My five-year old teenager.

"I think you should wear the little checked sundress, Arabella." I said this morning, flicking through the ranks of beautiful dresses in my daughter's wardrobe.
Arabella bit her lip thoughtfully. "No, I don't think so. Hannah Montana wouldn't wear that."

Hannah Bloody Montana. Along with Dr Who, Hannah is my daughter's latest craze, which, if she was say - ten - wouldn't be a problem. But my daughter is five.

I know. Hannah is meant to be wholesome. She doesn't smoke, she's polite to her elders and she's not in Soho House every night, hoofing up cocaine and partying with footballers. It's not like Arabella has suddenly decided that Lindsay Lohan is her idol. Or Katie-makes-my-blood-boil-Price. Or Paris-she-can't-actually-be-that-stupid-can-she-Hilton (can she?) But still. A pop-star?

When I was five I was reading The Wind in the Willows. I was enjoying Alice in Wonderland and Winnie the Pooh and Beatrix Potter. I was inspecting the bottom of the garden for fairies and taking my teddy bears on picnics.

I don't remember being even faintly interested in pop stars until I was at least 7 - the first boyband I was into was for instance... oh hang on. Maybe I shouldn't admit this. Oh sod it - Big Fun. Yup. I know. Link for those who have successfully erased the shining talent that was Big Fun from their minds. Yes, yes. You may laugh. You'd be peeing yourself if I put up a link to my other idol...ahem, Sonia.

I suppose I should count myself lucky that she hasn't discovered Jedward yet. For those of you fortunate enough not to have come across these two buffoons, they were losers on a talent show. The British love an under-dog, the less talent the better, so the contract was signed before Simon Cowell could say "I'll make a bit of cash out of these two donkeys".

Anyway. It could be worse. She could be into Big Fun.