Well, the spotlight has once again fallen on Philip Seymour Hoffman.   Now I thought it was just me who, until yesterday, had never heard of him but my rare sojourn into the parallel universe of F***book has revealed at least one other dinosaur had never heard of him either.   By all accounts, Hoffman`s professional career was hugely successful and it seemed right for the spotlight to have shone on his theatrical and cinematic talents.  I`m sorry I missed them.  Maybe I should get out more.

But now the light has shone on the manner of his leaving this troubled world and his loss has been met with an outpouring of grief, especially from the theatrical luvvies - perhaps the most toe-curling of which appeared on last night`s edition of Newsnight when we were treated to an outstanding performance from Richard Curtis.  

For me though, whilst I mourn the loss of any life - and I stand back and await condemnation for daring to make this suggestion - anyone with three children who is found dead with a syringe in their arm in an apartment in which 70 `packets` of heroin have been found along with stacks of prescription drugs, has committed perhaps the ultimate act of self indulgence.

Perhaps the spotlight should be aimed at that rather than anything else?