Cindy looked like a bloke in a frock.

It wasn't just the dresses that set tongues wagging in Paris this week.

Gossip was rife as supermodels mingled with Hollywood celebrities at the round of fashion shows and parties. Here's my diary...

SUNDAY: It's only a week since all the cool cats of the fashion world were knee-deep in mud at the Glastonbury festival. Now we're knee-deep in plush red carpet at Versace's glamorous show at the Paris Ritz.

"Vive la difference!" shouts Mimi Spencer, my gal pal and fashion editor at the London Standard, as we gaze in amazement at Demi Moore's enormous cleavage.

Every time she leans forward to admire an outfit on the catwalk, those whopping silicone boobs almost escape her low-cut top - and snapper Richard Young is poised precariously close to catch the moment.

The hot gossip is whether Demi and handsome Romeo And Juliet star Leonardo DiCaprio are more than just good friends, as they studiously avoid each other across the salon. Leonardo, 22, was linked to her while they were filming together in Mexico. Everyone says he has never been to these shows before.

But forget Demi - I'm sure he keeps looking at me.

Later, Versace celebrates with a glittering party at the Ritz Club, where all the models swank around in tiny gold chain-mail togas and I wear my best jacket from Oxfam.

The evening is "fabulous, darling" until the Russian model Irina begins to show off her skills at the piano and a huge blob of candle wax spills all over her pounds 10,000 frock. Despite all the commotion, I note that Leonardo's definitely got his eye on me.

MONDAY: The big show is Givenchy, and "bad boy" of British fashion Alexander McQueen is showing off his couture range.

Horror upon horrors, I don't have a ticket - but after being pushed aside by one Gucci suit after another, I'm finally fished out of the heaving crowd of nobodies into the inner sanctum - the medical museum of the university.

Naomi Campbell looks stunning in a low-cut green leather coat dress and enormous wig.

She's obviously over her recent "suicide" scare, but there's no sign of her handsome boyfriend, Spanish dancer Joaquin Cortes.

He's probably at my hotel, bribing the concierge to hand over my room number, but hopefully Leonardo has got there first.

Dinner at the super- trendy Buddha Bar is a gourmet delight - except for the wafer-thin models opposite, who push a noodle around their plate and then rush to the loo.

TUESDAY: Galliano's collection for Dior is being shown miles away from the city centre in a gigantic conservatory in the Bois de Boulogne. It's like a splendid garden party, with everyone sipping champagne and wearing silly straw boaters.

We're melting in the 90-degree heat as I plonk myself on a gilt chair that amazingly has my name on it, not realising that I can see the models only from the eyes up. American model Shalom Harlow has the best outfit of the day.

While Helena Christen-sen and Eva Herzigova gasp for breath in crippling tight corsets, Shalom causes a near-riot among the photographers as she poses in a sheer gold gauze dress, exposing both breasts and a very cheeky bottom.

Back in Paris, I nearly lose a toe in the crush to get into the Valentino show at the Grand Hotel.

Everyone has glazed over with sheer tiredness by the time Cindy Crawford hits the catwalk, looking like a bloke in a frock compared to the latest band of skinny supermodels.

Her Fatima Whitbread-style muscles ripple under a pounds 20,000 silver diamante gown.

If that's what working out does for you, I'll burn Cindy's exercise video when I get home.

Later, I drop in at Galliano's exclusive little party at the Bain Douche nightclub. Leonardo is there again, passing the time flirting with stunning models until I arrive.

But Demi Moore's there, too. I retire gracefully before I fall off my platform shoes.

WEDNESDAY: I check out the Yves St Laurent show in the gilded salon at the Intercontinental Hotel.

The photographers are getting really bored and send a wind-up mouse down the catwalk - which is nowhere near as scary as some of the facelifts in the front row.

After a swanky dinner at Le Reconfort with the in-crowd, I pop into the Givenchy party at the Cabaret Club where - yes, you've guessed it - that luscious Leonardo DiCaprio is there again. I swoon as he whispers in my ear: "I saw you in London at Browns - you were with the most gorgeous model I've ever seen. Can I have her number?"

Oh, well, you can't win them all.

THURSDAY: Yippee! Today it's Chanel, Christian Lacroix, Thierry Mugler - and then the Eurostar back to good old London, where I'll be happy to hang up my notebook and get a retread for my Prada shoes.

And who knows, maybe Leonardo will bring the most gorgeous friend with him when he comes to London at the weekend ....