Victory for Kaka, victory for football

I am both delighted and relieved that the ludicrous business of Kaka's proposed nine-figure transfer from AC Milan to Manchester City, and the astronomical wage packet he was reportedly offered, has fallen through.

It is a victory for the safety, even the sanity of the sport on a global level, but even more so it is a victory for the convictions and principles of a humble, quiet young man who scores goals for Jesus and wants to stay close to the people and the place he loves.

In a game so utterly dominated by money and run by an unaccountable group of incomprehensibly wealthy individuals who think it is possible to buy lasting success, every true football fan should be encouraged by the fact that a player of such obviously bankable talent should choose with his heart and not his wallet.

He's not exactly hard up at the San Siro and it may have been the case that the club simply refused to allow him to talk to the Eastland's money men. In any case, he is still a Milan player and the chequebook has been put away.

Will this news result in the toning down of the unsustainable financial movements which exist, in the top echelon of the world's most popular sport, on such a scale as to be truly crass in the face of such international economic turmoil? Almost certainly not.

But it has sent out a message that occasionally, to some people, some things are more important than money.

Inauguration Day

One last moment of inspiration before the hard work really begins. Read the speech.

Free speech gone mad

Before you assume I've come over all Daily Mail, fear not. I do, however, feel compelled to share with the world what is as fine a case as I think I've ever seen against allowing members of the public to post comments in response to news stories on the internet.

The news piece in question reports that a promising young drama student has been selected to front a government campaign aimed at reducing knife crime, self-harm and other such ills among young people.

The comment from 'Manny Mark' in Redbridge which follows isn't so offensive because of what he says – nuggets of cynical, narrow-minded and ill-informed rubbish are ten-a-penny all over the internet – but rather the manner in which he says it, so utterly bankrupt in its means of expression that I actually cast my eyes to the heavens and tutted like a grandmother.

Leave it out and do me a favor do you think this is going to solve the dreadful positions of kids carrying the knives? . What and they are going to pick up the knifes and then remember to log on and listen to two other kids saying dont do it? Just because this crazy governement dont spend any money on police for the streets they use the wishy washy tactics to clould the wool over peoples eyes like a smoke screen to veil off all whats really happing in the society that we are forced to living under the fear and terrible state we are put under by the kids who are out of control these days? We used to get a clip round the ear and when we got home if we got in any bother with police the parents would give you a few more clips also.

The spectacular use of mixed, confused and downright garbled metaphors actually left me speechless. Check out the middle sentence (all 3,000 words of it). Absolute gold.

Go and see Slumdog Millionaire

If you manage only a single trip to the cinema in 2009, the one film guaranteed to lift any lingering gloom or underlying feeling of pessimism about your life or the world around you is Danny Boyle's exceptional Slumdog Millionaire.

In it, the director's vision is so clearly formed that the story, told with what is actually a rather complex narrative, is perfectly observed.

It is a demonstration of Boyle's now, I would argue, fully-realised skill as a filmmaker that in telling a story set against the backdrop of one of the most chaotic cities on Earth he still manages to pick out every last detail, not missing so much as a single beat.

I cannot recall walking out of a cinema with such a wide, unapologetic smile on my face, having wept with joy only seconds before, or feeling more elated at the end of the film in my entire life.

This is a work of art which runs the whole gamut of emotions before ultimately finding an exquisitely beautiful finale. It is the romantic story of a man and a women. It is a a paean to a singular and awe-inspiring city.

And it is, above all, an enduring, uplifting and overwhelmingly convincing testament to the redemptive power of love.

Go and see Slumdog Millionaire.

Ooh, what a bitch

There's something I need to get off my chest. From time to time my job involves subediting news stories derived from the meaningless effluent so-called celebrities (sorry to turn this into a semantic argument, but find me someone who celebrates these people, I defy you) will say in interviews or sign up for just to get a few column inches.

As most of this passes before my eyes it prompts nothing more than a shrug, a disbelieving frown or even the odd, slightly camp, cast of my eyes to the heavens. But sometimes I feel the bile rise up inside me. Here's a selection of some of things I've found myself saying, out loud, this week:

Cheryl Cole on her surprise that Victoria Beckham didn't support her when her she found out her husband was cheating on her or something: "we've had barbecues together."

What I said: "How do you barbeque Diet Coke and cigarettes?"
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Pete Wentz saying that people who sell pictures of their new-born babies to the press are "strange". His child with singer/actress/big pair of tits Ashlee Simpson is named Bronx Mowgli.

What I said: "In which case, what does that make people who name their first-born after New York boroughs and feral monkey-children from popular literature?"
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And finally, my response to Madonna's new advertising campaign for Louis Vuitton, in which she reclines with legs open and knickers on display: "The Sun's likely headline: 'Show us yer Madge'."