This record is equivalent to the grisly trophies serial killers strip from their victims - kidneys for a nice fry-up, some pickled liver, a finger bone.

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Costello, Elvis : She

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Costello, Elvis : She

The depths of human depravity are well documented, but still there is evidence to jolt even the most jaded libertine. It’s a sordid enough stain on our collective souls that Notting Hill was enjoyed by so many of our species; it is scarcely believable that there are people who should actually want to own a piece of the soundtrack, maybe even displaying this gloopy Charles Aznavour cover on shelves in their own, less lovely homes.

Perverts. This record is equivalent to the grisly trophies serial killers strip from their victims – kidneys for a nice fry-up, some pickled liver, a finger bone. You have revelled in the orgy of sentimentality until sated, and now you keep this song, a constant reminder of Hugh Grant‘s smile, to keep you warm at night.

Mother, mother, be quiet, mother…

VICTORIA SEGAL