I AM just so relieved that Posh and Becks have patched up their rumoured 'differences', not because I care about their emotional wellbeing, but because I am reeling from a nasty bout of Posh over-exposure. It is worse than suffering sunstroke, walking into the magazine section of Safeway and finding Victoria Beckham on the cover of everything, wearing a horrendous backless curtain, the same shade of red that Nancy Del Olio wore when she found out about Sven and Ulrika, and seeing yet more moronic pictures of her at a party and him on a mobile phone and her pushing a Prada pram and him driving a car and her in that red dress again.

Of course we knew the marriage wasn't really on the rocks.

Both blingin' with matching frocks and diamonds, Posh and Becks are no longer separate entities, even if one only spends three months of the year in the same country as the other.

They represent that alien race which featured in Star Trek called The Borg, the unified consciousness of many beings that acts as one.

Even if she had sulked at him because he had forgotten to buy her chocolates to celebrate her new hair extensions, they would always chug on, Borg-like, nonetheless.

The secret of their long-term marriage bliss is, I think, that they don't complement each other but complete one another. It is 'teen love' that they never really grew out of.

Why is it that so many couples morph into The Borg?

Some women I know have begun to dress their men in similar styles to their own, so they both wear combat pants and Birkenstock sandals on a Sunday stroll to the yoga session. Others pick partners who look like themselves. Just look at Euan Blair and his girlfriend at the Labour Party Conference. "They get on really well and they have similar interests - they even look like each other", one source said.

Is the whole concept of finding a life partner really just a romanticised vanity project? I would hate to wake up with a male version of me. Imagine it, a ranting hypochondriac of a bed-fellow with a penchant for cats and mint Aeros. Shudder!

WE are turning into a nation of pointless voyeurs. First it was documentaries. Then reality shows. Now we are being fixated on other people's pet rabbits (12,000 'fans' a month visit a site featuring a bunny called Rodney who has a webcam in his hutch), or other people's wedding plans (12,000 very sad people log on to Scott and Helen's wedding website to read of their honeymoon plans). If things couldn't get much worse after 'Blaine watching' (staring at a magician doing nothing), Derren Brown played Russian roulette on live TV and we all sat in our armchairs and stared. What are we becoming?