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� You think Emily Lau has something different to rant about this week and actually get two paragraphs into her column before coming to your senses.

� You read the column on stock tips without wondering why the writer doesn�t keep his inside info to himself and make a mint.

� You remember how The World of Lily Wong carried on for ages after it stopped being funny, and wonder why Spice Trader hasn�t suffered the same fate.

� You actually care about what Harry Rolnick thought about the Philharmonic�s performance last Saturday, even though you were/weren�t there, and thus have no need to know.

� You think Tsang Yok Sing has something different to rant about this week and actually get two paragraphs into his column before coming to your senses.

� You start wondering what Margaret Ng might be like in bed.

� You read a letter from Elsie Tu without wondering why she wasn�t taken on a one-way trip to the (R)SPCA years ago.

� You think Kevin Sinclair has a different Vietnamese claret to rant about this week and actually get two paragraphs into his column before coming to your senses.

� You find yourself spending 2.06 seconds of your precious life looking at a photo of socialite Dinky Ho, socialite Daisy Ma and hotel manager Erhard Shickelgruber at the launch of Audemar Piglet�s new range of platinum cigarette lighters.

� You no longer find it irritating to have to convert weirdly precise metric measurements (�71.0663 decimetres�) back into plain English (�1 foot�) in stories lifted from British and American newspapers.

� You start thinking it�s perfectly normal for the business section to have a special edition on private banking every 12 weeks - with exactly the same paid-for articles each time.

� You think you have something different to rant about this week and actually get two paragraphs into your letter to the editor before coming to your senses.

� You wet yourself laughing after reading - for the seventh time this year - that there�s a restaurant in some third world backwater in Southeast Asia offering �Steamed Crap� (sic) on its menu. Or was that the Far Eastern Economic Review?

� You buy both the Post and cat litter.