In Celtic mythology, the Year King would be feted and loved and cherished for one full cycle, drawn into the circle of the Earth goddess and made great. Then, to ensure the crops kept growing, he’d be destroyed.

So Katie Price, in her vengeful aspect of the goddess, has struck again and cast Alex Reid’s Year King onto the sacrificial fires. The extraordinary statement she released in The Sun just shows how much she is in control – in her head, we are still living in a matriarchy where no control-freak, fame-hungry male gods have come and usurped her position.

And so the ongoing brand narrative (or should that be brand saga?) that is Katie Price is back and it is time for her to find a new sacrificial mate to keep her news agenda fertile.

Who this will be is bound to cause intrigue. The web is alive with speculation of all sorts, so please feel free to add yours below. I’m always looking out for more correlations between celebrities and mythological figures; this is fertile ground for discussion…

“‘I’ve been called many things,; McLaren wrote as advance publicity for his one man show, ‘a charlatan, a con man, or the culprit responsible for turning popular culture into nothing more than a cheap marketing gimmick. This is my chance to prove these accusations are true.’

“The man behind the Sex Pistols and Duck Rock is nominated by public relations expert Mark Borkowski, author of The Fame Formula, and a man who knew him well. What intrigues Borkowski is not just the success, but the myths that have evolved around this highly manipulative man. Matthew Parris is more sceptical, as is Chris Salewicz. As a journalist for NME between 1974-1981, Salewicz watched McLaren rewrite the rules of management. He also introduced the Sex Pistols to the man from EMI who then signed them up. An intriguing programme about fame, the media, and why the truth should not be confused with an easily believable myth.”

The show’s on at 4.30pm this afternoon and will be available on the iPlayer thereafter.

It may sound crazy to say it now, but in the days to come I think that the Chilean miners, trapped below the earth for so long, will come to regard their accidental prison as a haven of freedom. In the mines, they were free to be themselves; free to hope, together, that they would be released; free to dream, free to be human. They will step, from their months of Morlock living in the mines and tunnels, into the brilliant glare of the global media circus that is gathering, expectant and hungry.

When they step into the clean, clear air the miners will immediately be shut in the coffin of fame. And it is a coffin: one built from offers of money, interviews, documentaries, rights for the feature film, media assassination for minor transgressions. This is the price of modern fame – one minute you’re nobody and the next, after one extraordinary moment, you are a blank slate that the media wants to write all over.

The Chilean miners, assuming they come out in one piece, will have survived an extraordinary ordeal. Their story will be one that it is in the public interest to have told. But the 24/7 rolling news agenda and the hungry Twitterati will demand more than just the story of their survival. The story will be told, retold, exaggerated and mythologized. Each miner will be fitted out for many different archetypes and squeezed into ill-fitting clothes to present the right image for each story.

Who will be representing these men? I can’t begin to estimate the millions of dollars that will be offered for their individual narratives. You might hope for someone who will look after their best interests and protect them, but it’s more likely that a parade of bloodsuckers will attempt to oil their way into the lives of the miners and try and strip-mine the miners in the name of public interest for the sake of 20% of the earnings.

Money will be in plentiful supply. That’s the lining of the coffin. People will want to know everything there is to know. They are the nails in the coffin. And the media is the well-turned and marvellously decorated coffin lid. Despite the money, the miners won’t be able to afford help with the pressure that is coming their way and there’s a strong probability that they won’t be able to articulate the problems they face – few can.

The most pertinent recent example I’ve seen of someone articulating the perils of modern fame was Russell Brand on Newsnight the other week – but he’s a very bright man under the lacquer of his mannerisms and knew, to some extent, what he was letting himself in for when he pursued the glittery teat of fame. There is every chance that the miners, unprepared for the onslaught, will fold under the pressure of money-grubbers, the mean-spirited and the manipulative.

And, possibly worst of all, if there are any underlying rifts amongst the families of the miners, the sudden attention and money will rip them asunder. Any problems will be exposed, raw as nerve endings, and love and familial bonds will be tested to the limit. Just like any soap opera, the worst traits that can be exposed will be exposed. It will be a salient lesson of the price of fame. Let’s hope that some of them survive it.

There’s every chance, however, that some, if not all, of the miners will wish they were still trapped in the mine six months after they’ve been freed.

Mel Gibson’s everywhere, in stories relating to the tapes that are allegedly of him violently, angrily haranguing the mother of his youngest child, Oksana Grigorieva, in racist, sexist and vulgar terms. It smacks of a put-up job to me, but it’s a story that will run and run.

Lindsay Lohan, in case you missed it, is also in trouble, serving ninety days in jail for drink-driving offences. If you were judging by the amount of comment and analysis the story’s getting, you’d expect her to have been found guilty of triggering an unprovoked nuclear attack on the Falkland Islands or something similar. Not that Lohan will serve her time – the latest reports suggest that she could serve as little as nine days “because of overcrowding”.

Meanwhile, Rachel Uchitel (Tiger Woods’s mistress) has joined Celebrity Rehab – despite the fact that it has been revealed she has no addiction (home wrecking doesn’t count). Since meeting the show’s doctor, a story has started to spin out into the news that she has a pill addiction, to the prescription drug Ambien. It’s intriguing to discover that Donald Trump, of all people, fired her from the Celebrity Apprentice show because she was appearing on too many other reality shows – perhaps he had spotted her genuine addiction to fame.

What’s fascinating is how far these stories have spread into the American mainstream. These celebrity stories are being poured over by thousands of commentators, from attorneys to councillors (although there are no publicists – they’re all too careful to bite the sort of hands that are feeding them vast amounts of cash I suspect) but what is shocking is that even Time magazine is commissioning features – notably on the psychology behind Mel Gibson’s rage.

The appetite for showbiz is vast in America and is beginning to eclipse the serious news. I thought this obsession would have begun to abate by now, but it’s growing – the feeding frenzy gathers ever more vultures and hyenas. Now you don’t have to be an A Lister to get the CNN treatment in the USA, as Rachel Uchitel and Oksana Grigorieva have proved – they are part of a growing number of very minor celebrities using their connections to get as far up the greasy pole of fame as possible.

There are no genuine stars left as a consequence. The true talent being employed these days is the creation of compelling personal narratives and who can wear them best. Do we care what stars do on screen when the celebrity storyline overpowers box office appeal in these creatively lean times. Infamy equals megabucks – but anyone seeking it really should remember the one lesson that can be learned from Carry on Cleo: “Infamy, infamy, they’ve all it got it infamy!

The debate was well attended; over two thirds full. Joining me to argue for the proposition were Max Clifford and the retiring Union president, Jonathan Laurence. Opposing the motion were Times journalist Hugo Rifkind, showbiz writer Zoe Griffin and James McQuillan, who appeared on The Apprentice.

The other speakers last night went for a comic interpretation of the motion. My technique was more serious-minded, more Old Testament – Quentin Tarantino fans might have deduced I was trying to mimic Samuel L Jackson’s famous biblical Pulp Fiction speech.

I was attempting to play devil’s advocate as well as being more deliberately, obviously provocative. Max was off-the-cuff languid and crammed his speech with career anecdotes. He opened by defending good Reality TV – no surprise, as his chief paymaster is Simon Cowell.

The others were a mixed bag, going for laughs. Hugo Rifkind, the leader writer for the Times, was very good, and reminded the room of some of the bad stuff. He went for Max as the real reason for the negative residue from reality TV, suggesting that Max has promoted and created many poor role models.

Zoe Griffin praised the stars that Reality TV has bred, highlighting Ben Fogle and Myleene Klass, as well praising the revenue Reality TV has generated for the GNP. I wasn’t all that sure about her argument, but she looked great in a fab frock. James McQuillan was pure stand up and self-deprecation – he treated the whole night as if it was a task on The Apprentice.

I am pleased to report Jonathan, Max and I went away winners by 5 votes – a very tight call. Winning, I am told, is a significant tick on the CV – this is, after all, the oldest and one of the most prestigious debating societies in the world.

Below is the transcript of the speech I gave.

President, ladies and gentlemen – good evening.

The very fact that Max Clifford is prepared to publicly bite the hand that feeds him is a measure of the seriousness of the situation our society now finds itself in.

There have always been celebrities, of course. Every culture under the sun reveres fame. Heracles or Odysseus, John Lennon or Joan of Arc – we know without doubt that certain people’s astonishing adventures, thoughts, ideas, poems, novels or battles will live on throughout the ages.

But it is becoming harder and harder for these people to be heard over the slew and spew of information in a world that runs on instant access

So what has changed? What is different about modern celebrity that makes it so uniquely corrosive?

Let me take you back to 1834, when that true genius of celebrity, PT Barnum, moved to New York and discovered the astounding commercial potential of the human freak show. Today, we may disapprove of exhibiting physically deformed men and women for profit.

But I ask you: is Jeremy Kyle any different?

And by Jeremy Kyle, I mean Jerry Springer, the opening rounds of the X Factor and everything else in this degrading morass of reality TV that a British crown court judge aptly called: “a morbid and depressing display of dysfunctional people whose lives are in turmoil.”

There can be little doubt that so-called “reality” television – an oxymoron if ever there was one – is responsible for this perversion.

The gospel of Reality Television is easy to understand. Everyone can be a celebrity. No skills are necessary. And low emotional IQ is a major advantage.

Today’s get-known-quick generation think that fame is an end in itself and that work is for losers. The Reality TV generation seek notoriety in the mistaken belief that it is the same thing as eminence, distinction or achievement.

They have been conned.

Reality TV is a reductive force, which exists in a self-serving media bubble – a cosy pact between format owners and media barons. Now, if that were all it is, that would be bad enough – a modern-day equivalent of Barnum’s freak show… unedifying, but pretty harmless in small doses.

But that is far from its true nature.

In this shallow and foetid Petri dish, we are growing a phoney society. One where 14 year old girls can appear on daytime TV to tell the world that their admiration of Katie Price is so great that they are being remodelled to look like her – because they believe that this alone will make them famous!

Please note, in passing, that beauty is almost always placed at a premium as a culture collapses.

Indeed, it was Eleanor Roosevelt who remarked that:

“Great minds discuss ideas. Average minds discuss events. Small minds discuss people.”

On this logarithmic scale, our Reality TV-plagued society is surely due to disappear up its own neocortex.

Psychologist Jean M. Twenge cites a telling indicator in her book Generation Me. In the 1950s, she says, just twelve percent of teens age fourteen to sixteen agreed with the statement: “I am an important person.” Yet by the late 1990s, seven times that number—eighty percent—of teens said they agreed with it.

Of course one needs belief in oneself to do well, to become more than the sum of your parts – but this rampant “self-esteem” is in truth narcissism by another name.

And as I think we can all agree, the seemingly easy route to fame that Reality TV affords is opium to the narcissist’s addiction. We risk breeding an entire generation that doesn’t understand, or want to understand, that nothing worth having comes easily.

In the ten mind-numbing years since Big Brother appeared on our screens, Reality TV has become a major force in our society. It feeds people’s hopes and dreams with a progression of sound bites that illuminate nothing but a phoney ersatz nirvana. Beyond our shores, the West is spreading a ‘fame virus’, seemingly unaware of the spread and effects of the contagion, which by any measure is now a pandemic. Countless children and young adults across the globe are desperate to “live the dream”, unaware that they aren’t even dreaming of a life.

Where, then, are the real heroes? When society genuflects toward plasticated icons of fame, they cannot see real heroes. They miss out on the subtler role models, can see no positive illustrations of value, of worth. And this, too, is one more consequence of Reality TV culture (another oxymoron). It makes it less likely for anyone with genuine, hard-earned talents to make an impact on the world at large.

Ladies and gentlemen, the motion tonight is well-worded

Wretched.

What an appropriate description for our current national psyche.

Perhaps in a country where trade and industry have been reduced to a trickle, where blue collars have nearly all been bleached white, there is little else for the young to do but dream of glory in what seems the best way available. That, at least, is understandable.

Less pardonable is an education system that plays along with this mass deception. I, for one, believe that our children deserve better.

But where will this end?

As a culture, we appear to be moving into a world run on Reality TV rules, insane prospect though that is. Our religion is celebrity. Our sense of community has been reduced to slots on a TV scheduler’s spreadsheet. Our conversation is piped to us via the tabloid media. All plastic, and all thoroughly wretched.

Meanwhile, we are losing the richness of life to a monochrome, reductive view of the world where too many people have been lead to believe by media moguls and TV producers that they too can be demi-gods, without putting in the work or even deserving the worship.

We live in a culture that agrees with Keats that Beauty is Truth.

However, we seem to have forgotten the second part of the famous close to Ode to a Grecian Urn: that Truth is Beauty, also.

Truth, today, is lost in a manufactured version of reality populated by beautiful, synthetic people. And the world suffers for it as more and more strive to be perfect, useless people whose only ability appears to be rich, pretty and unhappy.

Historian C.D. Odell claimed that: “the freaks of the dime museum served the purpose of raiding dull persons from the throws of their inferiority complexes”. Freaks served to boost the punter’s self esteem. The same could be said of watching Jeremy Kyle, but for the fact that so many people watch and decide that they will go on the show to claim their moment of fame – amplifying their internal deformities to please the audience.

Reality TV is, I believe, a tranquilizer for the masses, as the freak shows were in the dime museum days. But instead of people thinking ‘thank god I’m not like that’, they are now thinking ‘it could be me’ and they go out of their way to get chosen for reality TV shows. They freak themselves up to have a better chance of getting on the show.

The divide between rich and poor is bigger than it’s been in a very long time at the moment, but the overriding mood is apathy. Where once people rioted – against the poll tax, in Toxteth and Brixton – due to high level of discontent – they are now opiated by Reality TV. It has produced apathy amongst the young.

Where once you had to be talented to be famous and make money, now you don’t.

Literally anybody has a chance at being picked for a reality TV show and with that comes a certain fame and capacity to earn money – for a little while. The “ it could be you” phenomenon drives the apathy to fight back and reduces the need to have any opinion about our society. Governments won’t change anything because we are given a (false) sense of hope which keeps up down.

And consider this.

Consider it and weep.

More young people have voted on TV shows such as Big Brother and the X Factor than vote in major political elections.

You may be wondering whether I’m over-egging it. Whether, in fact, Reality TV has some beneficial side effects that I’m concealing from you? As entertainment, surely it must at least make us happy?

Actually, no. It drives young people and children to be more self-obsessed, more beautiful, more perfect, more grown up and more miserable in an attempt to gain fame and money.

In a 2007 Unicef survey, more than a quarter of the British children polled (27%) agreed with the statement: “I often feel depressed.”

What made children saddest, in this survey, was their appearance. Almost a fifth, of both sexes, were unhappy with how they looked. A study by the Girl Guides recently discovered that 46% of girls aged 11 to 16 would consider cosmetic surgery and that girls started to find fault with their appearance as early as 10 or 11. Reality TV has created a generation that believe fame and celebrity is their birthright and who cannot function properly because they feel they must make themselves look better to achieve all they desire.

One thing is certain; our moral compass has found a new magnetic field; one that points out a new slant on Oscar Wilde’s famous epigram: “We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.”

This is a generation growing up hooked on fast story lines and an optimistic, unrealistic view of reality. A generation growing up believing that they are in the stars and barely registering that they are staring straight into the gutter and have been for years.

I urge you to vote in favour of tonight’s motion.

To read the Independent article, click here. To read the Telegraph article, click here.

Certainly, the need to think about wider concerns makes outlandish and outrageous stunts a more difficult prospect in this health and safety and desperately money-conscious world. Some years ago, a band wanted me to help them arrange to completely stop traffic in Piccadilly Circus so they could play a gig from a flat bed truck – I had to hold a hand up and say “what are we going to do if an ambulance comes through with a heart attack victim on board?” The need to stand back and question all possible outcomes is even more imperative nowadays.

As much as the Rupert Pupkinish hedonistic approach is appealing, for its ability to grab headlines and for the sheer thrill of pulling something extraordinary and outrageous off, the parents of ‘Balloon Boy’ are proof positive that care has to be taken and that serious thought has to be applied if you don’t want an initially amused and fascinated public to turn on you if even the smallest thing goes wrong. Fame for the sake of it can be a costly business.

Deprived of the possibility of an injured or dead child to fulminate over, the press are waiting to see what happens to the child’s father and making scathing noises about his “appalling” hoax. Legal action looms on the horizon and the life of a man desperate for attention looks likely to deflate even more drastically than the balloon he claimed had carried off his son.

But why is there all this fuss? The media are furious at being scammed and at appearing gullible, but they have scammed many times before and shrugged it off, admitting they’ve been kippered – such stories make for good entertainment.

Hoaxes have been a part of the American psyche for decades – just think of Orson Welles’ radio version of War of the Worlds in the 1930s. The flying saucer is one of the most recognisable tropes of the modern era of hoaxing; ‘balloon boy’s’ father was just – amateurishly – continuing a theme. On reflection, ‘Balloon Boy’ is one hoax that the media could and should have been able to see through, given that there was no realistic way that the balloon could have held a cat, let alone a six year old boy.

Why are the media so furious about a man who is so patently desperate for fame that he was prepared to try anything? Is it really because he pulled the wool over their eyes? It is the media’s fault that people are doing anything and everything they can to get noticed – all one need do is look at the reports of fabulous nobodies like Kerry Katona, Jordan and Pete and so on, who litter the newspapers daily at the expense of actual news, and at the thousands of wannabes who clutter up the tarmac at X Factor auditions. It’s seen as the last measure of job security, being famous, even if it often pays little.

The media needs to take a long hard look at what it is asking the public to buy into in future, if it is serious about turning on the people it has helped create.

When King of Comedy came out 26 years ago, the character of Rupert Pupkin was a grotesque, an inflated satire. Now that mindset is everywhere – the world is full of Rupert Pupkins, created by the press and public’s endless desire for the next sacrificial lamb in the servant’s quarters of fame. The press are largely culpable for this, using stories such as ‘Balloon Boy’ to bury bad news or carry people away on a soapy ride. To censure someone for trying to play the game by slightly different rules is simply hypocrisy.

Look carefully at the hands of the ape on the right...

A hug from Danni and Simon may be all very well, but it seems that The Fame Formula is the hardened fame seeker’s reference book of choice when it comes to helping build the courage to leap onto the first greasy rung of the ladder of stardom. Personally, I can’t help hoping that some more audition hopefuls will, er… ape these guys and go out and buy the book…

The guys from Bragster, the social networking site for daredevils, were the ones dressed in the gorilla suits, braving the raised eyebrows of Cowell and co. The site’s boss Bertrand was dared to take part by his colleagues, with £1000 going to charity on the condition that he get a hug from one of the main judges. Here’s a link to some footage of him in action on the ITV website – I particularly like his version of I Want to Be Like You…

Click here to listen to my comments on Fame on Austrian Radio or, to hear the full podcast, click here.