There are always a handful of news stories that one sees out of the corner of one's eye. Of the major ones – say, Mubarak being overthrown in Egypt – one knows every detail. As one should. But it's the pure entertainment stories I find I'm happy to let sit on the periphery of my brain, until and unless it becomes absolutely necessary to bring them to the forefront.

Now that I have seen hours of footage of Charlie Sheen and read Twitter posts (countless) on the subject, I am nostalgic for my ignorance. Gone are the days of a few weeks ago when I would have summarised Sheen's story thusly: something about drugs and porn stars and tiger blood? Something about, he drinks it so that he might become a winner?

I've always been like this with anything that involves sex, drugs and rock and roll. Me in 2006: something about Tom Cruise landing in a spaceship and putting his feet up on Oprah's sofa? Me in January of 1998: something about a cigar and a dry-cleaning bill? The easiest stories to latch on to (celebrity scandals – national and international alike) have never held much interest for me.

This is not snobbery. It's the reverse. I am not "above it" and would love to know every last detail about what goes on in Charlie Sheen's house. I want to hear the conversations he has when he's yelling between rooms with his "goddesses" about dinner plans. I want to know what he eats, what brand of shampoo he likes, his most humiliating fart story.

Alas, when it comes to these type of stories, we will never know the details. So I will never be satisfied. I can learn the facts of a major diplomatic crisis and feel like I have a handle on it, but the scandals of the world? They never seem to run in a linear fashion. Instead, they either free-form explode on gossip blogs or just go round and round in circles until someone shows up with a television camera.

Therefore, until Charlie Sheen invites me into his home, opens his medicine cabinet and gives me his grandmother's lasagne recipe, I'd rather not make myself dizzy trying to keep up.

Sloane Crosley is author of 'How Did You Get This Number' (Portobello)