And if you know enough people there's usually a bar or restaurant opening worth going to every few weeks.

I've seen half-naked women painted gold and covered in canapés, incredible magicians and jaw-dropping cabaret acts but they all pale into insignificance after last week's gig in Paris.

I knew I was in for good night when the woman on the door told me my new party frock was "too cute" to stick a VIP sticker on.

Praise indeed in the city of style – but that was just the beginning of Debbie Does Paris.

I was one of around 1,000 invited guests lucky enough to watch a magical collaboration between super-producer Mark Ronson and 80s legends Duran Duran at La Cigale – one of four global Smirnoff Experience parties.

I found myself submerged in the soundtrack to my teenage years – Wild Boys, Rio, View to a Kill, Planet Earth, Girls on Film – with members of Leeds's own Haggis Horns, who regularly perform alongside Ronson and artists including Amy Winehouse, adding their inimitable brass sound to the hits. As if the action on-stage wasn't exciting enough, the crowd was filled with so many celebs it looked like one of Elton John's infamous star-studded parties.

They included Eva Mendes, Philippe Starck, John Galliano, model turned photographer Ellen Von Unwerth, singers Santogold and Kenna, plus Tim Burgess, Yasmin Le Bon and Daisy Lowe.

As the most famous faces spotted out and about in Leeds usually amount to Christa Ackroyd and Lee Sharpe, you can imagine my excitement.

Hollywood hottie Eva was trying to keep a low profile at the front but her view was sporadically blocked by Mr N and I walking past, trying to decide whether it was actually the A-list actress.

After we established it was, I found myself leaping around next to Ronson's girlfriend, model Daisy Lowe.

Super-stylish

She looked like any other teenage fan – aside from her perfect porcelain skin and super-stylish vintage-looking prom dress – snapping away at her musical idols with a disposable camera.

But of course I knew exactly who she was and immediately started texting my BFs.

A weird feeling comes over me when I'm near celebrities in a non-work situation.

I'm torn between wanting to introduce myself and gushingly tell them "I love your work" or staying cool and collected, content with the knowledge I must be tres on-trend to be at a VIP party with them.

I settled for somewhere in between, erring on the side of slightly-psychotic stalker, dancing next to her with an excited grin on my face, desperate for her to catch my eye.

When I found myself standing behind her I even thought about touching her handbag – as some kind of proof of how close I'd really been to her.

My "logic" at the time – after a few too many martinis – was that this was less weird than actually touching her bare shoulder.

Of course in the cold light of day I realise this was still rather odd – no doubt the poor girl would have been terrified either way.

In my defence, our pre-gig warm up at the hotel's ice bar had been rather more warming than expected.

After being made to don a parka and gloves, which did nothing for my super-glam outfit and vintage heels discovered in a Parisian thrift shop earlier that day, we were escorted into the minus 15C zone.

There we found a bar made from ice and drank from glasses made of ice.

But because it's so cold, you can only stay inside for 30 minutes, so by the time we'd raced through our allotted cocktails we were slightly merrier than planned.

We capped off the night at the after-party at the cavernous Paris Aquarium, catching a glimpse of the sparkling Eiffel Tower before heading underground.

There we watched mesmerised and exhausted as the DJ spun her tunes in front of a huge floor-to-ceiling glass wall while dozens of fish swam around behind her.

It was a night that redefined the word glamour.

Leeds, I'm afraid you've got a lot to live up to.


File under 'easy solutions' inconvenience


As anyone who knows me or ever reads this column will know, I'm no technological genius.

So I'm worried that I seem to have come up with a technical solution to a simple problem, which my bank hasn't already got covered.

I came up with it when I tried to pay in a cheque made out to Debbie Leigh rather than my married name, Mrs N, but they wouldn't let me because it was more than six months since I'd changed my name.

They asked if I had my marriage certificate on me. Obviously not – I don't know about you but I'm not in the habit of carrying important legal documents around in my so-big-you-could-lose yourself-in-it handbag.

I told the woman the bank had seen the original and presumably had taken a copy of it, if she just checked my file.

She advised me, in a very condescending manner, that it would be very difficult to find a particular piece of paperwork like that.

Naively, I thought perhaps after I had sent in the required documents, someone might have thought it was worth marking my file (computer and paper) with a foolproof note like "nee Leigh" or "maiden name Leigh – marriage cert seen".

Apparently not.

I have to return with the cheque and my marriage certificate before they will allow me to pay it in.

So why get me to send in the original at all?

A waste of time?

You can bank on it.