2nd May:

Yesterday's piece got me thinking about the whole nature of celebrity and what makes particular celebrities more enduring than others. A quick look over the shoulder back to the golden age of Holywood might suggest that the strong and silent approach is the way to go.

Back in the 80s, Sting got understandably annoyed about the dstruction of the rainforest and regularly appeared on the telly to tell us all about it. Accompanied, if memory serves me well, by some small brown bloke with a wicked bowl cut who appeared to have had a CD surgically inserted into his bottom lip. Bono has done similar stuff in recent years to highlight the issue of AIDS in Africa. All to the good, one might think. But do we really expect or want those who grace the front pages of our tabloid newspapers to have a conscience? The Bonos and Geldolfs of this world are clearly driven to behave in the way they do, feeling that they can use their profile for the benefit of those less fortunate. Which seems fair enough, because these guys have a 'been around the block' credibility. There is something distinctly naff and calculated, however, about seeing the current boy band du jour poncing around on Comic Relief (Simon Cowell rubbing his hands together just out of shot).

From the 1920s through until the 50s people expected their movie stars to be movie stars, and little else. Holywood was all about escapism and the Marlene Dietrichs and Grace Kellys were expected to be the embodiment of glamour, romance and sophistication - a celluloid ideal of perfect pores and champagne parties. One could, of course, argue that the social mores of the day did not require A-list celebrities to have views on poverty, famine or homelessness, but the top actors were managed as studio assets and were certainly discouraged from having much of an opinion about anything. And their legend lives on.

Mass media and the pervasiveness of celebrity have changed all of this. Now, we don't just want remote glamour. We want in-your-face, no-holds-barred close-ups. We demand to know where they shop, what they smoke, who they sleep with and how they look without any make-up. We want their opinions and we scoff at their pleas for privacy.

Fortunately, a strong antedote to the cheapening of celebrity can be found in the shape of one Ms. Barbra Streisand, whose pedestal is so high that she presumably gets constant nosebleeds and has snow on her head. Tickets for her forthcoming London concert will soon be available to devoted fans at a starting price of £100. The best seats in the house could cost up to £500. A spokesman for the artist defended the prices, calling her concert "a momentous occasion that ranks up there with seeing Elvis or Sinatra".

Both of whom are dead. Take note, Barbra, take note.