You are what you eat’ — how many times a day do we come across this flagrant lie masquerading as modern wisdom? It's right up there with ‘If you look good, you feel good’ (tell that to Marilyn Monroe).
It was also the name of a long-running TV show in which the nutritionist Gillian McKeith would poke around in fat people's excrement and then yell at them, sometimes reducing them to tears, for being worthless human beings.
It never seemed to occur to her victims to turn it back on the demented bitch and say “If I'm so worthless, why's it you who's poking around in my excrement and not the other way around, freak?”
But now, as she falls apart mentally and physically in Ant and Dec's tropical theatre of cruelty, we who believe that there is more to life than health — and that you are what you do, not what you eat — are having our day in the sun.
Watching I'm A Celebrity, Get Me Out Of Here! from the comfort of my hand-crafted velvet sofa with my snout in a tub of Strawberry Cheesecake Haagen-Dazs, I was curious as to who they got “instead” of me after I turned the gig down for the second year in a row.
I'd say that the nearest to my profile would be Shaun Ryder; the fat, drug-addled chav who selflessly eats everything put before him and never complains.
In contrast, McKeith is a wreck, wizened in both body and mind, physically resembling someone a decade older than her actual age (51, the same as me!) and totally unable to grasp how ludicrous her pronouncements of superiority sound while she repeatedly forces her comrades to go without anything but the most basic food.
In her, we see all that is vile in the health-bore mentality. And in the wider picture, the absolute ocean-going ridiculousness of the holier-than-thou. The physician Ben Goldacre, appalled by McKeith's voodoo science, was able to attain one of the same professional nutritionist certificates as on her CV for just $60, when he applied for it online in the name of his dead cat.
Nevertheless, McKeith, in the Glasgow Herald, maintained: “I have nothing to be ashamed of. People out there would love to have my qualifications and expertise.” The same qualifications and expertise as a dead cat? Talk about aiming high!
One of the reasons I love reality TV so much is that it comes with a bulls**t detector second to none. Time and again, pompous ponces are exposed by their own pronouncements, and the gap between their highfalutin theories and their squalid behaviour is hilariously highlighted.
For example, the actor Nigel Havers claimed that he agreed to take part merely to draw attention to the declining standard of TV.
You don't have to be a hypocrite to be holier-than-thou, but it helps. Annie Lennox wearing a red Aids ribbon rather than a poppy when she sang her new single on Strictly Come Dancing during Remembrance weekend wasn't strictly being a hypocrite, but I believe that it was still the correct response to feel a fierce desire to shove the ribbon right down her stupid throat until she ceased her caterwauling.
Selina Scott was being both — getting herself into a state over being passed over for younger autocuties, while never to my knowledge did she turn down any jobs offered to her when young and beautiful, protesting that some older, plainer talking head should have it instead.
Scott's old mucker the Prince of Wales is, of course, king of the holier-than-thou hypocrites, with his never-ending do-as-I-say-not-as-I-do pronouncements on everything from air travel to adultery.
But of course we hacks can be HTTHs, too. I've lost count of the commissions I've had to turn down because I would find myself totally ridiculous condemning binge-drinking and drug-taking, as I've had so much fun doing these things myself.
But that doesn't seem to stop many of my erstwhile playmates, who can be found on the pages on many a morning giving hedonism a hammering from atop their high horses. Ick! Holier-than-thou hypocrite, heal thyself!