I don't for one moment claim to understand the political issues of the Gurkha soldiers and their being allowed settle in Britain. In fact I am not entirely sure what a Gurkha is. But, I really enjoyed watching Joanna Lumley work her magic on the British Government in her campaign to secure the rights of these brave men to settle in the UK.

Surrounded by these adoring ex soldiers Joanna was every inch a goddess. She wielded her power in an assertive but least aggressive manner and in the true style of the goddess. It was a lesson in how women can change the world their way. 

She used humour. That withering look she gave the Immigration Minister was pure Patsy from Ab Fab.  She used compassion... these honourable men have fought for Britain, how can they now not be allowed to settle here? But most effectively she used persuasion.  Speaking of Gordon Brown she said "I know him very slightly personally and I find him to be a man of integrity".  She went on to speak of him as the head man, the man at the top, the leader of the entire nation and was most assured he would have it all sorted out by the end of the month. And so it was.

So all hail Joanna Lumley - mature woman, goddess and changer of great political minds.  She never lost her temper; she never let her dignity slip. She showed how women can be great leaders on their terms.  As a former colleague of mine used to say "she is some woman for one woman".

I am old enough to remember Paula Yates in all her quirky beauty. Being Irish I had a special interest in her life when she was hanging out with Bob Geldof as he was belting out dodgy songs with The Boomtown Rats. The band called her 'The Limpet'  in the days before Bob began to save the world. 

As Paula matured she maintained her gamine beauty, and displayed a sparkling intellect which she regularly exhibited in her heyday as one of TVs most popular presenters.  I clearly remember watching her flirting and presumably falling in love on the Big Breakfast Bed, as she interviewed the beautiful Michael Hutchence. And the rest is history. Her end was made all the more tragic by the fact that she left behind four beautiful young daughters.

These days, the media is full of Paula's middle daughter Peaches who seems, like her mother, to like living life on the edge. And she worries me. She seems, at times, to have the most tenuous of grips over control of her life. As Peaches swings from a career as a journalist to TV presenter, from magazine editor to model, and commits to a short-lived wedding in Las Vegas, I have an uneasy sense of deja vous.  

Peaches, like her beautiful mother, often seems to be just one step away from disaster.  On the one hand I admire her spirit and her energy, on the other I suspect there's an unsure little girl beneath the tattoos and the bolshie attitude. Is her fractured family life behind her crazy quest for fulfilment? I don't know. 

I know how uncomfortable it is to watch your teenage daughter heading off for a night out in what you consider a wholly inappropriate outfit. Peaches makes me uncomfortable in the same way - and I am not her mother. What would Paula think? How would she advise her?  I am sure she would not like her daughter to make the same mistakes she did.

This week Peaches was photographed at a party in Cannes and she looked stunning; an elegant and very beautiful young woman - although her famous tattoos did detract slightly from the effect. I hope she can see just who she can become. The world is her oyster.  The choices are hers. History does not always need to repeat itself. Peaches, you are a special beauty. Your mother would have loved those photos from Cannes, but she would also want you to mind yourself!

I have a confession to make. One I am slightly ashamed of.  Have you ever thought about your own 'guilty pleasures'; things you like, although you know you shouldn't? Well I think I have recently discovered mine - Marco Pierre White. 

As a middle-aged woman I shouldn't be impressed by his over-the-top dramatics recently on Hells Kitchen. A scarf worn around his head as a bandana should make me laugh, not melt. And most of all I should be able to see through his particular, and often peculiar, version of pop psychology. But I can't - and I don't want to.  Jamie Oliver may be lovely, but he's a boy. Gordon Ramsay is powerful, but he is a bit too grumpy. My Marco is a man.

I was glued to Hell's Kitchen, not to see who got voted off. I merely enjoyed watching Marco lording it over his kitchen!  My head screamed at me not to be so ridiculous!  But my heart really enjoyed imagining what it would be to be in the kitchen with him.  He wouldn't even need to teach me to cook. I would happily just peel potatoes all day and wash up... as long as my work station had a good view of his!

Now I am glued to The Apprentice, and the other night had a dream about Sir Alan Sugar. This is altogether more worrying. Marco is a big bear of a man, but with all due respect to him Sir Alan is a bit short and a bit grumpy. But, my goodness, is he powerful? 

I have to admit that my shallow side loves watching him emerge from one of his posh cars or his helicopter. His craggy face and wonderfully sarcastic comments add to the aura of power. And, like Marco in his kitchen, I love watching him lording it over all and sundry in the boardroom.  Come to think of it, his side-kick, Nick Hewer has a certain charisma too...  That's it, I need to get out more!