Poor Heather Mills. She's being outspun by that old teddy bear Paul McCartney in the divorce war.

Everyone knows he's just a sweet old dodder, taken in by a scheming gold-digging psycho who stole his sperm and is after his billions. Of course, as St Paul of Beatlemania, he's got a hell of a PR headstart on a hard-faced one-legged interloper. And when the British tabloids wade in, it's not like Star Magazine beating you up with candy floss - it's real and it's vicious and it leaves a lot of blood on the carpet.

So what can she do? Let's talk about Paris HIlton here for a moment. She made a laughably horrible sex tape, spewed racist remarks, got found out bitching about half of Hollywood when her sidekick got hacked, stole a recovering anorexic's boyfriend and still, still, someone will pay her $200,000 to turn up to a party and wave.

So Heather, my advice is move to Hollywood. You can get away with anything. As long as you're hot.

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