The news of the military coup in Honduras provides an unplesant flash-back to the period when Central America was one of the world’s most unstable and war-torn regions. Not so long ago, really – the 1980s.

But in one respect things are very different from the Cold War era. Back then the dividing lines were clear. The Reagan administration was supporting rightist forces, like Nicaragua’s Contras, against the radical left – right across the region. This time things are, mercifully, much less clear-cut. Yesterday Hugo Chavez fiercely condemned rhe coup – and Manuel Zelaya, the deposed president of Honduras, appeared alongside Chavez and Daniel Ortega of Nicaragua at an emergency summit in Managua. In the old days, appearing as part of a line-up like that would have been enough to condemn Zelaya out of hand in Washington, DC. But not now. President Obama has also condemned the coup as illegal and as setting a “terrible precedent”. And Zelaya even credited the US with discouraging the coup plotters.

So far, so encouraging. But just because Central America may not slip back into the old style Cold War era conflicts does not mean that it cannot be destabilised in new, more modern ways. The combination of a massive recession, organised crime and the war on drugs is creating a new sort of crisis. And the uneasy alliance of opinion between Chavez and the US over Honduras does not look terribly stable to me, either.

Alas poor Michael Jackson, I didn’t know him particularly well. In fact, I didn’t know him at all. I did, however, play a walk-on part in the media frenzy that surrounded him as his life became increasingly bizarre.

Jackson was in Bangkok in 1993 when the first allegations that he had an unhealthy interest in children were made. I was living there and together with my wife, who was working as a freelancer for the BBC, made my way down to the Oriental Hotel to see if we could put the allegations to Jacko directly. The whole place was, of course, a circus – the Oriental was surrounded by singing fans and the lobby was stuffed with security men. Jackson was on the top floor – but the lifts weren’t stopping there. But somehow we found out the room number of a member of his management team, who was on the tenth floor.

We went up there and rapped smartly on his door. The man from the Jackson team opened the door – behind him in the room, we could see some young Thai men who he seemed to be entertaining. As soon as we identified ourselves as journalists, he lost his temper – and tried to knock away the microphone that my heavily-preganant wife was waving. There was an unseemly bout of pushing and shoving. Eventually we beat a retreat. Our next move was to try the fire escape to see if we get upto the 12th floor – but that was also blocked by security men. So eventually we went outside the hotel and vox-popped fans on whether they believed the allegations. As far as I recall, all the British fans thought they were definitely true and all the Thais thought they were scurrilous lies.

Anyway, I’m sorry to lower the tone on the day of the poor man’s death. I don’t think he was up there with John Lennon or Elvis – but maybe he makes the Buddy Holly, Otis Redding, Jimi Hendrix league, when it comes to the untimely deaths of pop icons.

There is much anticipation in Washington as important legislation on a cap and trade scheme to deal with global warming comes up for a vote in Congress later this week. But don’t get your hopes up too high about the legislation’s long-term chances. News from Australia shows how difficult it is to get this sort of legislation through. When politicians really focus on the economic costs involved, they tend to quail.

There is also the “after you, Claude” problem. The Australian opposition are arguing that there is no point in their country acting until they know what the US will do, and what will happen at the Copenhagen climate change talks. American politicians, meanwhile, are quite certain to argue that the US should not act until it has a guarantee that China will make similar sacrifices.

The American opponents of climate-change legislation are already taking heart from the setbacks to the Australian scheme. They are also seizing upon a new book by Ian Plimer, an Australian professor and climate-change denier. Actually, I hate that phrase “climate-change denier” – since it (possibly deliberately?) links disputing the consensus view on global warming with “holocaust denial”. It might be brave, it might be irresponsible – but taking issue with global consensus on global warming is not like claiming that there were no gas chambers as Auschwitz.

A few weeks ago, Silvio Berlusconi was being accused of consorting with minors. Now the allegation in the Italian papers is that he consorted with prostitutes.

Whatever the truth about these strongly-denied stories, Berlusconi – now in his seventies – has never made a secret of his liking for young women. I once went to a dinner he gave in Rome for European journalists. He ensured that all the prettiest women were seated at his table. One young woman, who had evidently missed the journalism-school lecture about “not getting too close to your sources”, ended up sitting on Berlusconi’s lap.

Many Italians find their prime minister’s behaviour acutely embarrassing. One commentator on the BBC this morning groaned that it is like “having Benny Hill as prime minister”.

I sympathise. But I also think that Berlusconi is representative of something broader in Italian culture. If you watch Italian television it seems to be absolutely stuffed with game shows, full of giggling scantily-clad models who are being leched over by much older (and often shorter) men. Even my children noticed, when we were living in Brussels and had a TV service that picked up channels from all over Europe. If we ever came across a show with girls in swimming suits, surrounded by old men, my kids would chorus – “Rai Uno”. And that’s not even one of the Berlusconi channels.