My first reaction on seeing the Rebekah Wade domestic saga unfold mercilessly on television was: there but for the grace of God go many of us. Shameful memories of the night I attacked my partner with a banana came flooding back. But what surprised me more was the excitement shown by her past and present colleagues at the thought of a fresh kill - by which I mean the much-anticipated death of her career, not her husband Ross Kemp's macho EastEnders alter ego.
And I couldn't help wondering if there was an extra degree of glee because Wade is a woman, and one of the most successful journalists of her generation, editing the News of the World at the remarkable age of 32, then the Sun at 35. She was described as a fiery redhead when actually she is cool and clever. And the broadcasters seem to delight in repeatedly showing an old clip of her arriving at Downing Street desperately adjusting an ill-fitting skin-tight dress. I can't remember such unflattering footage being shown of Piers Morgan when he was frogmarched out of the Mirror.
Despite the career doom merchants and however unfortunate the incident, Wade is a survivor and I can't help thinking she deserves to survive this.
For all the good work Charles and Camilla may have done parading around America, it was undone at a stroke by Sir Christopher Meyer's new book, The Ultimate Insider. Meyer reveals that, despite setting up "UK in New York" to promote British trade, Charles failed to attend a memorial service held by the organisers just a month after the 11 September bombings. Charles chose instead to spend the weekend killing birds at Balmoral. And so the Ultimate Insider exposes Charles, the Ultimate Outsider, for what he is - a man who can be relied upon to put self before state.
Whatever the sales of her new Confessions on a Dance Floor album, Madonna must now have achieved the status of No 1 Greatest Modern Hypocrite. One day she's flashing her 47-year-old crotch in a pair of fishnet stockings, the next she's back in her tweeds and pearls mewing about the marvels of motherhood and marriage. With her children she is a strict disciplinarian, banning them from dairy, Coca-Cola, TV - in fact, anything that is "a mindless time-waster". That rules out having to listen to any of Mum's recent albums, then.
The newly relaunched Sky News set is a marvellous bit of perpetual product placement, with the clouds breezing by in a brilliant blue, er, sky. But the channel must be disappointed with its signing of presenter Eamonn Holmes, who is pulling in around 20 per cent fewer viewers for the revamped breakfast news. Holmes gave up his seat on GMTV's sofa claiming he couldn't stand the early starts and wanted to return to serious news. After hearing him say, on the back of a Sky poll supporting Tony Blair's anti-terrorist laws, "er, maybe he'll be well buoyed up by our poll results then, eh", Eamonn's loyal viewers might wish that, too.
As a sign of their love for each other, Pete Doherty has "a little K tattoo" on his bottom and sometime girlfriend Kate Moss has "a little P" on hers. Which leaves Moss free to go out with Paul or Phil, even Stephen or Christopher. Now that's what I call commitment.
With a characteristic sneer at the working classes, Cherie Blair says that without free university she would have ended up, heaven forbid, as a shop girl. What, no speaking tours sponging off her husband's name, no lectures hectoring us on human rights, no sermons on privacy? That's the best argument I've heard for university fees in a long time.
Poor old Liz Hurley has been replaced as the face of Estee Lauder by Gwyneth Paltrow to promote the perfume Pleasures. Given that this long streak of macrobiotic misery is matched only by her equally self-congratulatory husband Chris Martin, Pleasures seems as apt a product for her to promote as an aftershave called Honesty by the PM.