Georgia May Jagger has won model of the year at the British Fashion Awards. You don't get that for nothin'. You get it for being the model who's contributed the most to the international scene in the past year.

No, don't start telling me that models don't contribute nothin' to no scene. For a start, that would make you a grammatical refugee. GM Jagger has contributed plenty - plentiful lips, plenty of gap-toothed pouts, plenty of front row seat warming and plenty of stopping us from talking about the fecking Geldof sprogs.

Do I sound a bit drunk? I am a bit drunk - drunk on excitement for the future of beautiful people everywhere who shtoop rich musos. What hope, what glorious faith those beautiful shaggers must have now for the careers and opportunities of future off-spring. Breed with madly rich and succesful musos - no, not indie, poor hipsters - and your progeny will be glamorous, award-winning, front-row guests with houses on Ibiza to which you can retire once your looks have faded.

So at just 17, with thanks to her langurous Texan mother Jerry and loose-hipped Dad Mick she has modelling contracts with Hudson jeans, Rimmel London and Versace and an award to prove what a great breeding pair that former couple made. Long live this superficial tradition, without which we would have no 17 year olds of note making "a difference to the international scene."