Janet Street-Porter: I like a drink. Does that make me an alcoholic?

Recently I read a ridiculous piece of "research" (and I use that word loosely) telling me that women buy four-fifths of the wine drunk in the home. I don't know about your house, but this woman buys four-fifths of everything that comes into our house, from wine to toilet rolls to washing powders. The same research claimed that women drink wine at least once a week. As far as I can see, women have always drunk something once a week, and the only interesting new fact to emerge is that quite a lot of us like a drink while we're having a bath. Better not tell the government health and safety gurus, otherwise they'll issue a leaflet on the dangers of bringing glass into the bathroom.

No day passes without a new piece of research about the amount we drink and a lot of it focuses on the cost to the NHS. We were recently told that the drinkers the Government is most concerned about aren't the young, but middle aged and middle class. You don't need to be Einstein to work out the largest social group in the country are middle class and middle aged, but we'll let that pass. The same group probably own the most pets, spends the most at garden centres, and eats the most breakfast cereal.

This government has decided to interfere in our lives to a completely unacceptable degree. The latest health campaign, directed specifically at middle-class drinkers, will show how each drink is the equivalent of four fish fingers, a sausage roll or a pork pie, in an attempt to make us drink less and lose weight. Bonkers. It reckons the average wine drinker now consumes 2,000 calories a month from alcohol alone – that's four bags of crisps and four slices of sponge cake. Or is it 40? That's about as persuasive an argument as telling me I might run into Michael Jackson if I went to London's Docklands this summer – in other words, technically correct, but an irrelevant and worthless factoid. The reason we like a glass of wine at the end of the day is because it's relaxing, in a way that eating a doughnut or a 50g of cheddar is obviously not. And if you can get a bit of a buzz out of a fish finger, do let me know.

Work and Pensions Secretary James Purnell announced last week that he is looking into penalising alcoholics by removing their benefits unless they seek treatment. His department is trialling a scheme whereby some drug users go to rehab or forfeit state handouts. Purnell's plan for alcoholics is based on a basic misunderstanding over why people drink to excess. There's a fundamental difference between an alcoholic and someone who regularly drinks over the recommended daily limit. Alcoholics have no choice, they drink because they cannot function without booze. You cannot force alcoholics to stop drinking – they alone have to be ready to take that step. Removing their benefits is not just insulting and cruel, it is pointless.

People forced into rehab will soon revert to drinking. And until the NHS has far more treatment centres and better support in the form of counsellors, there is no point in forcing thousands of extra people into the system. In treating ordinary drinkers like naughty kids who won't behave the way you want, the targetting of middle-class drinkers is similarly doomed to failure. All this comes from the same government that introduced longer drinking hours in the first place.

Whingeing Woody: Director cashes in on fading reputation

Woody Allen clearly sees himself as rather special. Granted, he made some brilliant films such as Annie Hall more than 30 years ago, but his output of late has been risible. Have you managed to watch Vicky Cristina Barcelona now it's available on DVD? It might have won Penélope Cruz an Academy Award, but the plot is ludicrous and talented actors are wasted on a story that's an excuse for Woody to film three attractive women in various stages of undress.

Nevertheless, Woody has a pretty high opinion of his reputation – he's suing the clothing company American Apparel for using his image (a still taken from Annie Hall, in which he is dressed as a Hassidic Jew), without his permission, in a billboard campaign. Woody claims his rights have been violated, and wants £6.7m damages, no less. That's a lot of hurt feelings. The figure is high because Allen considers himself one of the 10 most "iconic" figures in American cinema.

Some might say his reputation nosedived after his former wife, Mia Farrow, discovered he was having an affair with her adopted daughter, Soon-Yi Previn (22 years old at the time). Farrow accused Allen of sexually abusing their daughter Dylan, and although the charges were not proved, she won custody of the children. Allen says that being associated with American Apparel's "downmarket" clothing – the company manufactures T-shirts and leisurewear – damages his reputation. American Apparel says the billboard was only up for a week, and has apologised. The trial is set for next month.

Sir Clement had no hesitation...

I met Clement Freud when I was 21 and had just started my journalistic career, working on the Daily Mail. I went to a party he hosted launching a new edition of the Mrs Beeton cookery book, in the Cotswolds. A party of about 20 of us enjoyed a slap-up dinner ( I was flattered to be placed alongside the great man, who was extremely formidable, even then) washed down by vats of good wine, followed by more drinks in the bar of the swanky Lygon Arms hotel, where we were staying. At about 1am I was aware that Mr Freud had his hand on my knee (this was the Sixties and I was 6ft-plus with a skirt the length of a hankie) and was mumbling something in my ear. I stumbled off to my room and woke up next morning fully clothed, just in time to get the train back to London. I could never get the image of him and the dog food out of my mind...

Who'd tell Draper all their woes?

Those unappealing specimens Damian McBride and Derek Draper are a very poor advertisement for a career in politics. McBride might be superbright, but he looked shocking for 34. Years of drinking with the right people and spinning seem to have aged him well beyond his years. Draper is proof that growing a beard isn't the answer to a man's physical shortcomings in the chin department. He claims to have swapped careers and retrained as a psychotherapist, but recent events prove this man's ego is so huge he is patently unsuited to a job where the ability to remain silent and be receptive to patients is paramount. Draper apologised after everyone else – humility is not in his repertoire – and he's written a book called Life Support: A Survival Guide for the Modern Soul. If I felt life was getting me down, I'd rather call the Samaritans than spend 10 minutes with him.

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