The king and queen of Herts

Buy Posh & Becks online at Amazon.co.uk

Buy My World online at Amazon.co.uk

The soft-focus photograph on the cover of Andrew Morton's latest book makes it look as if David Beckham is wearing more pink lipstick and eye shadow than his wife, Spice Girl Victoria Adams. Professor Ellis Cashmore, from that academic hothouse the University of Staffordshire, believes "nobody embodies the spirit of the times as well as David Beckham". The Manchester United player, whose feet are more eloquent than his lips, is all things to all men, women and those in-between: soccer genius, fashion victim, devoted dad, henpecked hubby, flash git, gay icon. It is now tabloid tradition to place him on a pedestal and then knock him off it. Michelangelo had his David; we have the Boy Beckham.

The portrait that emerges of this odd couple - he bursting with natural talent, she burning with ambition - is of two young people who have never been given time to grow up. Their new home, "Beckingham Palace", is a five-star cr?che where the king and queen of Herts will be able to play with their son Brooklyn in peace. "I want my baby to have as normal a childhood as possible," says Adams, but how many kids have their names blazoned on golf shoes, the seats of a sports car and the base of their father's spine? It's not funny or clever - but then the Beckhams don't need to be. They are rich and famous and, as far as Morton and his fellow limo-chasers are concerned, this is what makes them worth writing about.

Morton has not spoken to the pair directly, so the narrative consists of snippets from a thousand cuttings spiked with laughable attempts at analysis. Try sorting this one out: "their wealth, their background and their lifestyle immediately sets nerve endings buried deep in the national psyche jangling, namely those of class and social standing, qualities linked to status and snobbery". This from a man who, according to his author biography, has received "a special prize for services to journalism". Even so, he manages to reveal a more compelling marriage: that between the limelight-lovers and the Press they so cunningly manipulate - sometimes.

Perhaps it was mere coincidence that an item about an alleged attempt to sabotage the brakes on Beckham's Ferrari made "front-page news on the eve of Victoria's solo single release". "They want to have their media cake and eat it," says Morton.

At least it has no calories. Like "Sticky Vicky's" daily ration of five packets of lowfat crisps, Posh & Becks takes some swallowing. You know it's bad for you but you gobble it all up just the same and then feel distinctly sick. My World is far more yummy. The words come from the hero's mouth - "we both wear the trousers in our relationship" (and the skirts) - even if there is a rather tiresome amount about football.

However, the words stop on page 94 and Dean Freeman's pictures take over.

Gay iconography looms large: "I have a camera up my backside almost 24 hours a day," complains Beckham. At least this means we get to see David playing in a bubble bath, David with liquid trickling down his face and, best of all, David licking a 99. Fans of all persuasions will be tickled pink.