When News Corp meets homos-xuality, a sort of vulgar ionic bonding takes place. After an initial and middling explosion, both elements coarsen upon contact. At which point, my poor analogy falls completely apart. But, no matter, really. After all, who would not forgive ill-informed scientific parallels when their purpose is to inform: Jodie Foster is a Lez! And Rupert’s people are very excited.

Then again, so am I. Finishing years of speculation, the actor and director has publicly thanked her “beautiful Cydney”. She used the occasion of a Women in Entertainment breakfast at the Beverly Hills Hotel to do so. This seems apt, really, as I’ve often thought of the still-gorgeous Foster as an entertaining and womanly breakfast best eaten at an inn of great quality.

Someone at the Herald Sun was so equally thrilled by Foster’s “shock” revelation that they offered the headline “Gary Jodie Foster silences the critics.” (The headline has now been corrested).

Gary, presumably, is not Jodie’s Drag Name. (Those of us who have dreamt long and fitfully of her private Sapphic life have always imagined her more as a Kenneth.) 

This slip is evidence of a grand tabloid obsession. For reasons best or solely understood by old pervs, stories about Muff Divas tend to work very well. Particularly if their subject is hot. And the Oscar winning Foster does sizzle.

A circuit of today’s many reports regarding Foster is interesting only for the prurience revealed. The salacious and terribly ugly word “L-sbian” is appended to each story. Despite the fact that Foster did not use it. All she did was thank her partner. She didn’t have a nude pillow fight, break into a dire song by Ani DiFranco nor demonstrate the correct use of a surgical-grade-silicon strap-on. There was nothing particularly “L-sbian” about her activity. This didn’t stop every slavering editor and his biatch from using the key-word prominently.

Even The Times of London chooses to employ the term which is, depending on your perspective, either too wholesome or too p-rnographic.

Spicy tautologies such as “L-sbian Lover” have no purpose beyond generating hits and saggy er-ctions. I know only three women who willingly choose the term as a designation and, frankly, you wouldn’t want to visit their Leichardt commune. It reeks of patchouli and Staffordshire Bull Terriers.

There is no substance to be found within this flat and lazy reporting. In fact, one poor chap lost out very badly. Former Dancing with the Stars contestant Tim Campbell chose a bad day to out himself as a pouffe.

With Jodie’s licker licence now so notably displayed, the poor trifle doesn’t have a hope.