| Monday, March 26, 2001 |
 | Sometimes the world just kisses you good morning: rarely is one given the opportunity to despise Metro, the drooling, decerebrated free tabloid available at London Underground stations, and Helen Fielding , spawner of chicklit and thus by definition eeeeeee-vil, in a single mental breath. But how sweet the savour when it happens.
Thus, La Fielding. We discover from the sidebar of page 3 of Metro that her £1 million Hollywood dream home is falling apart in a "Bridget Jones-style disaster". Comments the woman herself, "It's life imitating art. If Bridget had bought a house in LA, this would have happened to her."
Right.
So, in fact it isn't life imitating art. It would be life imitating art, if she had written a section in which our heroine moved to La-la Land, and her house fell down. But she didn't, so it isn't. In the name of Bob Fuck.
And, while my blood is merrily percolating at this dreadful attempt to generate an angle, I can remind myself that this is on the third page of a newspaper. As if we'd run out of actual news by the end of page two.
Marvellous.
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