Goody gum drops

The Victorian Freak Show is not a thing of the past, it seems.

People are obsessed with freaky things: people's pains, plights and predicaments will always make the front page and schadenfreude is the only German thing British people love.

But has Jade Goody crossed the line into sickeningly controversial territory? Or has the British public? If the line is a literal one at the end of a contract then Jade has not only crossed the line with a ballpoint pen (don't worry, Julie), but has indeed signed, sealed and delivered her soul to OK! magazine. "World exclusive! Jade's first bald photos!" Excuse me, but I would feel a little ashamed forking over approximately £2.50 at the till for this.

Despite writing this, I am not sure how I feel about this entire I've Got Cancer And I'm Milking Every Penny From It saga. I knew someone who died from cancer, and the last thing I can imagine ever happening at that time would be her husband agreeing to a melancholia-themed photoshoot complete with sad faces in an expensive outfit and describing his melancholia, complete with captions of where to buy the expensive outfit. Especially if he had just come out of prison. Jack Tweed should be keeping a low profile at the bedside of his fiance who has been given eight weeks to live, not galavanting to the OK! offices in London to cross another line for a hefty figure.

Degradation is not the word, it's just........................strange. Very, very, strange. The media-consumers have been stirred by this in different ways - some will think it is disgraceful that someone could publicise such a tragic disease and some will just weep with sorrow. I am sitting on the fence, looking at the weeping people and empathising with them, maybe welling up a little bit, but then the jostling, heckling crowd behind me turn my head the opposite way. I am torn! And I don't want to think about it too much, because it's weird.

The thing I don't like about it is, I guess, that it makes cancer seem a bit unimportant. That nothing is personal or traumatic enough not to sell to a magazine - "it's ok if you get it because look what I'm doing, I can appear in a pantomime and make a documentary and do interviews all at the same time, I'm being strong, I'm not letting it beat me." All well and good, Jade, but please don't belittle such an awful illness. Not everyone can make money from it. Not everyone even makes it.

So, please, Jade, turn the cameras off, shut the door, get married, be happy for as long as you can. Keep this one bit of your life precious. Because the British public will mourn you if you die in private or not.