RIP Liam Payne.

Not sure who he was, but if you get off on blowing out on booze and drugs and start kicking off in a South American hotel, it’s only going in one direction.

The argy-bargy 10-pointer over the balcony was probably his biggest hit and had Simone Biles nodding in appreciative envy.

Shame, though, on all the grotesque pop musak tools who are now ‘numb with shock’ at his demise.

Where were they when he was on the downward spiral?

Not actually giving a toss or helping him out while he was alive, that’s for sure.

That is a testament to the fake money-go-round of the entertainment industry. Nobody gives two hoots about the individual. They care only about the story and how they can benefit from it.

Why weren’t all these people paying tribute to him while he was running amok in downtown Buenos Aries just a day before he launched himself?

Exactumundo.

There’s no reflected glory in meaningful and constructive criticism, but there is a shedload of kudos being on the bandwagon of death, particularly when it’s been blessed with a glaze of tragedy.

Old Liam just never realised the gravity of the situation, and his career has now hit rock bottom with a cover of Adele’s ‘Chasing Pavements’.

No Payne, no gain.

In the aftermath of his demise, tragic though it was, all the hopeless opportunists who had never helped him while he was alive will all feature prominently waxing lyrical on his downfall.

That’s showbusiness.

And there’s no business like it.