Page 113 of Going Solo

If all good things must come to an end, then so, presumably, must all rubbish. Finally, after polluting our airwaves for 17 years, Channel Three has pulled the plug on the toxic cavalcade of shattered dreams that was “Make Me a Pop Star.”

It may have given the world some of the biggest names in music, but it also humiliated innocents, exploited the vulnerable and forced us to listen to depressed teenagers sing “Hallelujah” more times than human endurance can bear. For that alone, it should be fired out of a cannon, directly into the sun, where it can burn for a million years in a billion nuclear explosions. The boil has been lanced, the cancer has been cut out. The downfall of Felicity Quant’s toxic empire was a long time coming, but at last we are all free.

Nothing can stop the rivers of cash that flow into the pockets of Quant’s famous miniskirts—she owns too much of our music industry for that. But the scandal that surrounds her means her brand is now as publicly toxic as it has been privately toxic for many years. If that’s enough to stop more talented young hopefuls wasting their best years being milked dry to the point of desiccation by Quant’s plastic pop factory, then perhaps, one last time, we should all sing “Hallelujah”?

Lyngstad launches YouTube channel for pop

Tobias Lyngstad has launched a YouTube channel, Seriously Pop, which the former PureFM presenter says aims to “be the place pop fans gather to discuss music.”

Lyngstad’s partner, the former Go Tos singer Cole Kennedy, has been promoting the venture on his social media, helping the channel clock up close to five million followers already…

Cole to release tell-all book

Fresh from the success of his WebFlix documentary, Cole Kennedy has signed a book deal with Proud Marlee Press to publish an authorised biography of his life.

In a statement, the publisher said journalist Ludo Boche had been engaged to write the as-yet untitled book, in close collaboration with Kennedy.

Boche has a biography of the late Sentinel theatre critic and icon of London’s West End Ben Diamond coming out this summer.

“YES, CHEF!”

Marcel Dupont to wed Cole Kennedy’s sister

Cole Kennedy’s manager and big sister Fiona looks set to beat her famous brother up the aisle, announcing her engagement to Michelin-starred celebrity chef Marcel Dupont.

Don’t expect a fancy society wedding—the couple are famously private. So private, in fact, this gossip column had no idea they were dating. Whenever the wedding is, you can guarantee the catering will be top shelf. All they need now is a wedding singer…

Epilogue

THREE MONTHS LATER

The sky was grey, and the wind blustering through the ancient rocks of Stonehenge was chilly. The joys of summer in England. I tucked my hands into my armpits, but the synthetic fabric of my waterproof jacket completely failed to provide any warmth. Cole kicked his shoes off.

“Are you mad? It’s absolutely bitter. You’ll catch your death, babes.”

“I want to feel the grass under my feet,” he said. “Can you believe we’ve come all this way and they don’t even let you touch the rocks?”

“Nope, no rock touching,” I confirmed.

“Like, I’ve wanted to see Stonehenge all my life, and now I’msoclose. I can see it. It’sright there. But I don’t feel like it will be real until I can actually touch it. I need to put skin to stone, you know?”

The wind whipped around us, lashing drizzle against my face. I put up my hood.

“Can you hold me? I’m bloody freezing.”

Cole slid his arms around me, his oversized loose-knit jumper making him as soft and warm as a teddy bear. I leaned into him, stealing his heat. I closed my eyes, pretending I hadn’t seen a group of teenage girls walking towards us.

“Can we please get a picture with you?” one of them asked.

“Of course!” Cole said cheerily, and the girls squealed in delight.

I opened my eyes and reached out a hand for their phone. “Here, let me take that for you.”

“Would you be in the picture, too, please, Tobias? If you don’t mind?”

I smiled. “Of course not.” I waved them in. “A selfie, then.”

Taking photos with Cole’s fans, I had discovered, was a bit like going for a leak at the pub. You can drink pint after pint and not need the loo. But the second you do, the moment you break that seal, it’s a never-ending flood, and you’re off to the toilet every five seconds. Once we had taken a selfie with these girls, the floodgates would open, and everyone would be queuing up to meet Cole and take a picture. He loved every minute of it. I was still getting used to it.

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