TALLY HO! As you may have seen in my spanking 21st birthday interview yesterday, one of my major ambitions (alongside a 52-hour bender with Freddie Flintoff) is to have my own newspaper column. Being no stranger to nightclubs, booze and tarts, a diary column seems a cracking place to start, and I’d like to thank The Times for this opportunity. Isn’t it wicked? Just let me nip out for a J on the fire escape, mate, and I’ll be right with you.

Oops, she's had it

CRIKEY! Poor old Wills is going to be gutted! Apparently that chesty tart he used to e-mail as a teen has gone and spawned a sprog with some bleeding commoner. It didn’t work out with Wills and Britney Spears. He told her he’d been Trooping the Colour and the silly moo thought he’d been to a salon. Still a chap never forgets his first love. Or so Dad says.

The father is some dancer. Never heard of him. I heard on the radio (while downing a swift vodka vodka vodka Red Bull in the local pub), that she dropped by Caesarean section, in Santa Monica. Preston Michael Spears Federline, the baby is called. Wills wouldn’t have stood for all that. Except for the Michael bit, maybe. Lots of people are called Michael in our family. Even one of our aunts.

Ladylike enough

IT’S a rum old thing, and one does feel a bit of a rotter for making a fuss, but I’ve been stressing about my number one filly, Chelsy Davy. All these newspapers keep saying that she’s an alumna of Cheltenham Ladies’ College. Thing is, I know heaps of fillies from there, and none of them have ever heard of her.

I got one of these scruffy reporter types to put in some calls, while I popped out for some Rizlas. Cripes! Bad news! The lady at CLC wouldn’t confirm she’d been there at all. Just when I was starting to think I’d been had by some floozy on the make, somebody pointed out that there’s also Cheltenham College — the not-quite-so-swish co-ed down the road. “She was here,” their marketing lady told the oik. “She left at the end of her fifth form.” Dashed relief, mate. Know what I mean?

Elle of a girl

PERSONALLY, I’d say things in France have been going downhill since 1789. Just look at the way morale collapsed when those stylishly dressed chaps came marching over the border in 1940.

From a glance at French Elle magazine, however, things are looking up. Their cover girl this month is Marie de Villepin, the daughter of that oily new Prime Minister of theirs.

Ding dong! I’d certainly like to storm her Bastille. You get me? She’s got class, too. You’d never know it from all the man-of-the-people guff you get from her father but I’m told that the de Villepins are our sort of people.

“Bon sang,” says the article. That’s pretty good, isn’t it? I’d offer you a translation but my old French teacher isn’t answering her phone.

Ps

Prince Harry was not speaking to Hugo Rifkind

people@thetimes.co.uk