Poor old Heather Mills McCartney eh? It must be so dreary having to explain to a court why you need 80 million quid a year to live on. I wonder if they make her break it down at all? That must be worse than having to explain to Hubby where I’ve managed to spend the fifty Euro cash he gave me at the weekend: ‘well, there was the car park fee … erm … and I bought a newspaper … and…oh, there was the croissants on the school run…’ Us mere mortals have a bit of trouble even comprehending those sorts of figures. We were listening to the radio on the way home when they mentioned the £80 mil, and our conversation went something like this:

Me: £80 million? Blimey, what does she spend it all on?

#1: ‘Maybe she buys Tesco’s Finest, although I reckon she’d still have a bit of change’

#2: ‘Ooh, I know - maybe she orders in?

Me: ‘Nope, still not enough. Ah, I’ve got it, maybe she can’t cook’ (having only one leg and all it must get difficult standing by the oven) ‘and needs to employ a chef to feed her and the chavvy.’

#1: ‘Still not enough. Maybe she’s got a Ferrari

#2: ‘Or two’

Thing is, even if she’s got two Ferraris, a butler, a massage therapist, a shopping consultant (never again having to utter the immortal words: ‘what, this old thing? I’ve had it ages, darling’), a nutritionist, an expensive hairdresser, a nanny, a really serious Ebay habit and gold plated bloody pants, I just can’t see that it can be possible to stand in front of this tribunal or hearing or whatever (without blushing) and prove that you need £80 million to see you through. I’m actually quite impressed. That’s some serious spending. ‘Ah’, said the presenter, ‘but is she happy?’ Too bloody right, she is, she’s young, attractive, intelligent, she’s got more millions than you can shake a cheque book at, an adorable little girl and she’s managed to really really piss her ex-husband off. I’d be bloody ecstatic.

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