Inevitably, the Photoshoppers have been out in force. Just received this:

I laughed. I am going straight to hell: do not pass Go, do not collect £200.

I have an objection.

This is to being called ‘babe’ by the man in the newsagents when I enter his premises to purchase fags and soya sauce. (Staples of a freelance life, you know. Along with Diagnosis Murder and Haribo.)

I am no one’s ‘babe’. Not even The German’s. Being given such a moniker is an unsavoury reminder of a vile ex boyfriend and the fact that when it comes to the endless battle to enforce appropriate behaviour, some men clearly need their trenches redigging.

Apparently this overfamiliarity is a sign of the times. More a folded down corner on the cultural page than a direct attempt to piss me off.

But just because someone else is jumping of a cliff into an abyss of social incongruity, does not mean I have to as well.

Eyes front and hands where I can see ‘em, boys.

At six foot tall and with a gob rivalling Janet Street Porter’s, you could hardly call me vulnerable.

However, some creep invading your space on the tube platform and telling you he wants to have sex with you, is bound to put the most Amazonian of us on the back foot.

I might have told him to piss off and then marched off to the other end of the platform with a ‘don’t fuck with me’ scowl on my face, but now all I want is a hug.

And perhaps a big stick to beat the eejit with.

So yesterday, I nested hungover and immobile on the sofa, watching the repeat of Saturday night’s X Factor. I haven’t really watched this series, so I was shocked at just how utterly irritating and also a bit… ahem, wrong brother-sister act Same Difference are.

There is something immeasurably creepy about them, and not just because she is a demonic, tuneless Barbie doll. They do a lot of overly sincere hand holding and gazing at each other when singing. This makes people suspect there is a less than wholesome and possibly illegal subtext to the pairing.

I’m not the only one who has raised an eyebrow. A quick straw poll last night has confirmed that I’m at least one of five other people who think they are WEIRD.

There is one major flaw in the implied incest theory, of course. The fact that he camp as Christmas. Perhaps he should ditch her and form the ultimate gruesome twosome with H from Steps.

Apologies to anyone who’s eating right now.