Fueled by the every growing pressure of ratings, TV has created its very own Frankenstein's Monster; the celebrity. Given a modicum of media coverage anyone can be 'famous'. Gardeners, airport security officers, top-less models, murders, footballers, prostitutes, driving test failures, bus drivers. Most, if not all, simply normal people doing whatever they choose to do, who have been sucked into the TV machine and transmitted to millions. What is even more remarkable is that those millions, generally, deem the fact that they have seen these people on TV and enough to bestow on them the accolade of, 'famous personality'.

And so the wheel begins turning with a horrible momentum. Because they are now personalities, they appear on TV and the other media at even greater regularity. This reinforces their status, and soon their opinions on the state of the world is sought, and they appear on chat shows, the news, and in previously serious debate programmes, thus building their pedestals ever higher. We are 'invited' to share their lives through magazines such as 'OK' and 'Hello'. We go to their weddings, sit in their bedrooms, watch the birth of the babies, know the perfume they use, the toothpaste in their bathrooms and every other intimate details of their lives. Thus the cult of celebrity bestows on its worshippers the ultimate accolade - intimacy. We 'know' these people, we have become, albeit vicariously, part of their social circle; we are now rubbing shoulders with the famous and are as such, become famous ourselves. And there lies the power of the cult of personality. We want to worship, and we want to 'feel' something in return; to feel good, to feel blessed, to feel the hand of some god on our heads, and when we feel that we are satisfied.

As devoted worshippers and disciples we want to be like them. So we buy the products they use, holiday in the countries they holiday in, buy the clothes they wear (or at least expensive, but inferior copies), adopt their hair-styles, believe what they believe. As we do this the circle is complete. Their fame increases and our devotion becomes evermore intense; well for 15 minutes anyway. Fame, you see, is a transient thing. No human can deserve, or maintain the life required to deserve adoring worship for great periods of time. For one thing, we are all mortal and disappear in the fullness of time. For another, there will always be another along in a minute; someone else whose teeth shine brighter, whose hair is glossier, whose breasts are larger, who can kick a ball harder, who can sing more sweetly.

And what happens to the post-famous? Well, they retire to a rich and idle empty life in a tax haven abroad, or become Managers and start PR agencies for the next phenomenon who comes along.

And what of the devotee? They flit from one personality to another, like moths to flames, ever seeking but never finding a true outlet for their inner selves; their empty inner selves.