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Last updated at 23:45 18 March 2008
Unstoppable as the Duracell bunny, gobbier than Sharon Osbourne, enjoying the same firm grasp on reality as Mohamed Al Fayed and with more issues than Reader's Digest, Heather Mills finally announced her divorce settlement of £24.3million with all the shy grace and modesty which we have come to expect of Lady McCartney.
Words fail me. If only they would fail Heather.
Outside the High Court, Mills could have said a dignified thank you, just as her ex-husband did.
But no. She couldn't resist letting rip about her crusade against the justice system. A system so unfair it had just made this former porn star and pathological liar one of the richest women in Britain.
Heather Mills finally announced her divorce settlement of £24.3million with all the shy grace and modesty which we have come to expect of Lady McCartney
The poor coppers on duty behind the ranting Heather started to nod off.
On the roof of nearby St Paul's Cathedral, pigeons slipped into a coma and fell to their deaths as Heather began her 97th sentence without drawing breath.
On and on she moaned. Who says you can't turn sour grapes into whine?
Paul McCartney had just parted with almost 25 million quid to be shot of this woman.
You know what they say: Marry in haste, repent at heather.
Mills is comically oblivious to how she comes across.
In some compartment of that mad fantasist's brain, she honestly believes she is the big-hearted "Campaigning Girl" raking in alimony to hand it over "to me charities".
To the rest of us she is the worst kind of Nouveau Celeb - gauche, greedy, self-obsessed and constantly carping about the media while taking out a 999-year lease on the limelight.
Even the judge had to conclude that Ms Mills's evidence was, ahem, "less than candid".
How did Heather think it would go down when she moaned that the £35,000-a-year allocated to her daughter would not be enough to fly Beatrice 'A-Class'?
Puts that little crisis in Darfur into perspective, doesn't it, pet?
Millions are starving but, for Lady Mucca, hardship is a four-year-old rock princess roughing it in Business.
Besides, thirty-five grand sounds plenty to me.
Enough for a few party frocks and the rest to go on a therapist when the poor kid is old enough to realise what sort of mother she's been landed with.
Heather may have bagged herself a title, but she never did acquire any class. Chucking water over Fiona Shackleton, Paul's solicitor, was cheap.
It was also cheap to bitch about the ex-Beatle's "low offer of 15.8" (that's millions, in case you were wondering).
Heather had set her sights on a jawdropping £125 million for an exhausting four years of marriage.
Normally, I am the first person to insist that a divorced wife gets an equal share of the cake. But Heather Mills made a mockery of marriage. She was only two weeks away from her wedding to film-maker Chris Terrill when she announced she was getting together with Paul.
The love for this multi-millionaire was so powerful that, overnight, Lancashire hotpot-loving Heather discovered she had been a vegan all along!
Heather is brilliant at faking it. She could be anything a man wanted her to be. And she saw that what widower Paul wanted her to be was Linda.
No wonder Stella McCartney hated her. Talk about the Wicked Stepmother.
Heather may accuse Fiona Shackleton of behaving in "the worst manner you could imagine". But it is Heather who is an embarrassment to her sex.
Frankly, I have more respect for Ashley Dupré, who provided escort services to disgraced New York governor Eliot Spitzer for $1,000 an hour. At least Ashley made her price clear up front and never claimed to be doing it for charity.
As the old joke goes: A gold-digger married the guy for money.
She divorced him for the same reason.
... so what is the future for her now?
My guess is she will soon tire of giving away Paul's money to charity and start missing those big court appearances.
2008: Heather appears in the BBC's new talent show I'd Do Anything, the search to find a Nancy, the tart with the heart, for a new production of Oliver! She pulls out when it becomes clear that the winner doesn't get to marry multi-millionaire Lord Lloyd-Webber.
2009: After months of failing to get on any U.S. talk shows, Heather suddenly claims her real name is Hayley. She was once a child star and is the daughter of the late Sir John Mills. When the real Hayley Mills makes an angry appearance on TV, Heather admits she may have got herself mixed up with someone else.
2010: Heather holds a Press conference and says that under hypnosis she has remembered driving a white Fiat Uno in Paris on that fateful day.
2012: Heather's thrown out of the Church of Scientology for being too nutty.
2014: Finally, she finds love! In a private ceremony attended only by close friends, paid employees (they're the close friends) and Hello! magazine, Heather marries 'soul mate' Paul Burrell, giving him a special ring.
Two weeks later, she finds it on eBay. Back to court!
Suzanne Shaw wanted to win Dancing On Ice so badly she would have skated on her teeth
Suzanne Shaw wanted to win Dancing On Ice so badly she would have skated on her teeth.
By Sunday's final, she almost had to. Every other part of her was injured.
The former Hear'Say singer had her head sliced open by a skate, chipped an ankle and broke a rib. Suzanne kept on smiling.
She was motivated by the thought of providing for her three-year- old son, Corey. And then there was her pride to salvage.
Suzanne is best known for being dumped by Corey's dad, serial fiancé Darren Day.
A pretty depressing thing to be famous for.
Darren walked out on Suzanne and their baby on Mother's Day with the cheery explanation: "I don't do family."
On Sunday, Suzanne seized her chance.
For my money, her Ravel's Bolero lacked the passion of rival finalist Chris Fountain's.
But, once again, she put her neck on the line, clearing the ice by just a few tense shimmering millimetres in the Headbanger.
As brave as she was graceful, Suzanne proved a worthy winner and an inspirational mum.
She will now star in the musical Chicago, and has even pipped Holly 'Twin Peaks' Willoughby to be the face of a new lingerie range at Asda.
Best of all, no one will be referring to Suzanne as the Dumped Girlfriend from now on.
I was watching Sport Relief on Friday night, the bit when Alan Shearer visited an African family who had lost every single adult except a tearful grandma.
Such desperate poverty was hard to bear, so I flicked over to a rolling news station.
It was broadcasting live from outside Shannon Matthews's house in Dewsbury. The nine-year-old had just been found, and neighbours were celebrating.
It should have been a joyful scene but here, too, the poverty was equally hard to bear.
We know full well there's an underclass, but Shannon's abduction has forced us to see it on our screens, night after night.
The children are pale as veal, the adults look like hell.
Karen Matthews, Shannon's mum, is said to be 32. Life weighs so heavily on her she could be 50.
Yesterday, this paper ran a diagram of Karen's children's family tree that was more like a jungle. Multiple fathers - some known, some not - who had all splintered off.
Is it any wonder Shannon's grandparents don't want her going back to that?
Gordon and June Matthews come from an older, more morally sure and stable working class. They fear for their granddaughter's safety and want her to live with them.
Admit it. We hear of Shannon being given a kitten to play with by police, that she's said to be relaxed and happy, and the pitiful thought occurs that the little girl is in a better situation having been abducted and rescued.
Gordon Brown has grand plans to end child poverty, but a few extra quid in benefits aren't going to do anything about the impoverishment we have glimpsed in Shannon's young life.
Poverty of relationships, poverty of security, poverty of hope.
By all means, let's rejoice that this missing child has been found.
But we kid ourselves if we believe there is any fairytale ending for Shannon Matthews, or the hundreds of thousands of profoundly lost children like her.
• Tomorrow is the fifth anniversary of the invasion of Iraq, and guess how the Government chooses to mark it?
By launching a legal challenge to stop coroners criticising the Ministry of Defence at inquests into British troops who have sacrificed their lives.
Marvellous, eh? It's thanks only to outspoken coroners such as Andrew Walker that we have any idea of the miserable failure to provide our troops with basic equipment.
This may sound sentimental, but the more I read about them, the more I feel that the 264 British dead in Iraq and Afghanistan have been remarkable people that this country can ill afford to lose.
A move to silence those who are now trying to protect the comrades of the fallen from unnecessary risk is treachery.
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Published by Associated Newspapers Ltd
Part of the Daily Mail, The Mail on Sunday & Metro Media Group

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