By Jan Moir
Last updated at 8:26 AM on 13th August 2010

Girls, if you want to get ahead in life, get a hat. Preferably one with an airline logo prominently displayed on the side.

Then get yourself a pair of tan tights, a big drinks trolley and a talent for saying ‘ Ice and lemon with that, sir?’ while still smiling.

If you can manage all this, if you can go placidly amid the noise and haste of economy class and remember what peace and silence can be achieved with the adroit dispensation of vodka miniatures, then your future is secured.

Perhaps through being moved to Business or First-class  -  a promotion known in the business as a BOF! for very good reasons.

Or, as the captain always puts it: ‘Cabin crew, ten minutes to landing a rich husband.’

So well done to this week’s star in-flight employee, 29-year-old Kayte Walsh from Bristol.

True, our Kayte hasn’t quite got a ring on her finger yet.

However, the Virgin air hostess has just got herself freshly impregnated by millionaire actor Kelsey Grammer, the 55-year-old comic genius known to his millions of fans as Frasier.

No one yet knows if the couple met on a Virgin flight or in a Virgin lounge, but insiders are pretty certain that, wherever it was, it wasn’t in the tinned goods aisle of a West Country Lidl.

So, hurrah for Kayte! That’s one more notch on the fuselage for the upwardly mobile rise and rise of the ambitious Trolley Dolly.

At a time when so many young people with good degrees and great brains will leave university and fly straight into a jobs no-go zone, there is much to be said for the dedication with which stewards of both sexes make it their mission to sleep with the rich and famous.

It’s a terrific career opportunity; one of the best. And I mean it.

Why bother slaving over exams or embarking on a dreary accountancy apprenticeship when you can just jump straight into the sack with old Frasier and be made for life instead?

And never mind the 26-year generation gap between the couple, or the fact that Grammer is older than Kayte’s father.

The emollience of money will massage away those pesky rough edges. For the time being, at least.

And while actors may have a weakness for make-up artists, and rock stars naturally gravitate towards the simple charms of the cocktail waitresses (she’s hot, she’s got cold beers), what other trade has a better spousal hit rate than the Trolley Dolly?

You’ve got to hand it to them. The in-flight meal tray. Once you’ve finished with it, I mean.

Former air hostesses happily married to fabulous rich guys include the fragrant Lady Bamford (married to construction heir Lord Bamford, worth around ?990 million, result!) and Kate Middleton’s mother Carole, who went the traditional and classic Trolley Dolly route by marrying the first available dashing pilot who crossed her aisle (excellent stuff).

Danielle Bux, another Virgin Atlantic hostess, worked her way through assorted men before finally settling, like a bee on a sunflower, on Gary Lineker.

This paved the way to a showbiz career as a reality TV contestant (on Hell’s Kitchen) and an instant media expert on the perils of a blended family.

Well done, Danielle. You’ll never have to repeat ‘Coffee? Tea? Tea? Coffee?’ ever again. Even Sir Richard Branson’s mother, the redoubtable Eve, worked as one of the very first air hostesses before she married.

And judging by her son’s predilection for wearing women’s clothes at every opportunity, she made a big impression on him.

Of course, not every Trolley Dolly hits paydirt.

Four years ago, Quantas air hostess Lisa Robertson flew straight to social siberia when she kissed and told of having sex with actor Ralph Fiennes during a flight to India.

Lisa told the actor she liked his performance in the 1996 film The English Patient. He whined: ‘That was over ten years ago. Why don’t people value my later work?’

But not even this passion-quenching spurt of luvvie self-regard could dampen her ardour, and it was off to the lavatory without delay. Who says romance is dead?

Not Kelsey and Kayte, that’s for sure. There has been no word yet from blessed-out Kayte, but her father, the former Bristol City footballer Alan Walsh, did say: ‘I don’t know how long they have been together and I have not met him yet.’

Hmmm. I suspect that might be Dadspeak for: ‘Wait until you get home, young lady.’

However, it would take a harder heart than mine not to wish the couple the very best. Especially as Grammer has been married three times before and has yet to divorce his last wife.

Yet up there, where the air is rarefied, the course of true love must have its own share of turbulence and buffeting head winds. So well done, Kayte!

All those long-haul hours, all those fractious passengers, all those delays and the ingratitude from the oiks in row 45. All behind you now.

Doors to manual and crosscheck. Another Trolley Dolly bolts for freedom.

Once upon a time, back in the pre-blood diamond mists, I met and interviewed Naomi Campbell.

And I can testify to how much she loves and appreciates precious stones, if nothing else.

At that time, the supermodel was branching out as a novelist and pop singer. She couldn’t write or sing, but so what?

It was widely known that she didn’t actually pen a single word of her novel, Swan, which was ghost-written by author Caroline Upcher.

However, Naomi bristled at even the slightest criticism of this perfidy.

‘That girl took my tape and wrote it up for me. It is my story. People react badly to the things I do because I’m just supposed to be a dumb model,’ she said.

Yet she couldn’t remember the lyrics to the title track of her album, Babywoman.

‘Come and steal a kiss from my boogaloo … no, what is it? It’s not voodoo, um. It is come and steal a kiss from my … er … something … lips. La la … come and steal a kiss … no, I need a lyric sheet,’ she said, completely stumped.

However, what I recall most about that day, apart from Naomi’s whiny self-justification (so pronounced even then) was the fact that she ate only a plum and went a bit bonkers when she discovered she had lost one of her emerald earrings.

‘I am going back, I am going to retrace my steps every inch of the way. I’ve only had those earrings for two days,’ she cried, as her limo did a screeching U-turn on Park Lane and we sped back to her hotel suite.

‘I’m going back to my hotel room to walk over every inch of carpet to find it,’ she declared  -  which is exactly what she did. Everyone else just had to sit downstairs and wait for hours. So don’t tell me that Naomi is not a woman with a keen interest in jewels or who does not appreciate their value or worth.

No one who watched her appearance at the war crimes trial of Charles Taylor in The Hague could be in any doubt of what is important in Naomi Campbell’s life.

One might have hoped that she would be pleased to assist in such a serious and solemn matter  -  an entire country traumatised by brutality and unspeakable horrors.

But not a bit of it. Throughout her 90-minute testimony, Naomi had the mien of a woman who has just noticed that a cat has sat on her wet pedicure.

Even now, it is not over. Campbell’s publicists are claiming that the model’s discredited evidence was a PR triumph.

They even claim that her use of the word ‘inconvenient’ to describe her appearance at The Hague was ‘taken massively out of context’.

How inconvenient. But I think we all know what we saw and heard.

Are the Boris Bikes really a success? The London Mayor has launched a fleet of 5,000 cycles at 300 docking stations across the capital.

The plan is to get commuters and tourists alike on the hire bikes to ease traffic congestion.

Yet I have only ever seen people walking with them, not cycling them.

Apparently, the bikes are difficult to ride and hard to push around. If only we could say the same things about Boris himself!

There are limits to my tolerance for celebrity self-obsession. And actress Teri Hatcher has just breached them.

The Desperate Housewives star has posted photos of herself online.

She is in her bathroom, stripped of make-up and wrinkling up her face to prove she’s not had surgery or Botox.

It’s just another of her ways  -  and she has millions of them  -  of saying: Look how fabulous I am.

Teri, how can I put this to you without screaming until my throat bleeds or seeming unnecessarily rude?

Nobody cares, Teri. Absolutely nobody.

Even worse, the great loon tries to pretend that she is not doing this because her fascination with herself is endless and bottomless.

No, she is doing it for the greater good of womanhood. She is doing it for US.

On her internet page, she wrote: ‘I am alone in my bathroom naked in a towel on behalf of women everywhere trying to make a point. Women , YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL.’

And Teri, you are a bore.

Next month, Tony Blair will embark on a book-signing exercise to promote his memoirs, A Journey.

What a moment in his life. All those years in Government and Opposition were just a rehearsal for this: the very real business of making as much money as possible out of being Tony Blair PLC, the world’s highest paid public speaker.

How does he even have the nerve? It beats me. Potential customers have been told that taking photos of Blair at the book signing is forbidden.

Nor will Blair autograph their book with a personal dedication. And buying the book in the first place is no guarantee that he will even sign it.

Yes, that’s the kind of Blair behaviour we are used it. His tenure in British public life has certainly been A Journey. For us all.

So if David Cameron is middle class, what does that make Zara Phillips?

In last night’s TV programme to mark the 60th birthday of her mother, the Princess Royal, Zara talked as if she was born with a jellied eel in her mouth, not a silver spoon.

There were moments when she sounded like an Essex hairdresser. Honest guv, she did.

Not that there is anything wrong with that. It’s just surprising coming from the Queen’s granddaughter.

Of course, Zara’s pure dead-common tones are a total affectation considering her background, education and easy access to butlers.

No one else in her family, including Mum, Dad and dim bulb brother Peter, speaks with such a pronounced Estuary accent.

And if there is anything worse than a fraud trying to posh up, it is a toff trying to posh down.

However, Zara  -  a royal rebel who once pierced her tongue  -  remains one of the more popular members of the Royal family.

Could the glum Windsors learn anything from her common touch?