Part of the franchise deal is a guarantee of decaffeinated stimulation and given the amazing gullibility of

Part of the franchise deal is a guarantee of decaffeinated stimulation and given the amazing gullibility of these particular consumers such caution isn’t unreasonable – my wife recalls that she and her schoolfriends doggedly forced down a mixture of tea and coffee for a time, on the grounds that this was reported to be the favourite beverage of David Cassidy. So, even if, like me, you believe that prohibition probably kills as many people as the drugs themselves, Harvey’s suggestion that you could take 12 tablets of ecstasy and drive yourself home seemed unhelpful, to say the least.But none of that quite accounts for the feral nature of his punishment. In the Daily Mirror Tony Parsons called him “an ugly little troglodyte” and said that it would be no loss if he choked on his next tablet; the MP Nicholas Evans gravely charged that “it’s quite likely that youngsters will die by Harvey’s words”. John Major and Virginia Bottomley, offered the opportunity to add a spasm of indignation, obliged with practised ease. And finally, formal anathema was pronounced by “the father of Leah Betts”, the media-consecrated Pope of drug bereavement.

That Mr Betts is treated as an expert in these matters, largely by virtue of his own sad loss, says everything about the stupefying level at which drugs are discussed in this country. It is as if the victims of a gas explosion were to be invited for their comments every time British Gas announced a new pricing policy.Leah Betts, as thousands of young drug-takers know from their own experience, was a rare exception, not the rule – unhappy proof, if we needed any at this end of the century, that the brain is not universally tolerant of chemical tinkering.And maybe there are grounds for saying that a single death is one too many, that it justifies the apparatus and expense of control. But if that is so why is it that MPs and tabloid leader writers do not similarly vilify the dealers and users of motorbikes, a teenage thrill with a much higher casualty rate than ecstasy? And if Brian Harvey is guilty of criminal irresponsibility in making his statement then what about the radio station that first broadcast it and the newspapers which ensured that it reached every impressionable fan in the land? If his words were killers then why did so many respectable citizens help them on their way?We have been here before of course – not so long ago another band member nearly lost her job for a similar offence. Clare Short – percussion and vocals for The Shadow Cabinet – had the temerity to suggest that the question of whether current drug policy was actually working might be worth discussion by politicians. She too had reckoned without the paralysing terror that the subject seems to evoke and had to go through a humiliating somersault to get out of trouble.What goes missing in such duplicitous exercises is any kind of useful honesty. There are many varieties of lie told in its place, from the suggestio falsi of the high profile drugs busts (taking out some drug dealers to increase the profits of the rest) to the suppressio veri involved in lumping all illegal drugs together in one seamless demonology (when asked recently what substance he would ban if he wanted an easier life, one experienced Washington policeman replied “alcohol” without a flicker of hesitation – not crack, that useful urban bogey-man, but the drug most of us use, every day).I won’t lose much sleep over it but Brian Harvey was treated with gross hypocrisy. We don’t have any realistic grounds for demanding common-sense or social forethought from pop stars; indeed you might argue that part of their function is to behave with reckless and self-destructive abandon precisely so that the rest of us don’t have to.

What should induce a certain amount of insomnia, though, is the cowardice and evasion of people who are paid for their judgement rather than their hip movements. The cost of keeping quiet, however advantageous it is for one’s career or electoral prospects, is much greater than the odd injudicious honesty.. Twenty-four hours after the white lace, cut leather peplum jacket (left) was shown in John Galliano’s first haute couture collection for Dior on Monday, it had sold. The price? More money than the average family spends on clothes in a lifetime. But this is a historical collection marking the 50th anniversary of the house of Christian Dior, and heralding a new designer, who weaves spells with his bias cutting and fantasy ball gowns. If you have the odd pounds 50,000 knocking around, Dior would be the house where you’d spend it on your new summer wardrobe.

The jacket, snapped up before you could say millionaire, was a one-off piece of exquisite craftsmanship, cut from the softest kid leather and with the mind-boggling lack of a single seam. The name of the woman who bought it will remain a secret until she wears it out to her next social engagement. Possibly it is Sao Schlumberger, the Portuguese socialite and Galliano fan, who could not take her eyes off it as it passed by her on the catwalk at the Grand Hotel. That one jacket is what haute couture is all about – buying a piece of art as clothing that does not exist anywhere else and that will make people stare in wonderment whenever it is worn.
At the Dior atelier on the swanky Avenue Montaigne the day after the show the fantastical creations were hung in huge old wooden wardrobes with lockable pull-down doors. Some of the ball gowns were so voluminous that they had to be hung from a high ceiling, their huge tulle skirts billowing above the chaos of the room. On a nearby floor, discreetly hidden in rooms within rooms of mirrors, were clients eager to squeeze themselves into a heavy satin Chinese sheath dress with an embroidered train, made for a six-foot beanpole, or a bias cut dress with frothy organza flowers overflowing from the neck. If they fit the samples, it means they don’t have to return for countless fittings and the price might be reduced by a few thousand pounds.

For couture customers, like the legendary skeletor Nan Kempner, it pays to be thin. Many of the dresses from the actual show are simply altered to fit the customer. Some, like the most delicate little wisp of a dress constructed out of fine organza feathers pieced together one-by-one to fit the body of an elfin model, are so frail – and tiny – that they will never be worn again.If you have been wondering what all the fuss over the plumber’s son who has become the darling of the world’s most expensive women is about, here are some pictures from the first Galliano collection for Dior. If you had the money or the lifestyle, wouldn’t you be seduced?Clockwise from top left:Galliano’s take on the New Look of 1947, with hip padding and micro short A-line skirtClassic frothy Dior ball gownMasai beading courtesy of couture’s master embroiderer LessageEmbroidered white leather lace jacketBelle Epoque evening dress with bottom padding and African beaded corset for the hour-glass figureDecadent chinoiserie: gold brocade cape with gold chain fringingEmbroidered chartreuse Chinese silk evening sheath dressLong raspberry pink satin dinner dress with knotted fringes for shoulder straps and long embroidered trailPhotographer: Ben Elwes. The Frighteners

Peter Jackson (15)
With his last film, Heavenly Creatures, New Zealand director Peter Jackson seemed to be leaving the horror genre in which he made his name (with Bad Taste, Braindead) in favour of more respectable material – though, since the film dramatised a famous crime from the 1950s in which two schools girls’ obsessive and delusional friendship led to matricide, respectability is a relative term.