OMG guys, OMG!!!! OK, let’s all calm down. We know it’s hard! (No pun intended – OMG – we actually did intend that pun!! OMG what are we like!?!?) But let’s all take a breather and compose ourselves.

Tits!! Sorry.

Tits. Sex! TITS SEX TITS BOOBS! No! Really sorry guys!

OK. Phew.

Right, we really have calmed down now. Sorry about all that but, taking it as read that you, dear reader, are human and are aware of the potent brain retarding powers of the sexual image, then you can no doubt fully empathise with hecklerspray’s frat boy like reaction to the extraordinary nipple sighting of one of Britain’s most respected authors, Katie Price, at her latest book launch.

Now, chances are you've just read the words 'Cliff Richard: Literally The New Radiohead' and assumed that Sir Cliff Richard has recorded a depressing wonky-eyed album full of experimentally introspective songs called things like Kafka SMTP.

However, the truth is a little more boring. Instead of, say, soundtracking an avant-garde movie about radio static with a series of dissonant chords played on the back of a kettle, Cliff Richard has instead decided to let his fans choose how much they want to pay for his new album entitled Love... The Album. But it's pretty much entirely irrelevant what hare-brained scheme Cliff Richard has dreamed up to sell his new record, because it rests on the hinges of Cliff Richard fans using the internet to preorder the album, and in our experience most Cliff Richard fans are so technologically backwards that they've only just learnt that DVDs aren't for spreading jam on and trying to eat like shiny Ryvita.