IT seems an appeal against the conviction of Barry George for the murder of Jill Dando is more than likely.

Although George is, by any standards, a deranged human being, the evidence against him appears largely circumstantial and the one piece of forensic evidence - a single speck from a firearm in his coat pocket - has been called into question.

For the sake of justice, which cannot afford a miscarriage, it might be a good thing if this evidence were to be tested once more.

However, for the family, friends and fianc of Miss Dando, it must be a bad thing. How they must yearn for closure. How her fianc Alan Farthing, her brother Roger Dando, her 83-year-old father Jack, must wish for the process to end so that they can move to the next stage of their mourning and begin to rebuild - reshape - their lives without her. Our thoughts and prayers go out to them.

One of the most striking aspects of this case is just how deranged people can be. George has a criminal history of attacking women and was once arrested with a knife and rope outside Princess Diana's home.

He lived in conditions so peculiar that police filmed their search of his crammed apartment and are now making a video from the footage to help train other investigators.

He had a bizarre fixation with all manner of celebrities, from Diana through to Freddie Mercury, and to guns, and he now joins a strange club of people whose obsession with a celebrity, from Beatle John Lennon to tennis player Monica Seles, has become frighteningly violent.

And police say they know another 140 people shared George's unhealthy fascination with Miss Dando who, despite the genuine regard in which the viewing public held her, modestly dismissed herself as "Jill Blando".

These highly unusual cases show how brutally strange a corner of our world is, and - although the concrete evidence and suggested motives in this case are a little flimsy - that no amount of forensic police investigation will ever be able to account for all the workings of the human mind.

A great champion

BEYOND our natural desire in willing a Briton to win Wimbledon, we should not overlook the end of an epic sporting era yesterday.

Pete Sampras, seven-times winner of Wimbledon, has earned the right to be called the greatest player to grace lawn tennis - an artiste in the age of the wham-bam servers.

A truly great champion has been dethroned. Whoever succeeds him has a long, long way to go to challenge the incredible achievements of Pete Sampras.