I'm giving up celebrity gossip magazines.

Last night I read an interview with trashbag Katie Andre (she of the buoy breasts and addiction to pink) and her talentless, faux husband Peter Andre. The interview was conducted in order to introduce us, the hungry for anything public, to their new bundle of joy. The following interchange made me reassess my weakness for all things celebrity:

Interviewer: Are you breastfeeding Katie?

Katie: No, it's brilliant I have 20 crates of teats and bottles - I don't have to sterilise or heat anything, you literally take the teat out of the pack, screw it on, throw it away. And they gave me a tablet that dries your milk up so my boobs haven't hurt or leaked or anything.

Interviewer: So why did you decide not to breastfeed?

Katie: I don't want a baby drinking from me - the thought of it makes me feel really funny. Only a certain person could handle my knockers!

This whole thing made me feel sick. Now, I know that I'm particulary sensitive to this issue at the moment but I can't believe that I wasted five minutes of my life reading an eight-page spread devoted to such a dangerously self-obsessed and mind-numbingly stupid individual.
I'm ashamed of myself.