David Sexton – probably the shrewdest literary editor on a UK mainstream newspaper (oh, yes, the Evening Standard – nearly forgot to mention) – quite rightly applauds Katie Price for her literary savvy as the third instalment of her memoirs, Pushed To The Limit, bounces off the shelves.
As he says, she’s the queen bee of book sales yet has never written a word herself – that’s all due to the doctor skills of ghostie Rebecca Farnham. Mr Sexton maybe being slightly funny but he’s right to judge that, unlike so many other writers, she knows how to market her celebrity: her books are just extensions of gossip columns, he thinks. But Katie herself is an even keener labeller of her product.
Price, aka Jordan, told me last week that her publishers Random House insist on calling her latest book an autobiography. “But it isn’t,” she said. “It’s a diary. I talk into a dictaphone for two years and each month someone takes the tape away and something’s done to it. I’ve started talking to my dictaphone for my fourth diary that’s out in two-and-half-years’ time.”
A diary! Of course! At her current rate, and given a normal lifespan (let’s say 87 years from her current age of 29 years) we can look forward to at least another 27 or 29 "memoirs" or updates (one every two years over the next 58 years). In intervening periods there will be beauty and lifestyle books and various spin-offs from TV, internet, what-have-you, special life episodes, all written up by highly educated ventriloquists who can slip into the attitude and mode of their host. Perhaps every 10 years, her updates will be married into collectors' editions (leather bound) and in time these could become the best authority on celebrity cock size. She is nothing if not methodical in that respect: the new Masters & Johnson for the 21st Century.
Given the sheer greedy volume of her life, I wouldn't hold out much hope that husband Peter Andre will be able to keep up. No wonder she wants four more kids.