IF SOMEONE had told me five years ago that busty model Jordan had just finished her new book, I would have congratulated the person who lent her the crayons.

But it's a strange old topsy-turvy world when the post-I'm A Celebrity version of Jordan - the multi-talented and very rich Katie Price - is out to conquer the world with her autobiography, her novels, her children's books, her perfume, her hair straighteners and her keep-fit DVD.

But I come not to bury Katie, but to praise her. If anything, we have much in common, not least the fact that we've both done pretty well for ourselves with a large chest and little discernible talent (although I'm still convinced I'd have made a better fist of Eurovision).

A few years ago, a visit to Bournemouth would have meant a public appearance in a local nightspot, a quick scantily-clad shimmy for the gurning punters, a quick exit with a hefty cheque and back home without having disturbed the local press from its slumbers.

These days, she's so famous that she warrants a feature on the difficulty of getting hold of her.

But I have every admiration for celebs who can turn what is perceived as public disdain in to adulation, simply through some refreshing honesty, some carefully-placed pouts, marketing know-how and a tremendous work ethic.

In a sense, by being virtually bombproof in the eyes of those members of the British public who care about such frippery, she is now the polar opposite of Heather Mills-McCartney, a woman who couldn't buy a bit of good publicity if Paul signed over all the publishing rights to his songs to her.

Perhaps Heather - a regular visitor to these parts - might want to nip to Waterstone's today to get some pointers.