The idea of Madonna starting up the machine that's been churning out horrible music for the last few years is enough to cope with on a miserable Sunday. We all could have done without this mental image:
"Its official! I need to move. I need to sweat. I need to make new music! Music I can dance to."The thought of Madonna having her typing minion fire up Facebook to announce that she's preparing to gush sweat from whatever pores have survived the flesh cauterizing processes she's been through fair puts me off my cheesecake.
Perhaps she's obliged to issue a warning, as it also functions as a statement of intent to start eating the monkey glands of younger, more interesting artists:
"I'm on the lookout for the maddest, sickest, most bad ass people to collaborate with. I'm just saying"Did you catch that at the end? That's what young people say when they're "chatting" on their "text phones" or "Twitting" through their "Faceybooks".
Madonna's search for the sickest people to collaborate with has been successful; she's spending Sunday at the Royal Leamington Spa General on the acute ward. Miss Ivy Doodleson, 86, tells reporters "we're just going to jam and see what comes out of it, although the gentleman who had a jews' harp didn't make it through the night, I'm afraid."