John Gibson: Doyen is hardly the word here

I WAS going to use "doyen" of cinema managers for Derek Cameron but, second thoughts, reckoned the word inadequate for this pillar of the industry before it lost its glitter, class and, largely, its respectability.

And, undeniably, he was in many respects the life and soul of Morningside. Never met him without a ready smile on his face at the Dom.

A privilege and absolute pleasure to have known Derek. I much mourn his passing.

Had her day

Let's hear it for Sue Lawley. She's telling the newsreader golden oldies (she's one herself) to quit girning about ageism hastening the demise of their crusty old career.

Take a back seat, she's saying in as many words, sit back, start scrabbling and enjoy your big fat pensions. ''You've had your moments in the sun,'' Sue's telling them like it is. Or was.

I know. I've had mine. I'm contentedly anchored on a bench here at Holyrood Towers. What I've discovered is that my colleagues have hearts of gold.

I'm touched. Nay, blessed. Birthdays, when nobody's looking, they'll slip me a sly Horlicks and digestive. A blanket when winter sets in.

Statue, Becks?

That snap of David Beckham, the one of him modelling his Los Angeles football club's new strip . . . was it a flesh-and-blood Becks or something created for a wax museum?

The characteristic glaikit stare, the eyebrows, the moustache, the hairstyle, the sideburns. What a painfully perfected poncified vision.

Posh has pounced on it for her official Christmas card this year. She produced their fourth child the other week. By male order. More paparazzi pics for Becks. Don't call him Dave, call him daddy.