Hit me baby one more time

It’s a day of mourning. A day I find myself questioning where Britney Spears of the Hit-me-baby-one-more-time variety went.

And it all started so well. She was a beautiful, youthful fantasy. And then she had relationships, got married, had children, and now she’s shaved her hair off in rebellion, signed herself into a plush rehabilitation clinic and is, if sources including the London Lite are to be believed, on the brink of suicide.

So, where precisely did it all go wrong? Was it always inevitable? An occupational hazard of young celebrity?

I wouldn’t normally blame something so trivial if it weren’t for Lindsay Lohan, Robbie Williams and various other celebrities checking into Rehab the way many of us pop into Sainsbury’s for some bread.

Is it telling of the culture of celebrity, the way it eats you up and spits you out whilst you remain totally unaware?

Is it her own fault that she craved something so huge so young. Did she enter with her eyes closed? Can anybody ever estimate the cost of stardom until they’re too involved in the cycle? Is Britney Spears a victim or her own culprit?

The photos of her looking like a male thug have not only shocked me into writing this entry, but pose a fundamental question. Is fame really worth insanity?

The fact that she is now in a very exclusive rehabilitation clinic is in itself a very telling factor. I hope she gets better soon.

I’ve always enjoyed her music, in fact, everything about Miss Spears used to be lush.

Celebrity,

The uncoiling of a spring,

The peeling of an orange,

The burning of a candle,

The spreading of a flame.