Celebrity

One can tell a lot about the calibre of the company one keeps by the quality of the gossip it manufactures. Good gossip is interesting enough to make one want to listen, but bad enough that one feels slightly ashamed for doing so, a shame that can only be assuaged by passing it on as quickly as possible.

Knowing what is worthy of passing on seems an obvious sort of thing, not an art, or an arcane science. If it makes one utter "Good grief! How deliciously appalling!" or fill one with a sense of relief that it’s not about you, then it’s pure freaking gold. Prurient interest in the details of ordinary, day-to-day activity, however, is the domain of the sadly socially-deficient.

Some, however, just don't get it. The Spy column in the Herald on Sunday is an example. This weekend – no less than five photos of Nicky “they are all natural because I paid for them” Watson walking along Ponsonby Road, adjusting her underwear. Photos on the front page, more on page two. Wait… now is not the time to vomit with excitement. Ms Watson is not throwing her nipples into oncoming traffic, or waving her musty municipal cockwash at underage boys. It merely looks like she is removing a bit of dust from her jersey. Marginally better than last week though, when readers were treated to photos of a local actor out walking with the nanny.

Given the columnist's biggest story ever was about how she didn’t have sex with Mick Jagger (who can blame him), I suppose this is as good as it's going to get.

Next week: An explicit centrefold of Judy Bailey buying milk at the dairy.