DON'T YOU KNOW WHO I AM?

"I've invented this fabulous new game called Reco that makes being stuck in traffic jams much more fun. If you and a few other vaguely well-known chums are in the car, you have to take turns sticking your head out of the window to see if anyone recognises you. There's a scoring system: one point if someone stares at you, two if they look twice, three if they nudge a friend and point at you, and, finally, if you get asked for an autograph you've well and truly won. Hopefully this saucy new picture of me in Esquire will help me score a few more points. In fact, let's hope it helps me score full stop!"

Bloody hell.

You can't really add anything to that, can you? Its sheer awfulness is awe-inspiring. It quite beggars belief. It's Tara Bloody Palmer-Tomkinson making an absolute tit out of herself in the Sunday Times.

I think we can take this as concrete proof that Major's dream of a classless society has finally arrived. Unfortunately, it appears to be tasteless to boot.

We used to be able to take certain things for granted:

The working classes were poor, ignorant and tasteless, but at least they had depth; the middle classes were educated snobs who gossipped, but at least they had wit; and the upper classes were rich, stupid and inbred, but at least they had taste.

Not any more it appears.

I blame the finishing schools. "Score"? Score? Hardly befits the decorum required of a royal-hugging toff, now does it? If you want to go around being a professional posh bird, you have to be able to balance a book on your head and refer to your lovers as "friends". The word you are looking for, dear Tara, is euphemism. You might do well to learn a few. Before your manners start being overtaken by some permed bint from Essex who manages to pronounce her H's.

Well, well, dahling, it looks like you got your wish:

Token tinted rock wife and utterly tasteless Meg Matthews has been given a column of her own, as a nouveau riche offset to Tara's toff corner. The gaudy one writes from the ridiculously-monikered Supernova Heights.

"Puff Daddy invited me to his birthday party in New York, but it's a bit of a hike for a piece of cake and a chance to wear my silver shell suit, so Noel and I ate Thai with Kate Moss and Alan McGee from Creation Records."

Quite.

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