WORTH THE WAIT?

Another day, another night, another queue. A while ago, I reported on the saddest queue ever witnessed in the Bluewater Shopping Thingy, when Michael Barrymore was due to sign a copy or two of his autobiography. A couple of nights ago, yet another gathering began to form outside Waterstones bookshop, this time in Piccadilly in London.

The occasion was the announcement that Cheryl Cole would be turning up to sign copies of her latest tome at 1.00pm yesterday. Now, I`ve always been intrigued by people who write (or have ghost-written) autobiographies whilst still in their 20s. Had I done so at that age, it would have resulted in a very slim volume indeed. Never mind, no doubt the fragrant Mrs. Cole has crammed more in to her tender 27 years than I have still managed in my 70s.

Mrs. Cole clearly has many devotees. The early arrivals on Thursday included a contingent from Lancashire, whose spokeslady declared that, `Cheryl is so wonderful, my role model and it`s such a thrill to be here to catch a glimpse of her.` To be fair, they - and other later arrivals to the steadily lengthening queue - displayed a devotion above and beyond the call of duty by sticking it out throughout a long, cold, wet night on the pavements of Piccadilly. So much so that when she heard of their fortitude, Mrs. Cole immediately sent for 20 flasks of hot chocolate for them. Fair enough.

It takes all types, of course, to make the world interesting, but I do sometimes wonder at the mindset of people being prepared to wait outside all night in the cold and wet just to spend good money on the post-malaria literary ramblings of a bimbo-esque Geordie chanteuse who, by the way, isn`t Mrs. Cole any more anyway. I hope she`s not cashing in on Ashley Cole`s name - if so, sales will be sure to plummet.