Sir

Live 8

Poor old Cap’n Bob. Having repelled all hostile Live 8 boarders for weeks he finally gets screwed on deck in full view of 3 billion people by the shameless cynicism of the pri-Madonna herself. The dollar-hearted, granite-souled Ms Ciccone hijacked the most touching moment of the day by leeching on to the courageous young woman who survived the dreadful circumstances pictured in Live Aid 1985. Even this shameful self-serving crassness could not tarnish the regal dignity and ethereal beauty of this fine young African, totally bemused at being clasped to the bosom of a new devoted friend she’d never met. That this over-indulged diva was then involved in a cringingly sychophantic BBC interview was almost as unforgiveable as the chicken-hearted post-Iraq BBC pulling the G8 film. Good job Beeb, shame about the spine. John Peel, where are you now we need you?

At least Mariah Carey’s ‘tart’ among the angels act was amusing in a faintly surreal kind of way. And even this cash crop product promoting her get-it-as-soon-as-you-can latest record could not touch the breathtaking innocence and dignified charm of the African childrens’ choir who gave her delightful, if totally undeserved vocal support.

You must hate the ‘Saint’ tag Mr G but honestly, having to deal with prima donna’s like these two singing Haliburton’s, must take patience and guts of clearly saintly proportions.

Good job Bob: keep it up till Thursday. And don’t worry about not getting the British yachtsmen or the French on board: we could have told you that was about as likely as peeling stripes off a zebra. Or the Gleneagles members not moaning about missing their bloody golf.

Sincerely

Keith Farman