If you’re a regular visitor to the Arena blog you’ll know that this is the place for insightful creative writing, stories written to the highest journalistic standard, unparalleled incisive opinion and humorous comments on the way we’re living our lives.

Then again, we spot a picture like this of Salma Hayek at a press conference and all that goes out the window. Just look at those whammers. Thank you.

I can’t have been the only one to have spent the last couple of years lamenting Britney Spears’ plummet from ‘red-hot pop vixen in bikini top and snake draped over her shoulders’ to ’sloppy velour tracksuit-wearing chav mum’.

The one-time sex goddess had gone downhill so fast you would have been unsurprised to find a jetpack on her back and rollerskates attached to her pink jelly shoes.

Thank God, then, for her impending divorce from dancer-cum-rapper pond-life K-Fed, which seems to have shaken her out of her rissole-quaffing malaise and transformed her from fast-food-munching maggot into the big-breasted butterfly we’ve all come to love.

These recent pictures of her snapped out in LA are clearly those of a woman sticking two fingers up to her soon-to-be ex-husband: back were the naughty fishnets, back was the Agent Prov bra – albeit probably holding in a pair of breasts overly heaving with milk to feed her eight-week-old, but you can’t win a coconut every time.

With an album scheduled for early next year, get ready for the Britters comeback in full. We are.

Watching your girlfriend suck some other guy’s cock has, it seems, jumped the shark.

Calum Best (below), arguably the benchmark for tragic uncool, was papped recently at a London orgy. The ‘scene’ traditionally frowns on any sort of celebrity attendance, the thinking being it’d draw unwelcome attention to swingers that desired complete discretion (which is pretty much all of them).

Moreover, the scene itself is becoming infested by wannabe organisations (you may have read about them in your girlfriend’s Grazia). Some of these hardly demonstrate the sensitivity and attention to detail one demands from one’s sex-party organiser.

For example, the much-hyped Killing Kittens – which, it must be said, is a very good name – is fronted by Emma Sayle, a lady who describes herself as “the face of posh swinging”.

Sayle will be known to anyone who’s attended Fever, the original orgy for the under-35s. When she worked as the Fever hostess one night, she installed secret cameras and sold the shots to the Sunday Mirror, which the newspaper ran on the front page. She also arranged for Mirror journalists to work as bouncers.

But never mind the extortionists; bandwagon-jumpers kill any scene, as anyone who’s watched their favourite club night slowly die will testify. Much is made of the ‘elitist’ swinging movement’s ‘vetting’ of candidates according to how good looking they are, but what they actually judge you is on is sincerity, enthusiasm and manners. Qualities that are often difficult to find in the kind of individual who takes inspiration for their leisure activities from Calum Best.