The evidence? A video of the messed-up star snorting coke, splashed as still-frames in the pages of the red-top.

While I am in no way surprised that Katona is a coke fiend, I can see what the tabloid is suggesting; this woman has previously denied a drug problem and has marketed herself as a great mother. For a long time she was the face of Iceland (That’s why mums go to Iceland) and has even accepted an award for Mother of the Year. So yeah… the cocaine doesn’t look good in the mix. It’s controversial. I get it.

But here’s the problem: the video of Kerry snorting coke was obtained through a hidden camera in the ensuite leading off Katona’s bedroom in her own house. Someone planted a camera in her private bathroom. And while what she was doing is illegal, she did so in the privacy of her own home.

How would you feel if someone planted a camera in your bathroom… Trawled through footage of you on the toilet, in the shower… ?

It makes me sick to think that the media can intrude on people’s privacy to such an extent. Whatever happened to journalism as the fourth estate? I want to be protected from Big Brother, I don’t want to support the creation of a second one. If we support this kind of intrusion, we have no right to question the state’s encroachment on our privacy.

Max Mosley screws prostitutes in Nazi-themed orgies. Is he hurting anyone? No. These are consenting adults. No animals or children were harmed in the making of his sex-scandal video. So he’s got a dirty sexual fantasy. Are we the thought police? He’s not working on the rise of the next Third Reich.

Who are we to judge someone’s sexual tendencies? It’s a private matter. If all parties consent to engage in a private act, whose business is it but their own?

Is it our fault for making the media too comfortable in our homes? Did the celebrities invite this attention by whoring themselves before the cameras? Because they shamelessly sell themselves on ‘real-life’ documentaries, series where we see into their lives, does that mean they cut us a key?

I’m scared that we’re digging our own graves with this kind of voyerism. Who is in charge here? I don’t think we have a leg to stand on…

*

We’re on mixers, beers and budgets, then we share some jaeger shots,

some guy asks if the lead singer of the last band is a gay, 

I’m like; do I look like a man then? grinning as I walk away

well we taxied to the twelve bar where the lemonade is water,

when the barmaid said it tasted fine i changed my mind and bought a

coca cola and sambucca and the beatles played the theme tune,

we tried paying with a fake score but the barman clocked it too soon,

we were tumbling down the tumblers before stumbling down the side streets,

we’d played pinball unlike wizards and watched bad pool from the side seats,

now it’s 3am in central, we’re on course for the casino,

where it’s wall-to-wall with wankers and it sure as shit ain’t Reno

Speak some broken tongue to Itals, say they saw Franz Ferdinand,

they’re just hanging for the first coach cos they came without a plan

This bloke Brendan gives good back cracks but I heard that he has herpes,

watching blackjack with the bootjacks is a way of getting dirty

Like I woke from suffocated sleep all caught up in the covers,

it was panicky departure cos I couldn’t see the others,

I’ll have chips in pitta please, and can we grab the next cab home?

I think I love this shitty city like a drunkard loves a cone

*

my closest friends are my enemies

toilet seats, Maccy Ds, cigarettes,

there is nothing I regret

*

I was discussing the difficulty of the situation with Kirsty, a fellow post-grad who is also getting work experience with the same company as me. It’s reassuring to know you’re not the only one feeling the stress and frustration, but it also emphasises the reality of it. We talked about friends of ours who had been treated as scivvies at certain well-known commercial magazines and then the following day, Kirsty came across an advert from Elle magazine. I don’t mind mentioning the name since the advert is public and the opinions I draw from it are just that; opinion. I shan’t claim anything to be fact which is not, and I won’t mis-quote. If this is defamatory, it’s not libellous.

I will start by saying this. One of my lecturers at uni told us that fashion journalism is the rich kids’ arena. And this was a well-propagated idea even before recession, now it is particularly poignant…

MY OPINION IS IN BLUE

“ELLE, Fashion Intern – end of August start…

MAIN TASKS & RESPONSIBILITIES: 

This role involves all aspects of working for one of the UK’s most prestigious and extremely busy fashion departments.” So, there’s the disclaimer: ALL aspects, don’t go getting excited, it’s to include the negatives rather than suggest positives.

“We are looking for highly enthusiastic, super motivated and responsible individuals to support the fashion department for 1 year.” That’s ONE YEAR. ONE YEAR.

“You must have a wide knowledge of designers and trends, an unquenchable passion for fashion and must be willing to do even the most menial tasks.” They know that people are getting scivvy-savvy, mention it in the ad and you’ve got nothing to hide.

“Your responsibilities will include assisting the fashion team on research,” Probably the best bit of work, I doubt it gets much better that that…

“calling in clothing samples, sample requests as well as dealing with clothing inventory and thousands of returns.” So, making phone-calls to suppliers and agencies. Practice your secretarial skills, kind of useful.

“You must be extremely efficient and well organised and must be able to think on your feet; ‘Call me in a selection of fascinators in berry colours, 50’s style underwear and 17 Balmain style jackets, we’re packing in 1 hour!’.” No idiots please, genuinely capable people (with a year to spare).

“You will be responsible for elements of shoot production,” NB: Elements of shoot production includes moving lights, directing fans, pouring coffee…

“price and credit requests,” Asking how much things cost.

“doing carnets” Carnet is a vaguely sophisticated way of saying ‘permit’. In other words; documentation of items.

This is the clincher:

“as well as trips to starbucks for the whole team when they are stressed and still in the office at 9.30pm.” They are so stressed and dedicated they stay late and your trips to Starbucks would make you, like, an absolute lifesaver! And totally useful and appreciated and brilliant and… OH MY GOD WHY DON’T THEY HAVE A COFFEE MACHINE OR JUST EMPLOY SOME CHEAP-IMMIGRANT TO MAKE THEM THEIR WHITE CHOCOLATE MOCHACCINO ON-SITE SO YOU DON’T HAVE TO TRAIPSE ABOUT AT STUPID ‘O-CLOCK WITH CARDBOARD TRAYS LAIDEN WITH BEVERAGES AND PAPER BAGS STUFFED WITH PEACH AND RASPBERRY MUFFINS?

“You will help to organise fashion week requests, which is an exciting but demanding responsibility.” Exciting in that you’re involved in something deemed by some as ‘exciting’. The work itself is the ‘demanding’ part, and I doubt the ‘responsibility’ aspect applies to the former. You will, most likely, be doing more of that secretarial stuff, only this time, the subject matter is a bit more interesting. The work, I would suppose, is not.

“Previous magazine experience (at least 6 months at a fashion magazine)” Oh right, just a previous six months of your life spent doing scivvy work for peanuts if anything.

“and knowledge of designers is essential.” So you know the difference between the labels whose secretaries you will be ‘liaising’ with.

“We are looking for someone to start at the end of August.” Probably best to get some work in first, you will need some pocket money to fund your YEAR fetching coffee!

“PERSON SPECIFICATIONS: 

• Keen interest in all aspects of a fashion magazine” Well, we’ve covered that one.

“• Careful attention to detail” Note the difference between the cinnamon dolce latte and the cinnamon dolce latte with sugar-free syrup!

“• Extremely organised with excellent time management skills” Join the army: be the best!

“• The ideal candidate will be a team player but also have the ability to work independently and in a pro-active manner” Get along with everyone but don’t go asking for any help.

“• Responsible and work under pressure and deadline driven” It’s worth it, bear all this in mind, they’ve warned you now so you can’t expect any sympathy once you’re the lucky chosen one.

“• Willingness and flexibility to take on and deliver specific project work.” Very vague… interpret as you so desire.

And there, in one foul swoop, Kyla has eradicated any possibility of ever working for Elle magazine. Still, if I were in a position where I could consider working there, I’d probably be financially stable or successful enough to not give a berry-coloured fascinator-wearing rat’s arse.

And better still, if we can make it work, I’ll have a partner to visualise my ideas.

Hmm, that’s all I can say for now. It’s like, todallay, top secret!

But seriously. I wrote a story and I’m trying to figure out if it should be a poem or not. It works really well as a simple narrative. I’d like to illustrate it, so I’m making some plans. FRESH! EXCITING!

*

Oh merde, I think I was too late. He’s gone!

So much for saving the earth and bringing back the dodo. Oh woe and misery! I watched my beloved tree die! There, in the burning heat of the Roehampton sun, its roots like dry tobacco, leaves crisp as… rice crispies?

OHHHHHHH SORRRRROWWWWWWWW!

Calamity Kyla has struck

*raises hand to brow and faints*

lamentable indeed

*

Naturally.

Since then, God’s been pretty busy making great things like mountains and yo-yos and he’s quite old and sometimes senile. And his eyesight’s not as good as it used to be and sometimes he messes up and makes mistakes. Peaches Geldof.

On one of his particularly off days, God made Morden. Morden, where greasy spoon A-boards advertise the day’s ‘Spacial’ next to the pound shop and whence all disease originates. Morden, a mouldering petri-dish of society. A putrid place where chavs broke the clock’s arms and babies are born with the skin of a 30-a-day sun-worshipping 70 year-old. But beware, for Morden is located not far from some desirable areas and business centres. And this is the shine on the shite that is Morden. The dangerous allure that could attract some reasonably good people whose souls will get sucked into a vacuum and whose bodies will be destroyed. Whose minds will decompose and slowly bleed from their facial apertures as a thick grey sludge.

Morden.

And God cried for a long time and made Hollyoaks to cheer himself up.

*

Do you know what gets bigger the more you take out of it?

That person will always end up shoveling dirt.

*

*

I’m making it my mission to save this drying shrub. If I succeed, I will be so ruddy chuffed. If I fail… hmm, no, I won’t fail.

I’m giving it plenty of attention and love. This feels like something a psychiatrist would recommend. I’m investing part of myself in this, it could be the start of something beautiful. Who knows how green my fingers could be, I could be an earth mother, people will respect my natural command, I can see it now; “There goes the mighty Kyla, they say she sleeps on a bough with a pillow of nettles… But they don’t sting her because they respect her so…” It starts with one potted tree on a balcony, give it a year and I’ll be saving the Amazon. There will be films made about me. And my original potted tree will be the symbol of my power, forever with me, wherever I go. I’ll save Africa. The arid soils of drought-ridden lands cracking as tendrils burst through them, the giraffes will develop constant grins of satisfaction, new species of super-plant will evolve and be used to cure all major illnesses. I’ll eradicate cancer. I’ll bring back the Dodo…

Watch this space…

*