So Paris Hilton went home. Briefly. Three days in jail and she was a sobbing, snivelling mess. Some say she was allowed to go home because a staph infection was sweeping through the jail; others say it was because she was on the brink of a nervous breakdown.
And not surprisingly, the ordinary folk were furious.
Widely regarded as a symbol of silliness and excess, Hilton had been sentenced to serve three weeks in prison after violating her probation on drink-driving charges. Her excuse, that she didn't know the conditions of her probation because she had people who read those things for her, didn't wash with the judge and so off to jail she went.
She spent three days alone in her cell, a room undoubtedly smaller than one in which she keeps her shoe collection. And, given her well-documented history, I'd imagine being alone with her thoughts would have been far more scary for Hilton than any cavity search.
Without loud music to fill the empty space between her ears, without cellphones on which to prattle to her own kind, without the ability to read - there was no one there to do it for her - how would she cope? The answer is, she didn't. Paris Hilton went doolally. And so then she went home with an electronic bracelet around her ankle to monitor her every movement. Until a judge came to his senses and ordered her back. Time will tell whether she will learn anything from this - I rather think that the only way reality will bite will be when she loses her youth or her money.
