In yesterday’s Daily Mail, a woman called Samantha Brick wittered on wrote an article about how life was so difficult for her ‘because she was so beautiful’. (That’s a link to the story, if you really must read it – but hang on before you do so)

Predictably, t’internet – and Twitter in particular – frothed up about it massively, and the story went viral. Which is exactly what the Daily Fail wanted.

According to their own follow-up story, that original article garnered 4,500 comments. And the ‘top-rated’ comment received 18,000 ‘green arrow’ upticks. (Think of a Green Arrow as being similar to a Facebook Like)

The Daily Fail lives by advertising. The Mail’s Online Ratecard shows that they charge a minimum of £20 per 1,000 advert impressions – and it can be a lot more.

The original story had (at the time of writing the follow-up) received 1.5million hits – that’s a minimum of £30,000 they’ve made on the one story. Of course, the original story/page is still live, and there’s also a follow-up piece from Brick herself. From the Fail…

And today she is sure to provoke another avalanche of strong reaction as she defends herself in a fresh article on MailOnline, insisting that: ‘While I’ve been shocked and hurt by the global condemnation, I have just this to say: my detractors have simply proved my point. Their level of anger only underlines that no one in this world is more reviled than a pretty woman.’

So to all the people who comment, or even just click through to read the story, I say this.

YOU are the people who fund the Daily Mail. Every single one of you. Now, don’t you feel proud?

Over the weekend, in Sainsbury’s, I spotted packs of Easter Crackers. Yeah, like Christmas Crackers, but for Easter.

What. The. Fuck?!?

(Looking on Google, it appears that this is becoming a common thing, somehow)

I didn’t get any photos this time – I’ll try to get some next time I’m there.

But really, what the hell is going on, if Easter Crackers are now a thing?

Ah, RBS, I do so love the way you make life really complicated when it doesn’t need to be – and indeed shouldn’t be.

As I wrote before, I recently upgraded my phone to the iPhone 4S, which was a remarkably painless process. (I know, Apple stuff “just works”, but that’s not always been my experience, it’s safe to say – and there’s still a few niggles to sort out)  All the Apps I’d purchased on the 3GS came over smoothly, all the contacts, blah blah, all worked fine – except for one.

Yep, the RBS “Mobile Banking” app wouldn’t work at all. Fair enough, security for banking, I can live with that. And there’s a button for requesting a new passkey. Clicky. Oh. It’s going to come in the post, and might take seven working days. Sheesh.

Seven working days on, nothing has appeared. So I call RBS Mobile Banking.

“Oh yes, we don’t send those any more.”

“…”

“Yes, what you need to do is text STOP (and yes, it has to be all in capitals) to 87727, then uninstall the existing app, reinstall it from the App Store, and go through the setup process.”

“You’re kidding, right? This is how RBS ‘make things easier’?”

“Yes, this is the quickest process for getting things done.”

Fuck sake. Anyway, it’s been done – but what a total bag of bollocks.

I’ve written before about moronic drivers who leave their foglights on once conditions clear up – leaving them to dazzle other people.

This week, though, there’ve been a couple of days with heavy fog – and it turns out that there are  also plenty of moronic dickheads who don’t feel they need foglights at all. Or lights.

Sometimes you really just have to wonder about people.

On my commute this morning I saw one of the more incredible things of late.

In the outside lane of the M1, two drivers had managed to have a small collision in the traffic. Nothing major, from the look of it, a few scratches, maybe a resprayed bumper or somesuch. But there was nothing major – no broken bodywork, no wheels askew, or anything like that.

The drivers had stopped to exchange details, as one should in an accident.

In the outside lane of the M1. As one shouldn’t, in an accident or at any other time.

Some people are just too stupid to deserve to live.

Over on Twitter today, I was having a conversation with a couple of friends, and an idea came to.  It would never be made – but we can dream…

The idea, as the title of this post suggests, would be Celebrity Sharktank. (Or Celebrities Swimming with Sharks – either way)

The premise – and this is the good bit – is to take ten ‘celebrities’, and let them go swimming with a whole swarm of sharks. Great Whites, Makos, Hammerheads, all the good ones.  Throw in a bit of chum (bloody meat/fish, if you didn’t know) and you’ve got a TV programme to be proud of.

The ‘Winner’ of the programme would be the last one alive. Of course, if the recovery crew were really slow at getting to the ‘Winner’, would anyone care?

In my mind, the contestants for the first episode would be :

• The Kardashian sisters
• Jedward
• Simon Cowell
• the cast of TOWIE (The Only Way Is Essex) and
• the cast of Jersey Shore

The first episode would be called “Feeding Frenzy” in honour of there being rather more victims (sorry, contestants) than usual.  I suspect Cowell would “Win”, but only because there’s a limit to the shit that even a shark can eat.

I suppose the only downside of this would be the potential for complaints about cruelty to animals…