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For a reason that escapes me now, I follow, along with almost five million others, Sean Combs AKA P Diddy, on Twitter. While this week he's been alternating between sad Whitney tweets and shout-outs to his kids, his usual output is inspirational quotes interspersed with fulsome praises of Ciroc, the vodka brand he is ambassador for (sample tweet: "Peach Ciroc is Finally EVERYWHERE !!!! The wait is over!!!!" phew, huh?). While I'm not mad keen to try flavoured, luxury French vodka (from the world-famous vodka houses of France we hear so much about), Combs is a high-rolling playboy who knows his way round a party. His association with the booze brand holds (fire) water.

The Redgraves have rivals in the latest batch of offspring to follow their parents

Noam Gottesman, co-founder of GLG, is taking a back-seat role at Man Group, the FTSE 100 firm that bought his Mayfair-based hedge fund business for $1.6bn (£1.04bn) just over a year ago.

Drew Barrymore regrets not having a "kid's life".

Crystal Harris "didn't feel comfortable" knowing Hugh Hefner had other women in his life.

And here we are right back in romcomsville. Drew Barrymore and Justin Long are among the more personable of their type, but they're rather let down by an unremittingly coarse script.

A Texan schoolgirl (Ellen Page) finds fulfilment by taking up the underground, all-female sport of roller derby, without telling her strict mother (Marcia Gay Harden).

This film is like a woolly Christmas jumper. It's warm, inviting and has no pretensions to sophistication.

Impossible to dislike Drew Barrymore's directorial debut or Ellen Page's feisty teen heroine, though as a comedy about a minority sport it doesn't have the hectic energy and laughs of Dodgeball, the standard by which I judge all such movies.

It is ironic that an actor who so distinguished himself in films and on Broadway before winning fame as Blake Carrington on television in Dynasty should perhaps still be best remembered for a role in which viewers never even saw him, that of the elusive Charlie in Charlie's Angels, whose disembodied voice on a phone line gave his girl detectives their new assignment each week.