No news is... a waste of paper

Regular readers might have gleaned that I am not a fan of London's free morning newspapers. As the longest-running culprit, right-wing rubbish Metro is terrifyingly all-pervasive: I frequently look down my tube carriage in the mornings and notice that almost every commuter is holding one aloft. I, of course, bursting with (a desire for) intellectual superiority, refuse even to open a copy or glance at my neighbour's.

Today, however, my eye was caught by a headline that has to be a major contender in several categories at this year's press awards, in particular 'Laziest Journalism' and 'The Depressing Reality Of Showbiz'. The eye-grabber in question is at the top right of the photo above and reads 'Gabrielle: Honestly, I really do have two eyes'.

For my foreign/elderly/sensible readers who may not be familiar with Gabrielle, let me assist by explaining that she is a singer who, in 1993, achieved massive chart success with her debut song, Dreams, a catchy number aided by her trademark nasal voice and the bejewelled eyepatch that she wore in all the promotional materials. At the time, rumours abounded as to the origins of this patch: was she a pirate at the weekends? Had she been partially blinded by an incident involving a staple gun? Or was she merely suffering from a bad case of conjunctivitis? The jury was out, but at a time when American pop trio, TLC, were embracing the safe sex movement by attaching packets of condoms to their clothes and even, in one case, over the lenses of their spectacles, Gabrielle didn't seem quite so controversial.

It is thus depressing in the extreme to see that the Metro journalist still falls back on this 14-year-old curiosity. I struggle to believe that their entire interview didn't throw up anything more fascinating than the existence of the standard rationing of eyeballs in Gabrielle's head. If it didn't, it's the fault of the writer - and if it did, it's the fault of the editor who chose that pull quote to go on the front page over the superior material. Either way, the Metro sucks. And let this be a warning to any wannabe stars out there: watch what you say and watch what you do - you can sell all the records you want but chances are, several years later, you'll still be defending yourself against inane questions asked earnestly by moronic writers who hold the keys to your mortgage repayments along with their dictaphone. Resist the spotlight.