Let's talk about Sting

It's generally accepted that Sting is a tit.

His tantric sex, the dreadful wife, the Geordie when it suits him, taking himself far too seriously, all that rainforest stuff and some of those hairdos. It all comes to together to make him one big laughing stock.

But is he all bad?

When I first heard Message In A Bottle in 1978 I thought it was the best thing ever. I was a huge fan. Well, everybody was. The Police were the post-punk new wave all the rage must-like. I had Regatta De Blanc for Christmas. I wore the badges. But didn't last very long. As I realised after I'd paid out over £90 a ticket for the Police reunion tour a couple of years ago, I only really liked them madly for about three months. Then something else came along and I kind of liked them still but they were no longer a favourite. I didn't buy any of the later singles like De Do Do Do De Da Da Da (silly name, great song) or So Lonely. By the time of Every Breath You Take they were dinosaurs to me.

Now of course I think the singles are great and I even like the odd Sting song like Russians. But there's no getting away from the fact that a solo Sting out of the Police is like a solo Fish out of Marillion: pointless.

So are you a fan of Dream Of The Blue Turtle? To you, is love the seventh wave? I reckon that solo stuff is really where it all went wrong for Sting. He became unbearable. It's not the music but everything that went with it. Clearly there was always an ego there but once it was unleashed there was no stopping him. I blame that awful clown-faced wife, always egging him on. She's as bad, what with her treatment of domestic staff and her preaching of the usual global-warming-is-all-your-fault bollocks and then flying all over the world. I don't think anyone likes her. But it's okay because no one takes any notice of her. She makes my skin crawl. She always looks like she's up to no good. I bet she's one of those lizard people. Imagine having to have dinner with them. The pressure!

Now I see that latest celeb progeny on the scene (apart from Lola Lennox, glimpsed for the first time last week trying to be Peaches Geldof outside a nightclub but just looking like she'd never been out before) is Coco Sumner (real first name Eliot!).

Already an irritant just by name alone, I warmed to her slightly when someone asked her to DJ at their party and she told them she would but she's actually not very good. At least she's honest. Just cos Sting's her dad doesn't mean she knows music. If your dad was a barber would that mean you could automatically cut hair?

And what of the son? He's gone quiet. Perhaps because Sting is top of the list of most embarrassing dads. The only thing he's got going for him is he's very well-preserved for his age, and that's something we can all aspire to.

Anyway, my point about all this is that on the way home yesterday I heard his backing vocals on Money For Nothing and I was reminded what a great song that is, but what a silly man he is, so here we are.

Tomorrow: That really interesting programme about Neil Sedaka that was on last week. Here's Calender Girl. Groovy video, terrible dancing from Neil.