Note to Michael Jackson’s kids: don’t kiss Diana Ross

Once the funeral is over and there's no second coming, once the contents of his stomach has been declared non-toxic, and once the frightful Jackson family have made sure they've got their clutches on their dead boy's future earnings, one further question will continue to place Michael Jackson's demise in the headlines: What's going to happen to his kids?

There are three children. Two - Paris and Prince Michael - at least know who their mother is. She's Debbie Rowe, who apparently won't get a look-in when it comes to custody. The third child, Prince Michael II (poor sod) doesn't know who his mother is. And of course, all three can seriously doubt the identity of their biological dad.

So temporary custody has been given to Granny. She's Kathleen Jackson, and presumably the argument is she's just the person to mother three confused pre-teen kids, being 79 years of age.

Was it OK if Diana Ross and Clive James enjoyed a festive kiss on the cheek?

But there are other contenders for the job. One is Bubbles, the singer's pet ape, who was recommended personally by Michael himself, we are told. However, even in California his candidature is regarded as ill-advised.

But another, more credible foster-mum was also nominated by the singer before he popped his moon-boots. She is the gothic queen of soul music, Miss Diana Ross, whose relationship with Jackson was apparently nearly as tight and committed as that between Jackson and Uri Spoon-Bender.

So what kind of mum would the former Supreme make? I have the inside track on this prospect, and I can state that Miss Ross is so disqualified for the role that even Bubbles comes back into the picture.

A new biography of the Supremes - The Supremes: A Saga of Motown Dreams, Success and Betrayal by Mark Ribowsky - gives a hint of Diane (her real name) Ross's character. It describes how, as a late-comer to the group, she judiciously slept with the company boss, ousted the more talented lead singer Florence Ballard, and went on to queen it over the other Motown performers in a style reminiscent of Anne Robinson in a really bad mood.

Nothing there, perhaps, to say she wouldn't be a lovely foster mum. But I know more. Some years ago, back in the Nineties, I helped write a series of end-of-the-year television reviews hosted by Clive James.

It was satiric stuff, and each year we nominated a Personality of the Year, also satirically. One year, for spurious reasons, we nominated Diana Ross. She apparently took the award seriously and no-one dared tell her different, but anyway she agreed to turn up and sing a song and join in the singing of Auld Lang Syne, which is what we wanted anyway.

But in the frantic afternoon of last minute rehearsals, during negotiations between Ross's manic aides and our own harassed producers - and never did two sets of headless chickens produce more squawking - a glitch occurred.

We proposed that, as the New Year's Eve fireworks exploded, and the credits rolled, Miss Ross and Mr James should be seen to exchange a festive kiss on the cheek. Was that okay with Miss Ross?

We expected acquiescence. The James cheek had been kissed by blazing lovelies ranging from Elle McPherson to Princess Diana. But the reply as relayed to us by the Ross minions was coldly concise.

"Miss Ross does not do kissing."

A a result, viewers were treated to the ludicrous sight of Ross and James, standing shoulder to shoulder, and blowing kisses at each other.

So, Paris, Prince Michael and The-One-Dad-Ran-Out-Of-Names-For, if via the madness of the Californian legal system you should fall into the maternal embrace of Diana Ross, you may expect a luxurious life. You may expect expensive pressies. You may even get the occasional rather strident lullaby.

But bear this in mind, kids. Miss Ross does not do kissing.