Like most small places, from your estate, to the local shop, or the office, Ireland thrives on goss.

There really is no difference between bitching about yer wan in number 12 who has run off with a fancy man over the batch loaf shelf in Super Valu, to getting up to speed with Glenda Gilson's singledom over some overpriced pear cider in the Shelbourne.

Okay, maybe the difference is in the vertigo reaches of the eyebrows, but still, all of it is speculation, all of it is pointless, and most of it is secretly malicious.

Blogorrah concentrates not on genuine celebrity juice (Perez Hilton's blog has that covered thanks to the collective meltdown of every female star under 25 in Hollywood) but on local goss, conducting a sarcastic balancing act between lampooning the slebs and informing us of their movements. Most of this is done via snaps from photo shoots that even Dali might find a little surreal (common denominators: skimpy model, St Stephen's Green, government minister holding oversized prop to illustrate the dangers of STIs/illegal dumping/national oats and miscellaneous roughage week. ) The diverse silliness of regional celebrity can best be summed up by a Rose of Tralee contestant who, for some reason, told Ray D'Arcy that the biggest celebrities in New Zealand were people who read the news on TV. Ireland's main slebs are one step down; complete whoareyiz, illustrating that the level of one's fame does not actually dictate how much we want to talk or write about someone.

The modern Irish sleb can be split into three categories. Bearing in mind that God forbid that anyone be famous for actually doing anything.

1 The 'Krystle' set FYI, Krystle is a nightclub on Harcourt Street where young suits and younger models descend at the weekend to see if they can spot anyone they recognize from each other's Bebo pages. A friend of mine described it as so vain that it's the only place in town on a Saturday night where you'll find the dance floor empty, lest the liggers put a hair out of place.

2 Launch Culture Don't ever think you are missing out on something by not being invited to these forums of wannabedom. The few . . . okay, many . . . I have attended all in the name of free booze revolve around orange people shooting each other dirty looks followed by overly dramatic staged hugs and the cocking back of heads to ensure the post-nasal drip doesn't give away their nice little habit.

It's a strange vicious social circle: gossip columns need to be filled, so PR companies come up with launches that random pepparami-shaped women attend so the gossip columnists can write they were at such and such a launch.

3 The Katy French phenomenon (aka, build your own sleb) French being a promotions model who manufactured a made-fortabloids break-up between her oompa loompa complexioned boyfriend Marcus Sweeney, complete with abusive text messages, saucy photos and fake engagement rings. You too can be a sleb, armed with merely a thick neck, a complete disregard for one's dignity and the long-term and a few mobile numbers of panting paparazzi. Believe it or not, that's enough to make you famous in Ireland these days.

(This week's Katy French story involves her support for foxhunting. ) Like many unsavoury things in life, the rise of the Irish sleb is the fault of the Sunday Independent, a newspaper whose 'glamour' magazine in cahoots with head goss honcho . . . Bazza Egan . . . manufacture slebs with a deftness and underhandness akin to Jacob's fig roll making (how do they get the model into the John O'Donohue photoshoot? ) Yesterday, the utterly addictive Charity You're A Star drew the curtain down on its manic acid trip tinge on Irish fame. You can imagine the English businessman loosening his tie in his bedroom at the Dublin airport Hilton, flicking on the TV and watching Sean Ban Breathnach fall on his hole while acting like some deranged extra from Father Ted.

"Facking Paddys, " you might envisage him exclaiming, before ringing HQ and demanding another invasion to sort us out.

Of course, rubbish slebs are not unique to Ireland. The 21st century advent of an all-consuming celebrity press needs subjects.

And as more space needs to be filled, the quality of the sleb will be diluted until we exit the A-list and work ourselves all the way down the alphabet until, unfortunately, someone, somewhere will be writing about Amanda Brunker.

It's a sad tale, but wipe away those tears, because the only thing more addictive than the celebrity press, is the anti-celebrity press. Which is where Blogorrah comes in. It's one thing about writing about slebs, but writing about the writing about slebs, Blogorrah has proved, is something even more captivating. And it doesn't look like ending anytime soon. Well, at least until Xpose gets axed.

THE autumn schedule from RTE was heralded with a chunky pdf file that crashed my computer.

What Keanu Reeves might call a glitch in the matrix is really a Montrose deja-vu. No new faces, plenty of cheap as chips 'reality' offerings from production companies keen to keep Des Bishop, Grainne Seoige and Gerry Ryan lighting up our screens.

Ryan himself has two vehicles this autumn (he has to earn his keep after they threw a few mil in his direction) and Joe Duffy will present a consumer show aimed at "putting everyday transactions under the spotlight" (snore). Grim reaper David McWilliams will present The Generation Game. I know what you're thinking . . . NICE TO SEE YOU, TO SEE YOUf but it's actually about Ireland's "accidental millionaires" about to "go to war with a younger struggling generation". Woteva.

Meanwhile, Charlie Bird continues his wussy tours of the world's rivers, moaning his way down the Ganges.

The saving grace is an adaptation of Eugene O'Brien's Eden from the makers of the excellent Pure Mule. The only one who won't be getting his taxis on the RTE account this autumn is Eddie Hobbs. Clearly his sojourn with TV3 during the general election was not looked on kindly.

THREE THINGS TO DO THIS WEEK

Music Super Extra Bonus Party, a gang of unpigeonholeable dub, indie & electro nuts and one of the best Irish bands around play the Roisin Dubh in Galway on Thursday. On Friday, the very young and the very promising indie-rockers The Parks play The Boom Boom Room on Parnell Street in Dublin.

www. superextrabonusparty. com www. myspace. com/theparksmusic Online By now, you've probably seen the Filipino prisoners recreating Michael Jackson 'Thriller' video . . .one of the most surreal viral hits ever. Now, there's a sequel. Recorded on 1 August, this time the 'girl' in the video transforms into a zombie and does Michael Jackson's dance routine. It's kind of hard tof just watch it ok!

http: ie. youtube. com/watch? v=6me BUjMulr0 Book ahead

The Electric Picnic dudes have just released details of the retro American airstream trailers you can rent on site.

Sleeping four people, and kitted out with cool furniture and appliances, they don't come cheap at /4,000 for the weekend showing that there clearly is a price on being the slickest person in Stradbally in a few weeks' time.

For bookings, info@electricpicnic. ie with AIRSTREAM in the subject line.