The Mail has added to the annals of the bleeding obvious by reporting on a study which finds that some women "hate" looking at photographs of themselves. Still, on cue comes along one such woman to confirm the accuracy of the research. Wealthy Canadian singer Céline Dion was recently informed of the existence of a blog by one of the world's little people, self-explanatorily entitled "Ridiculous Pictures Of Céline Dion". Ms Dion was not amused, and Duckumu (also known as Nick, 26, from Brooklyn), the humble blogger responsible, claims he received a letter from her lawyers demanding he shut the site down. "Though this blog is well within the realm of 'fair use'," he insists, "I don't have the money or time to get a lawyer to respond. The dream is over." In honour of his site's demise, however, this column would like to contribute one more ridiculous picture.

The Government's hiring of Alan Milburn as its "social mobility tsar" provides the most seismic event of its kind for a very long time ... possibly as long ago as the appointment of puritan £5m birthday-party man Philip Green as our anti-profligate spending tsar.

She is one of the most glamorous women on the planet, whose every red-carpet appearance is scrutinised by an army of photographers and tooth-sucking style commentators. But Angelina Jolie stands accused of an extraordinary fashion faux pas.

She may have only played it once but to those who like their rock unadulterated it was nothing short of sacrilege. Celine Dion's cover of AC/DC's "You Shook Me All Night Long" has officially been voted the worst cover song of all time by a panel of experts from Total Guitar magazine.

Many singers perform in their second language and manage to sound convincing. Despite selling a reported 200 million albums – including 27 million copies of that Titanic soundtrack – Céline Dion is not one of them. Time and again, during a 105 minute-long set, the Canadian superstar warbles, mangles English syllables until they're unrecognisable and inserts unnatural pauses into lyrics like "I hold... on... to your body" in "The Power of Love".

Before the Quebecois Olivier Choinière's play begins, we're left in no doubt about its take on society's obsession with celebrities. Each member of the audience at Joe Hill-Gibbins' production is issued with a blue Wal-Mart vest, before entering a barn-like space and looking through a frame at a public toilet where the graffiti is in mirror writing. Before the cubicles are a Wal-Mart manager and three employees, the lettering on their badges also written from right to left. We will be told, more than once, "I'm looking at you. You're looking at me," but, by then, most of us will have got the idea: I am you and you are me and we are all guilty.

The vernacular of the Turf gives uncommon meaning to everyday words. "A good thing", for instance, specifically denotes a horse that cannot be beaten in a particular race. As Wordsworth said, however: "Of good things none are good enough."