Week 10 and The Apprentice is reving up for the final result with its penultimate episode next week. Who'll win? A stubbly, handsome chap or a hormonal, overwrought chappette? That's our choice. Can the best of British business acumen really be found among slop that would grace any Weatherspoon's bar across Britain on a Friday night? It seems so.
Could I be more excited about Charlie Kaufman's new film, which has just debuted in Cannes and which is going to win the Palme d'Or in a sort of indifferent fashion? No, I could not, because although Synecdoche, New York has been described in the Guardian as "difficult to say and even harder to understand" it is set in my very own funny little home town of Schenectady, New York. You have no idea how thrilling this is...
Having spent several months of my lost youth behind the counter at a ubiquitous coffee chain, I always like to keep abreast of developments in the world of barista-ing. Or in this case, a-breast. 
Hurrah! If you were troubled at the thought that the world doesn't have quite enough book prizes, there's yet another one to add to your betting calendar.
What does it say about me that when I read about a fascinating new scientific breakthrough, I immediately begin pondering the deviant possibilities?
It's been a long time, hasn't it, since any of us in the English-speaking world took the Eurovision Song Contest seriously? Sure, we all cuddle up on the sofa to watch the institution that brought us Abba, playing drinking games that involve necking shots of vodka every time a marginal post-Soviet republic trots out a man in spangles. It's a well-loved tradition. 
Political "dirty tricks" have hit a new low. Yes, we all know Russia is rather quickly falling behind in the democracy stakes, but this... well, this is something else. Radiation-poisoning dissidents, murdering troublesome journalists: terrible, tragic, hard to laugh at. Menacing Kremlin critics with an air-borne phallus, it's awful, childish provocation. Yet it is still a flying dick. A cock with wings. Who could not suppress a snigger?
One of the nicest things about England is the way that we let even our
most inexplicable celebrities reinvent themselves through publishing,
despite the fact the book sales (and literacy rates) are flagging a
little