POLO KICKS

Such opprobrium at the news that Jordan’s attempt to book a table at the Cartier Polo had been rejected on the basis that she wasn’t the right “type”. Why on earth, when everyone else there was so deliciously, gloriously common? Many wore trashy designer ensembles (Prada with Agent Provocateur, anybody?), and Sam Branson’s mohawk was suspiciously anti-Establishment. Lots had “just got in from St Trop”. Several wanted to shag Kelly Brook. And it was sloanes and glamour girls alike scaling the walls of the DJ booth when Mark Ronson shouted: “Are you motherf***ing f***ed up?” After all, Ronson speaks the universal language of the billionaire wastrel — whatever school you went to.

PARIS UNCOVERED

Controversy next month, when the director Adria Petty screens her debut at the Toronto film festival. She spent a year with Paris Hilton, and the result, Paris, Not France, is not what Hilton’s people had hoped for. Instead, it is a rather brilliant exposé. Did you know, for instance, that Paris has a very deep voice, is frequently in tears and doesn’t like being a celebrity as much as you might think, and is actually quite a sweetie? No, nor did I.

THE SKY’S THE LIMIT

We were mortified by news earlier this year that Gordon Brown had scrapped plans to spend £100m on two private jets in favour of a modest Gulfstream 550, when Rock Starkozy is going ahead with his glitzy Airbus 330. Now we hear the really hot ticket in private aviation is the Boeing 787 Dreamliner. Twinkly lights in the roof — and a waiting list of sheikhs and oligarchs stretching to 2020. Sorry, Starkozy. And yes, we do feel better now.

SINS OF THE FLESH

So, it’s tops on for female sun-worshippers in St Trop these days, and nothing shorter than 3cm below the knee for the over-25s in Beijing. But, of course — of course — the Brits are taking off their clothes willy-nilly now the sun’s out. At the Secret Garden Party — a heart-sinking display of young flesh by the jeunesse dorée, many of them friends of the festival's founder, the 30-year-old trendy toff Freddie Fellowes — I spotted two girls swanning around properly starkers. Was Freddie, clad in a cavalier hat, fazed? Nope. But then he also took it upon himself to tell headliner Grace Jones she had to stop when her performance overran. Clearly this is not a festival for the lily-livered.

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