I know, I know ... it's prurient, it's facile and it's just, well, grubby, but I can't help but be gripped by the tidbits coming from Tom Bower's unofficial biography of Simon Cowell.
The vanity of a man who carries around a battalion of anti-ageing lotions and pills, the Botox, the hypochondria, the obsession with cleanliness, his callousness towards lovers, the insecurities, the "walking on the water" gizmo and, most of all, those hideous £10 black toilet rolls...
It's like reading a tacky version of The Rise and Fall of Rome. In this case, The Rise and Fall of an ITV1 legend.
Mind you, it does read like something from the last days of Rome. It isn't the fling with Dannii or the lusting after Cheryl that's so damaging, it's those "introspective monologues" when the great man broods about his life and career to his close friends.
Simon, Simon you're only seeking to find the next Chico. Or Joe McElderry. Or Wagner.
Those whom the gods wish to destroy they first make mad.