Twitter, everyone keeps telling us, is the new Big Craze on the web. It's ingenious, they say. So addictive.

But, hang on: does anyone under the age of 30 even use it? By ‘use’ I mean to actually communicate as opposed to stalk celebrities.

Increasingly, I’m beginning to think they don’t. The other day, I asked my 18-year-old sister whether she’d signed up. She didn’t even know what it was. So I thought I'd see which of my friends were on it - by selecting that function which combs your address book for members. Three people came up, all of them colleagues.

After all, what’s the point of it, when a “tweet” is in fact little more than a primitive version of FaceBook’s “status update”? At least with the latter, you can vent your verbal diarrhoea at the same time as nosing through your ex-boyfriend’s photos or checking out who else is going out tonight.

Something tells me that maybe - just maybe - the explosion of Twitter references have come courtesy of those who missed out on FaceBook but have yet to cotton on to Spotify.

This year’s Celebrity Big Brother was painfully, inexcusably, dull. Even Verne’s Hollywood charms wore off eventually; after all, there are only so many times a drunken dwarf scooting into a door can keep a sentient being amused.

But if there was one thing worth watching - worth paying any attention at all to - it was the gender politics that pervaded the program. If nothing else, I hope that CBB ’09 will be remembered for dispelling the myth of female “cattiness.”

Who would have expected such contrasting women to get on so swimmingly? While the male housemates drifted around in ones and twos – Ben too scared to stand up to Coolio’s teasing, Tommy too feeble to engage in political debate - the girls sat gossiping in the bedroom, giggling at each others jokes and offering collective moral support.

Individually, they fit perfectly the mould of a media “bitch” (no doubt that's why they were chosen): Ulrika was cast as the man eater, Tina the tough one, Lucy the pin-up, Michelle the wimp and Mutya...well, she used to be in the Sugababes and everyone knows how bitchy they are (don't they?). Yet confronted with Coolio’s macho posturing they banded together, all vocal in their opposition to his bullying tactics. Admittedly, LaToya Jackson proved an exception, remaining isolated throughout the series. But then she’s a Jackson, no one expects them to integrate.

Predictably, the male house mates soon voted most of the girls off. But did anyone notice how rarely the girls nominated each other?

 
It’s difficult to know what to make of news that President Sarkozy has fired his justice minister Rachida Dati.

 All sorts of tit bits have been reported: that she was reluctant to go, that she was forced out, that her relationship with Sarkozy had become too close for comfort. Of course, we also know that her ministry has been experiencing difficulties for some time, with staff said to resent Dati’s authoritarian style.

One thing that does seem clear, however, is that, during her time in office, she attracted as much scrutiny for her personal life as her professional one.  A single mother, she ignored endless press attempts to discover the identity of her child's father. A fashion magazine regular, she was nicknamed “Rachida Barbie” for her glamorous appearance. And a protégée of the president himself, it was rumoured that she harboured romantic feelings for him – and that he had nicknamed her "ma beurette" or "my little Arab girl."

With the recession sounding the death knell of so many good things (Woolworths, zavvi, disposable income) would it be too much to wish for one baddie to go too? Namely: UGG boots.  

Not, of course, the jobs or livelihoods of those involved in producing them, just the phenomenon in itself. Perhaps they could be replaced by a slightly less grotesque garment? Like, um,… a ballet pump? Or a Wellington boot? One that doesn’t put you at risk of Athletes' Foot every time it rains.

Tragically, this doesn’t look likely to happen. In fact according to reports sales of Uggs are doing particularly well in this time of economic upheaval. Explain it as you may (the lipstick indicator,Ronnie Wood’s approval, the need for soft, comforting sheepskin in a time of need) they still seem like an odd thing to spend your last 160 quid on. Because that’s how much they cost.

Katie Couric, best known over here as the other half of that disastrous Sarah Palin interview, is profiled in February's Portfolio.

A bubbly (and at times saccharine sweet) blonde, she faced her fair share of hurdles en route to anchoring the CBS evening news: she was doubted when she landed the gig, ridiculed when ratings dropped, and only partially vindicated when she turned out what was arguably one of the most important interviews of the Presidential campaign.

Now, at last, she appears to be coming into her own.

Tsk. Fashion these days is so dull. What we need is more pictures of crime scenes.

Not my thoughts – but presumably those of Duncan Quinn, who’s chosen to advertise his new collection of suits with pictures of a corpse sprawled across the bonnet of the car. She’s in her underwear, but he’s in his best Suit For Murdering (price on application).

Is it more or less tasteless than Vogue making poverty-stricken Indians pose with $10,000 Hermès Birkin handbag? Jury’s still out.

At the risk of Sarah Palin overload, another juicy bit from the web: the former VP-candidate’s decidedly-un-Republican-looking-makeup artist detailing the tricks used to get her looking so camera-ready (surprise! Her lip liner wasn’t tattooed).
Highlights include revelations of Palin’s faux eyelashes and her naturally glowing skin.  And for those really dedicated too the cause, well, a summery of her favourite products below:

There are plenty of things to be learned from Google’s run-down of the most searched terms this year. For one, Sarah Palin is more popular worldwide than Barack Obama. And Facebook is bigger than the BBC, which in turn is bigger than both YouTube and eBay.  Oh, and the UK’s second-favourite recipe is… meatballs. Mm. Meatballs.

In fact the only recipe to be searched more frequently was one for cupcakes (this makes sense; I’ve long held the belief that cupcakes could prove the ultimate global unifier in time). But nowhere on the list is spaghetti bolognaise – or any of those other run-of-the-mill dishes that one might actually make. There’s no roast chicken, no shepherd's pie and no chocolate cake. There’s not even a recipe for bread.