Because there's no real analogue with national distribution, I think it's hard for Americans to have a real sense of the tabloids in Britain. There's the Post in New York, of course, but I suppose what comes closest are the excesses of certain programming on Fox News and the histrionic tone of someone like Nancy Grace. Still, those stations you can switch off; it's a bit harder to avert one's gaze from the newsstands when they are all around you.

Anyway, the latest target of front page vitriol is Heather Mills, in the wake of her divorce settlement earlier this week. Yesterday I was in the supermarket, and there she was, everywhere I turned, in unflattering photographs with even less flattering 50 pt. font captions. I feel sympathy for what she's going through -- divorce can't be easy or happy for anyone -- but as I realised last night in a rather heated discussion with a friend, she's a hard person to stick up for. By which I mean, she seems quite happy, albeit (one has to assume) unwitting, to dig the holes into which the red tops merrily throw her, never mind the judge hearing her case. As we all know (how could we not, seeing as it has such relevance to our daily lives), he reduced her requested settlement quite significantly, saying "she has only herself to blame. If, as she has done, a litigant flagrantly over-eggs the pudding and thus deprives the court of any sensible assistance, then he or she is likely to find that the court takes a robust view and drastically prunes the proposed budget." So, one finds oneself defending her position in the abstract, rather than defending her.

Which is exactly what today's Guardian attempts to do, in a rather even-handed and circumspect fashion: Kira Cochrane on the feminist dilemma that is the now-former Mrs McCartney.

Oh, and speaking of Lady Heathers, Julie Cooper was on Reaper last night, playing the devil's girlfriend (obvs.), and it was the source of such early OC nostalgia. I miss those kids.