Kat Melojian

Up to now Kerry Katona was famous for miming repeatedly in a manufactured pop act, briefly staying married to Bry(i)an McFadden, allegedly snorting cocaine through a drainpipe and having boobs so big she could hide behind one of them while the other searched for her in vain. And also having foreign Man United fans think she was Eric Cantona's younger sister.

So, needless to say, it came as something of a surprise to me to learn that she has released a novel, Tough Love, not having struck me thus far as, how shall I put it, a woman of letters or possessive of a literary bent. I mean, this is the Kerry who bounded on to the Late Late show once and had barely settled in her seat before she crassly asked host Pat to hold her breasts for her. Bry(i)an sitting alongside was all too wearily familiar with the whole carry on and was probably just relieved that Kerry hadn't belched or mooned or something.

It definitely marks another abrupt plummetting in the standards of our already vacuous void of a culture that for no other reason than she's 'famous', some publisher thinks they can turn a few quick quid and so conferred the status of novelist upon her. Of the few blogs I actually know about, virtually every writer behind them would be more deserving of a book deal than Kerry Katona. In fact, if you sat down and tried very hard to think of the person most ill-deserving of having a novel published, you'd first consider standouts like Bertie Ahern, Kirk off Coronation Street and Brendan Kilkenny, but upon reflection you'd probably still pick Kerry Katona as there could be no worse 'author' to inflict on posterity than her. To illustrate, have a look at this excerpt from her book, starring glamour model protagonist Leanne and some, well I can only say strident intellectual, talking about, er, tits. There's a brief pause in the middle and then they start talking about, um, tits again:

+++++

‘You and me, Lee, we go back a long way.’ Leanne hated it when Jenny called her Lee. ‘And I’ve always said I’d be straight up and down with you, haven’t I, girl?’ Leanne winced. She wanted Jenny to get this over and done with, whatever she was going to say. ‘And I’ve always said, “Tits is tits,” haven’t I?’

And I’ve always wondered what the fuck that’s supposed to mean, Leanne thought but didn’t say. She wouldn’t. She was terrified of Jenny, if she was honest.
‘Well, tits is tits, but there’s younger tits coming through that door, if you know what I’m saying.’

‘Look, Jenny,’ Leanne’s voice wavered, ‘I offered to get a boob job and you said no, natural’s what everyone wants.’ She didn’t really want one. Her boobs were big enough as it was. She didn’t need ginormous plastic orbs bobbing around so she couldn’t see her feet.

‘That’s true, sweetheart. Natural is what everyone wants, but so’s young. And you might be young to some bloke in his fifties, but twenty-five’s over the hill to an eighteen-year old brickie who wants a quick lump in his trousers while he’s eating his corned beef sandwiches. You get where I’m coming from?'

+++++

Sweet divine, it's like tit central station in there! Boobs ahoy!

I despair utterly. Chick-lit has been with us for a while now but if these fast-buck merchants are going to start over-polluting the safe havens that are bookshops with this...this shit-lit...I think I will visit violence upon someone's person very soon.
It tells you enough that they're billing Kerry's book as a "fantastic blend of Shameless and Footballers Wives", which alone gives me a strong urge to decorate myself with fillet steaks and jump into a cage full of pitbulls, but then Kerry herself makes a bad situation worse, revealing how she had a "brill time" coming up with the storylines and is "dead proud" of her books. Nobody will accuse her of purple prose anyway.

I feel like throwing my arms to the skies in defeat and dejection, before solemnly performing a self-labotomy with a garden trowel so I'd be too dumb to care about any of this. I'd say Kerry has never even written a shopping list or so much as read the back of a Domestos bottle before drinking it and yet here she is with a book to her name.

It'll be bloody Jordan next. Oh no, wait...sigh, that's already happened. And her book was, according to the Guardian, outselling the entire Booker Prize shortlist combined at one stage. Probably still is.

Pass the steaks and the trowel.