Amy Chose Death By Booze

Amy Winehouse had no trace of illegal drugs in her system. Well that's a relief. She's still dead though. The legal stuff did the job just as well. At 27 her fabulous career was felled by booze. An amazing talent lost to binge drinking.

Yet somehow the drugs are the issue. Amy packed them in, so she was "cleaning up her act.' She even gave up the drink, now and then, before treating herself to a slammer session, fully aware of the dangers but past caring.

Alcohol is a killer too. Our kids pay no heed. They like to get hammered. University towns are raking in the living allowance as freshers carry on celebrating. One practice nurse told me of a young man of 33 dying with liver disease who is desperate for a transplant. "We never used to see this in people so young, but it's happening more and more," she said.

He puts his problem down to binge drinking as a student. They don't stay students forever, but old habits don't die. Maybe they think they will settle down later, Maybe not. Alcohol steals some lives and ruins many more. Fact.

Alan the Amazing Mummy

Alan the mummy was looking good last night, apart from the odd ear maggot. He was tanned, yes, but the weight loss suited him and the face was definitely his. His soul would recognise it, which was crucial to ancient Egyptians apparently.

Good on the cabbie from Torquay who answered an advert. God knows how that one went. "Terminally ill? Want to be a mummy after death? Call this number," or something like that. He came across as a very nice chap, happy to help the cause of science.

The boffins were thrilled, everything turned out just right. They were convinced this was a step forward. They talked of Alan's rebirth. There even seemed to be a suggestion there could be more of the same.

What! Imagine if we all fancied mummification. Where would they put us? Alan has a roomy fridge, but how many more could be packed in there comfortably? The scientist in charge had a nice line in preserved pigs' trotters. He kept them in his shed. Saved them over years, like a psychopath. Fascinating stuff, but let Alan be the last. Keep the ovens burning!

Gaddafi it is then. For sure. Now who's up for the £1m reward? Bound to be plenty of takers. That could cause a bit of bother in a land torn to shreds, but the opposition leaders in Benghazi reckon it's money well spent

Initially there was a bit of tut-tutting at the "summary execution" handed out. "We saw him and shot him!" proved to be a bit stark for the civilised world to stomach. Experts in middle eastern relations wanted Gaddafi hauled to the Hague.

Well welcome to the real world. Times are tough and we can't afford it. Better to pay the lads on the ground a million quid and get the job done than spend years keeping a tyrant holed up in a posh jail while he spouts endlessly to fabulously well-paid lawyers. Takes years to hear their point of view. They even get on the telly.

We've lost patience. Osama set the new trend. Not much effort went into giving him his day in court. Tony Blair and a lot of other schmoozers are breathing a sigh of relief. Just what did go on in that Bedouin tent Tony? Shame we'll never know.

Libya Free So Stop Shooting

Gaddafi is gone then. At first they said he had been found hiding in a hole in Sirte and had pleaded with his captors; " Don't shoot!" He asked for mercy. As if there was ever any chance of that. This is the man who said he would kill every Libyan rather than relinquish power.

Now his body is viewed on afternoon tv like a small-time cookery slot. He looks like so much red meat. Are we sure it is him? There are scars - some suggest from plastic surgery - but he looks like so many of the fighters that are crowding our screens. Conclusive DNA evidence would provide proof, but will there be enough of him left for the authorities to test?

Interesting that the streets are still full of men. No women out there celebrating this afternoon. Why? Because they insist on firing off victory rounds. Bullets come raining down again. Injuries are common. Has there not been enough bloodshed? Celebrations are right and the time is now, but get the guns off the street boys. They've done their job.

Gok Wan Champion of Cheap Fashion

I love Gok Wan. I've said it. Our house empties when he comes on, because the boys can't stand him. Me, I think he's great. Not because of his styling, which can be a bit iffy in my, admittedly, often frumpy opinion, but because he has a warm heart.

He's kind. He makes the girls feel good. I've heard he can be a horror with the models who find him a bit of a diva, but to your lass in the street he is a fabulous big brother with sharp designer specs and a neat ear ring. He makes them feel like superstars.

Trouble is, he dresses them like Mary Poppins. Last night he had one girl with the complete kit, down to the carpet bag. Thought she might haul a lampstand out of it. Practically perfect in every way. He showed us how to make a fox tail to hang off our handbags - bang on trend, he says. It probably is. I really wouldn't know. I do like the way he champions the cheap stuff though. Bit of a kick in the pants to an industry still happily charging over a grand for a handbag.

Gatwick Treats Passengers Like Criminals

Hell on earth! Must have felt like that, stuck on a plane at Gatwick for nine hours waiting for the fog to clear. Imagine the toilets! Everyone worrying about deep-vein thrombosis. The 200 passengers had already come all the way from India. What a total shambles.

One passenger tried to leave but was told it would be illegal and the police brought him back. What was illegal about that? He would have shown his passport. Where was the problem about letting them all off, to stay airside if need be? I'd have unloaded the lot and told them they could hang about for a later plane or make their own way. Instead they were treated worse than cattle.

Once ended up in Diss myself when fog made Heathrow impossible. As in this case the crew ran out of time and another had to be organised. We waited in the plane, on the tarmac in this tiny Kent airport without a coffee machine in sight. So I got up. Walked off. Down the steps and around the plane.

Must have looked a total prat, but I needed to stretch my legs and nobody takes me prisoner. That's what these people were treated like. Criminals. Somebody, somewhere, should get out a great, big cheque book and say a massive sorry.

Too Posh. No Way Pet

It's weird isn't it? Cameron couldn't care less what he sounds like, but a Tory MP is saying he is too posh. It's putting off his Northern voters. They don't trust a man who sounds too plummy, reckons Nadine Dorries. Have to say you're wrong Pet.

Up in Geordie land we can tell when someone is trying to sound like they hail from Jesmond.The Gosforth glottal stop is nothing like Byker banter. We all know the difference. That's why we have so much affection for Cheryl Cole. Her hard, working class vowels say she's one of us.

We want a bit more from the blokes in charge. We want to know they understand the world of money and big business. That they didn't hail from the chip shop on the corner. Maggie Thatcher may have been a grocer's daughter, but she saw the wisdom of toning down the rough edges. She went a bit too far, but you get the point.

People in charge of our taxes have to sound like they know what's what, even when they don't. We tend to think of posh people as having a bit more education. They sound brainier to some of us Northerners. Not true at all of course, but who wants to vote for an MP who sounds like the local barmaid when you could have someone like the Queen instead? It's crazy world.

Poverty? Tell me about it

I'm mad. Someone else is whinging about the poor. Again. Even if they have been there they still have no idea.Take Caitlin Moran. She talks in The Times today of "push starting the car." She had a car? With petrol? She was also fat. Nobody in my house was fat.

She talks of sleeping on a mattress on the floor. We had beds, but we too had coats on them. This is sounding like a Monty Python sketch - beat me in the poverty parade. Hole in the road for a home etc.

Not going there because some of the stuff I lived through I'm still ashamed of now. Years and years later. Like Caitlin I got out. Unlike her I'm not rich. Never fancied underfloor heating. Wouldn't want to eat at Pizza Express three times a week. I'm not poor either.

Neither of us went to university. We used our brains to get jobs instead, to help the family out. Benefits had to be begged for and mostly they were refused. So we worked. Later on the job gave me a great life, one I could finally brag about. Flying business class to Hong Kong, yes I did that too.

Fact is Caitlin, hand-outs are not the answer. Getting off your arse is and always has been.

Bradley James and Gary Oldman Guys to Watch

Merlin's back but where's the magic? Bradley James has not had his shirt off once. For a boy of fair bod, not normally averse to flashing his pecs, that's a turn for the worse. Nobody's joking except Gawain and he's gone a bit mental. Must be all those screaming skulls whooshing around. Enough to do a head in.

Lancelot took a walk into the great goodnight. Why? Killing the eye candy is never a good idea. How long have I been waiting for him to whisk Guinivere away? Three series? Four? Now she's drowning in tears and hanging on for Arthur. It's all a bit messy and sad and if it doesn't buck up I'll be abandoning my sofa for TV Burp. That's how bad it gets.

For as good as it gets I finally got to see Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy. Excellent! Not so many pretty faces. Some seriously ugly ones. Had to imagine them turning up at the casting agents. Were they confusing this with Lord of The Rings? Orks and whatnot? Oscar performance from Gary Oldman as George Smiley. Face to face with the traitor, he managed a nervous twitch under his right eye. Tiny muscles working involuntarily. How did he pull that off? Genius.

Marni Kotak Has her Moment

So pregnant artist Marni Kotak is to bestow upon us her greatest work yet - a film of herself giving birth. She's doing it because: "it's the greatest expression of life, the highest form of art." Well yes, but it ain't pretty.

Having been there three times myself all I can say is," Best of luck Pet" Bless her, it's her first. We all know there is a conspiracy of silence over the whole bloody, mucky business. Incredible and amazing yes, but well, there's the rest...

She's not daunted, having already told the world what a tremendous lover her husband Jason Bell is. He's an artist too. Perhaps a tad attention seeking, no? Always the ones that say the most who are the worst, but no one wants to pee on her parade.

She sat there, all huge and proud, with a birthing pool in the backround and surf music on the speakers. She's even got a giant golden trophy to give herself. Can't fault her optimism. I sincerely hope it goes well for her. We are all on our own with that one, no matter how many birth attendants are at the ready.

Let's hope she's not carted off for a section, yelling blue murder and cursing the sex god who put here there. It might not be art as we know it, but it would be real.

East eats West and Pays the Price

Think of China. What do you see? Beijing bankers hauling us out of debt? Factory workers putting in long hours? Both face the same threat from the West - diabetes.

That's right, the scourge of fatties everywhere. We sent it their way with our fast food and corn syrup. They now have 92 million diabetics. Research shows that if only half got treatment at a third of the price it costs over here, China would still have to spend the equivalent of its defence budget.

It's getting worse too. Another 150 million Chinese are showing signs of pre-diabetes and 13 per cent of Shanghai school children are considered obese.

We worried about their secret weapons but we felled them with fat. Just when we need them most. Now they are rushing to build a medical research plant to produce the drugs they need. We used to joke that the Chinese would eat anything with legs that wasn't a chair. Can't say I find this latest trend all that funny.

Brian Cox Has the Answers

Sexy Brian Cox - let's call him Brain Cox shall we? has just finished a megga scientific book on the structure of the universe only to be told he's probably wrong. Scrap it, Einstein was working on duff information.

Recent experiments show neutrinos traveling faster than light. Bit of a bombshell. Not news to me though. I came across neutrinos way back in primary school. That's subatomic particles, not a new chocolate bar. A kid called Vernon coughed in class and the teacher said, "That was possibly a tiny particle passing right through you, interfering momentarily with your vocal chords." I never forgot it. You don't forget a name like Vernon.

Now it seems billions of neutrinos are passing through my brain at this very second and I am totally unaware of it. The beauty of them is that they, "react only very occasionally with everyday matter, " according to Prof. Cox. He's thrilled there's new data out there on the block. Gives him something to focus his considerable talents on.

Me, I'm all for neutrinos too. I reckon that all of those billions, storming about in there, must bounce off each other, just occasionally. Law of averages. So they are to blame every time I go to the fridge and totally forget what I'm after. Or when I cremate the dog's dinner. Sub-atomic shenanigans, no less.

Downs but So What?

Tom Bickerby in the Times is fed up of having the "Our son Alex has Downs. He is gorgeous and we love him to bits, so thanks, but no thanks, for the sympathy," conversation. He feels like walking on the other side of the road when he sees a lesser-known aquaintance coming. Just in case they give him the long, sad look. Again.

Who wants to keep going over it? So this is what I'd do. Say nowt. Not a thing. These people are not close or they would know already. Let Alex do the talking. Alright, so he's a baby at the moment, and not really up to the challenge.

My guess is, he is. One look says it all. He's sleeping, and he's Downs. He's awake, laughing or crying and he is still Downs. Soon his fantastic, loving, happy personality will be such that yes, they will see he is Downs and never give a damn. No explanation necessary. I've met plenty of people with Downs. My best friend's sister was one.

I'm sure there must be mean, crabby horrible Down's people but I've never met one. Let them speak for themselves. Judge them for what they are, then see if you find them wanting.