Pick up a copy of the Independent today and you'll be shocked to discover that Joe Corre is refusing his MBE. Yes, that's right Joe Corre. . . who? Joe Corre son of Vivienne Westwood and Malcom MacDowell and co-founder of Agent Provocateur. Oh, and why is he refusing his MBE? Well, according to the Independent it’s because of “two words: Tony Blair”.

Now, to my mind, that isn’t such big news. A lot of people have strong views about Blair and Iraq, many of whom treat the matter without any leniency towards the importance of Anglo-American relations, the prevalence of spin in middle ground politics, and the moral ambiguity between Imperialism and Interventionism. There’s nothing new here. But for the Independent, with its particular brand of liberal sensationalism, this is a hot ticket to big sales as readers hold their hands up in support for this tepid act of dissent. The legacy of New Labour aside, the story displays how broadsheets subtly employ many of the same attention-grabbing tactics as their lower brow counterparts. The Independent might be up in arms over GM foods. The Daily Mail will be up in arms over asylum seekers or crime levels. “Can you believe what they've gone and done now?” is the familiar subtext. The Guardian Weekend will run a fetishizing feature on organic food and soft furnishings while Nuts magazine will cover tits and wounds. Both have a fascination with the same recurring themes - Omega 3, a man losing a testicle, property abroad, nipples - all catering to our glib lifestyle choices.

Open up a copy of a trendy youth publication like Vice or Pimp magazine and it's all different, of course. Look, here’s an article on porn not written in total seriousness, and here's a feature about prostitution that's not written in total seriousness either. A photoshoot with naked girls that treads a fine line between seriousness and ironically not being serious. God, I'm so ambiguously offended and aroused, or am I? Whether highbrow or lowbrow, or ironically nobrow, the media will happily serve you up lukewarm bollocks on a colourful plate every day of the week as long as you’ll keep coming back for more.

When Charlie Brooker and Chris Morris’ satire of media culture, Nathan Barley, was first aired around three years ago, the show brilliantly predicted the “rise of the idiots” pre-empting the world domination of Vice, the emergence of New Rave and the fashion of Cassette Playa. In fact, it was all a little bit too accurate, and some of its ideas were picked up by the idiots it was satirising. You may have seen, for example, groups of people playing a variation of Paper, Stone, Scissors called Cock, Muff, Bumhole. If you do, spit at them until they stop. The satire has become part of the culture. The media that serves the lifestyle has become so much a part of the lifestyle that every bit of muck (whether it be in a Lad’s mag or on a organic new potato) that is farted out is fed back into the culture again and again until, like an Innocent smoothie, you have distilled lifestyle in its purest form. Two words “Bull Shit”.

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