The Sun-Herald

England's gone mad - only Kylie can save us

For those concerned about Australia's image on the world stage, the presence of good old Kylie and Elle here in London must be reassuring. This week, they've even reassured me - and I'm from here.

Pretty soon after arriving home (despite my frequent serenades to Sydney, I am a Pom - Australia is just my glamorous stepmother) it became clear the very fabric of English society was disintegrating.
Blue Peter, the venerable children's TV show so squeaky clean that an elephant pooing live in the studio once caused national consternation, has been revealed as a sham. The producers have admitted they used child actors as fake competition winners. Worse still, they've owned up to rigging a vote to name the show's cat. He should have been called Cookie, but they christened him Socks.
It's hard to convey the impact of this revelation if you didn't grow up with the Blue Peter institution, but imagine you found out your favourite aunt was actually a serial-killing bloke called Reg or that Father Christmas was alive and well and running a sweatshop in Guangdong. The Blue Peter animals were part of everyone's family. If Goldie the retriever and George the tortoise were not as they seemed, then everything must now be in doubt.
These horrors combined with royal scandals, political uproar and the unexpected appearance of Peaches Geldoff and her unruly posse in my hotel all made for a disturbing homecoming. So it was a relief to observe my adopted country's greatest institutions, The Butt and The Body, are as industrious and dependable as ever.
While America's greatest export, Madonna, spends her time here flitting about with Stella McCartney and other fluffy fashion pals, Our Elle continues her quiet campaign to rule England the most effective way - via its wallet.
Last night, as Madonna partied at Scotts in Mayfair with the aptly-named Donna Air (a local MTV presenter best known for asking the Corrs sisters how they first met), Elle dined in heavyweight restaurant-of-the-moment, Nobu Berkeley, with Air's ex, the minted Damian Aspinall. Worth an estimated $120 million, the 47-year-old tycoon is building a global casino empire and climbing the rich list like Spiderman on a burning building. You've got to admire Elle's Jane Austen-esque dedication to dating cold, hard cash. Somehow it makes me feel confident about the Australian economy.
Meanwhile Kylie, ever England's sweetheart, stars in her own one-woman UK TV special tonight to celebrate 20 years in showbiz. It's called The Kylie Show and highlights will include a "hilarious sketch" starring Jason Donovan. Kyles has promised to ride a bucking bronco and the entire UK is expected to tune in, hoping this quaint and authentic Australian spectacle will heal its Blue Peter scars.
It's a heavy burden for a small songstress to bear, but also a chance for Kylie to secure her place in the hearts of British fans and forever rule this sceptred isle. Forget the raunchy dancing and the sequined hotpants - all she needs to do is let the audience vote for the bronco's name and a wounded nation will be restored to sanity.
She may even ascend to the throne. I'll let you know.