simple. about who is the most commerically viable; the easiest to market to either teenage girls or middle-aged women oohing and aaahing at the cute factor. They won’t win the competition itself, because the producers aren’t going to be that obvious about it – but they’ll be kept in it for long enough to maximise their exposure in preparation for the commencement of their glittering careers. Also, they look a lot like Bros.

As for that dead-in-the-water ITV offering in the reality-TV arena, this year’s prospective line-up of Z-list ‘celebrities’ is looking like the worst haul yet. Six or seven years of this ’star’-making, career-reviving, RSPCA-eluding nonsense and the only actual characters of any kind of calibre that they’ve managed to boast are John Lydon, George Takei and David Guest (let’s be fair to David Guest – anyone who was married to Liza Minelli has a high quota of credentials, just by default). There is NOTHING remotely good to be said about this show. And, frankly, any show that is responsible for the creation that monstrous entity known as Jordan-and-Peter should be condemned the deepest fires of Hades for all time to come.

So, right on queue anyway, we now have a new line-up of non-entities that I’ve never heard of, who’re going to despoil the Austrialian jungle, murder and munch a whole selection of living creatures, and dominate both ITV schedules and newspaper and radio coverage for the next month. And Sam Fox. Yay.

It will, of course, get good viewing figures; but this is only because half the country’s obese arses are stuck to their sofas.

A survey conducted by Waitrose has revealed aniseed balls to be the nation’s favourite childhood sweets. Aniseed balls were HORRIBLE. I didn’t know ANY child who liked those vile things. No, the best sweets were those flying saucer thingys. And maybe those strawberry lace thingys. Definitely not jaw-breakers (it’s no use crying about it when your teeth break – the clue’s in the NAME, Sherlock). Waitrose say they’re planning to stock them again – aniseed balls, that is. While we’re on the subject of bringing back favourite childhood products from the mists of our past; what the hell happened to Um-Bongo? You know, that drink all those cartoon animals were always singing about? They used to drink in the Congo, apparently.

I met someone from the Democratic Republic of Congo, and, no, he’d never heard of ‘Um-Bongo’. False advertising, that. He actually got quite offended by my repeated insistance than ‘they drink it in the Congo’. Also, I’ve been informed that African jungle animals generally don’t purchase fruit drinks anyway. And, also, that they don’t sing.

And also what happened to Lilt? Is that still on sale? I was talking to my little sister the other day and I discovered, to my dismay, that TRIO doesn’t exist anymore. You know, them chocolates with the little girl shouting with the massive mouth?

No Trio, no Um-Bongo, no Lilt. What is the world coming to? Next you’ll be telling me there’s no Woolworths anymore…