The Cult of Celebrity

Her botoxed lips reminded me of the nether regions of a female baboon in heat.

The siliconed breasts seemed grotesquely out of proportion as she struggled with her friend (should that be bosom buddy?) to secure the frontal position in a glossy woman's magazine in our local supermarket.

The bottle-blonde coiffure of her multiple-married companion matched that of her own and both were a  less than edifying picture of middle age neurosis . Or, as we say in these parts "mutton dressed up as lamb".

This mutton should have been out out to pasture long ago, but the aged glitterati never seem to be able to retire gracefully.

My local newspaper summed up the pair: "In their nihilistic search for fame, we fed upon their every gum-chewing antic and cosmetic enhancement. But haven't we had enough? "

We surely have but they clearly haven't.  Just so long as the editors of women's and society magazines are prepared to pay money for these posing 'party has-beens' then they will continue to project themselves from the checkout racks.

On reflection it is a sad indictment of our society, but it should not be confused with 'Mutton Bustin' which is a peculiar Canadian pastime.  Small children are encouraged to ride a rampaging sheep around the rodeo ring, all the while trying desperately hard to hang on.

Perhaps there are similarities between this and society girls who refuse to age gracefully after all.