Life Lesson No.8, courtesy of Pity Andre

Trust me, I'm a Celebrity

Expect rain today, as a monsoon, wet and wild, pours upon the fields of Celebland. Howling a blubber, it signals the blues with its rainy abandon and soaks the ground with drenching torrents, sending all in sight into a flurry of water-sprayed bewilderment. I am, of course, referring to The Celebrity’s cry-ridden meltdown, a time-honoured tradition that sheds bitter tears with an attention calling ‘boohoo.’ The Best Dramatic Performance this week goes to Peter Andre, whose evocative display of attention-seeking sorrow reminded us at once of the power of the whimper and urged us to follow the tracks of his tears in weeping imitation. Yes, choked up and all a-sniffle, we move swiftly along to our next celebrity life lesson; lamentably, bawl like a baby.

The traditionalists will refuse, arguing that such a display of weakness is damaging to one’s public persona. Well, I bawl to differ. Gone, you see, are the days of Steven Seagal Stoicism, replaced forever by the activation of the waterworks. As Team Andre have shown, tears evoke sympathy and compassion – (how else do babies get away with it?) – and touch even he with the hardest of hearts. Indeed, even those who fail to feel genuine pity will still do something – anything! – to shut a cry-baby up for just one moment of peace. What, therefore, is the point of feeling sorry for ourselves if others don’t feel it too? It seems it is simply time to soak the world and everyone upon it…Do you really think Rihanna was singing about rain when she cried (what else?) for her Umbrella-ella-ella?

Thus, at restaurants and retail stores; in a car and on the tube; with your friends, boss, partner, or pet, sob – unbridled and unrestrained – to your heart’s content. “Oh, you’ve stopped your 2 for 1 deals? Well, that’s…okay,” you’ll blubber, whilst blowing your nose on Pizza Express’ tablecloth. “So, you don’t have this top in my size?” you’ll plead with the shop assistant, before dropping to your hands and knees in the middle of Topshop and wailing with less self-preservation than Kerry Katona on a night out. Cry with ecstasy, grief or downright boredom. Cry for world peace, a paper cut, or the demise of Celebrity Big Brother. For whatever reason, and in whatever location, cry it out, girl.

And so, I urge you to put the jerk in tear-jerker and master the art of the celebrity meltdown. As Piteous Peter has shown, what was once a loss of self-restraint is now a powerful tool of self-indulgence, allowing women and men-folk alike to enjoy the benefits of a sob-fest, whilst simultaneously doing their bit to prevent the drought-inducing effects of Global Warming. Rather than concealing your sorrow, be the star of your own Hollywood tragedy and reap the benefits of the emotionally unhinged with all the mastery of a crocodile’s tear. As Jonny Cash said, ‘cry cry cry’ – and never stop until you have shed your very last ‘boohoo.’ And then, when you have finished, laugh until you cry some more.