I can barely remember it now but just before Christmas I had retired to my town office in the back room of the Stag's Head in order to complete the latest article fast approaching deadline. My head was down over the typewriter when I felt a tug on my arm.

Accustomed as I am to rubbing shoulders with the fabulous and the famous, it was still surprising to see a bag-laden Madonna stood in front of me. Apparently she'd heard tell of The Eager Beaver closing sale and jetted in, for who can forget that renowned 'Material Girl' B-side 'I Love A Bargain Me'. Anyway, she called for a light ale and demanded I tell her all about it.

I was at a loss until I caught sight of myself in the mirror behind the bar. I was still wearing the garb from the HP Christmas photo shoot. "Is it Gaultier, or perhaps Westwood?" Madge enquired in that demanding way of hers. "This?" I replied. "This is just a load of old tat we found in the basement." We laughed it off and called for another round.

Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, or so they say, but I was aghast to see La Ciccone sporting the patch-and-junk "look" when the video of her "performance" reached the desk earlier. Frankly, I'm not flattered in the slightest. Judge for yourself who wore it better in the photo evidence provided.

The whole shit-show was horrendously ill-judged and she didn't get within an ass's roar/country mile of the melody of 'Like A Prayer' either. There'll hardly be any coming back from that one, and nor should there. "How Much Did You Get For Your Soul?" as Chrissie Hynde used to say.

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