Nothing compares to Sinead!

NOTHING COMPARES TO SINEAD! 

 

THOSE potty pop stars have been hogging the headlines again (and no, I don’t mean The Blues Brothers at the Tory Conference). 

The week began with Wacko Jacko doing thousands of Greeks and Turks a huge favour by calling off the final two dates of his latest European tour. Then Mick Jagger and Jerry Hall - rock’s equivalent of Burton and Taylor - flew to France for a romantic reunion (as if anybody cared). 

And predictably Madonna’s tacky new video was banned by MTV and her pathetic “porno” book was referred to the DPP to decide whether it should be allowed into Britain - in the process making it a best-seller on the Continent. 

 

But the biscuit for banality was taken by "Skinhead" O’Connor, who caused uproar when she theatrically ripped up the Pope’s picture “live” on an American TV show, saying: “Fight the real enemy!” 

The Irish slaphead’s anti-Catholic rantings may have outraged millions of viewers still (presumably) recovering from her refusal to allow the Yankee national anthem to be played at a concert last year. 

Such pseudo-political posturing cuts no ice with Smith on Saturday, I’m afraid. I guess that having just released the most safe and soppy album of her controversial career, Ms O’Connor needs all the publicity (good or bad) she can get...

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BEST FORGOTTEN

WHEN I last saw George Best on a football field (at a Poppies charity match), he was a shambling shadow of the genius the world once worshipped. 

This week the boozy bozo who last disgraced himself appearing drunk on The Wogan Show “starred” in The Farm’s new pop video doing what he NOW does best - propping up a nightclub bar. 

Asked why he agreed to appear in the promo for a cover version of the Human League hit “Don’t You Want Me?” Best replied: “Videos are beautiful, sexy and dangerous, just like I used to be on the pitch.” 

You mean he can actually REMEMBER?

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A MAJOR DISASTER!

PIGS might fly when a pay phone returns your unused coins, a cab driver refuses your tip and there’s no lunchtime queue at the bank or post office. 

And I swear they’ll go into orbit when Reader’s Digest stops sending you junk mail, Britain tops an Olympic medals table and the taxman sends you a Christmas card. 

But they’ll surely explode if John Major ever admits he was wrong over Maastricht...

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(This column was originally published in the Northamptonshire Evening Telegraph on Saturday, 10 October, 1992)