Every time I see the ex-Take That dancer turned stadium-pop giant, I find myself thinking: "You? Still alive? That can't be right."

But there he is - still animate, still making records, and still failing to see through the full implications of the rock star caricature that, until now, he's acted out so successfully.

Williams's impending doom is inevitable. It's the next stage in his meteoric but oh-so-knowing pop odyssey - the bit where the meteor crashes into the ground.

The bit where Elton John sings 'Angels' in Westminster Abbey, and goes to number one for five years.

So far he's stuck to the script, I'll give him that. That knowing wink, that ironic curl of the lip - they've seen him through platinum albums, kiss 'n' tell sex marathons, drug shame, re-hab, feuds, weight gain and loss, the boxing bout with Liam Gallagher that never was, the failed attempt to 'crack' America.

We've bought his records. We've put his posters on our walls. We've followed his antics in our tabloid newspapers. We've watched him become bloated with his own over-arching self-regard, his hideous Napoleonic self-confidence.

And it's all getting out of hand. He's taken to performing raps in the style of Norman Wisdom. He releases records that sound like third division football chants. He's making videos where he blatantly parades his 'influences' for us. Why? Because he can. And still his star ascends.

But now it's payback time. Bob has made it. He's a pop icon. But does he have the courage of his own convictions? Will he see it through?

The very least he owes us is a bizarre and tragic death, a celebrity funeral and a new addition to the canon of dead popstar T-shirts. It could be planned with thorough precision - a farewell concert in Hyde Park with thousands of screaming, weeping fans, and one final single "I'm On My Way Now", accompanied by a promotional slo-mo video of the boy Williams driving off Beachy Head in a stretch limo, with his trademark cheeky sideways smirk to the camera as he plunges to the rocks below.

Come on Robbie. Don't fear the reaper. He's been expecting you.

by Barney Ronay