The sub-headline on the front page of the Sunday Times business section for an inside story was "Get fit like Paris Hilton..."
I do not want to get fit like Paris Hilton.
I do not care about Paris Hilton.
There is absolutely nothing she does that either contributes constructively to my daily life or increases my knowledge bank.
And I certainly don't wish to read about this vacuous, pseudo-celebrity in my quality Sunday newspaper.
And as for getting fit. I suspect her antidote to this is to throw some of her family millions at it and get someone else to get fit for her.
Neither do I wish to hear about her friends, those overpaid, underweight, miserable beings called models. They are nothing but wooden clotheshorses elevated by the media to the position of rotary garden driers, glorified because they have struck it lucky having peraded around in the sewn rags and bits of affixed stray wool classed as "designer clothes" in front of people who embrace fashion but totally lack style.
I would have thought there is enough news in the world without the necessity of resorting to publicising these 'socialite' wastrels and their equally useless peers. Nobody really cares about them and how they fill their empty days.