Enough!

Last night news had started to filter through that Michael Jackson has suffered a heart attack, and had died in hospital in LA. Jackson's friend and cutlery advisor Uri Geller had tried to transmit some life-restoring power from across the pond, but to no avail. Wacko Jacko passed away yesterday evening, and rumours are that post-autopsy he is going to be shipped to China to be recycled as plastic bags or those little erasers found on the end of pencils.

OK, jokes aside.

It is undoubtedly sad, but does this story merit the crazily extensive level of news coverage? He was just a singer, for pity's sake. Talented, flawed, whatever... But just a singer. It's not as though he saved lives or changed how we think about the world - though some have begged to differ with their prattling on about the work Jackson did in breaking down racial boundaries, which is somewhat bizarre given that he created music for a primarily white American audience and made it his life's mission to look like a Caucasian - albeit a very curious-looking one.

It doesn't matter if you're black or white. Or neither... Hmm.

In their desperate attempts to keep the story running on a continuous basis the media sought out anyone who might have had something to say - from Jackson's equally weird friend Uri Geller and loudmouthed rabble-rouser Al Sharpton through to some otherwise inconsequential fellow who once helped him write a speech for the Oxford Union.

Until recently all of the news had been focussed on events in Iran, but this non-story about the death of some hyped-up pop star has sent these more serious events into the background. My theory is that Wacko Jacko didn't die of a heart attack, but drugs that had been put in his macrobiotic vegetarian dinner by one of Ahmedinejad's agents as part of a plan to get Iran out of the headlines. And it looked like it worked a dream.

Probably the post pathetic thing I have read in the past few hours however is that that wonderful hangers on in the British political establishment have been quick to get their own tuppence word in. Yes, Messrs Cameron and McBroon.

Now Cameron you could at a push understand - he's in his mid-30s and probably listened to Michael Jackson when he was a teenager at school. But Brown? After he was roundly mocked for allegedly calling reality TV weirdo Susan Boyle to say now nice and wonderful she was you would have thought he'd shut up. Och, noo.