I am not ashamed. I LOVE Victoria Beckham! My love for her aboslute fabulousness is overshadowed only by the size of her fashion closet. However, it has been nothing short of pure unadulterated pleasure reading the critics cast Posh off like the second coming of Bennifer's Gigli. One choice review comes from The Daily Mail's Carol Slater.

Future vicious TV critics of the world, take note of this little excerpt:

"Fixing a practised - but still hungry - gaze on the camera, the star of Victoria Beckham: Coming To America pouted: "It's all got to be about me."

Then, as if to suggest that - ha-ha, guess what? - she's got a sense of humour after all, she twizzled the pout a little and made out that she was, you know, only joking really.

The trouble is, she wasn't. For just by agreeing to make the programme, Mrs Beckham has succeeded in reinforcing what sceptics thought all along: that her family's move to Los Angeles was, indeed, all about her; it was never anything to do with advancement for her foolishly patient husband - and everything to do with the endless, but always fruitless pursuit of what she calls her "career".

Writing as someone who lives for several months of the year in the US, I'll bet you this: a dollar to a pound says that she will find no more success over there than she ever has, here or anywhere else.

To understand the woman who has reinvented herself as probably our most embarrassing export ever, we need to understand only one thing: she can run as far away as she can, but she always has to take along with her the inconvenient truth of her almost unique absence of ability or talent."