Being birthed is fantastic practice for the A-list excitement to come. It's remarkably similar, in a lot of ways, to getting out of a limo at a Leicester Square premiere - the bright lights, the screaming, the red carpet (or a placenta-stained sheet). You'll be beautiful in 1,000 different ways - seeing you in Hello! will make civilians feel they're falling from a great height. If you're a twin, try and be the best one - the Mary Kate, not the Ashley. You'll be panic-named, either after the day you were born or the translation of the tribal symbol on your mother's coccyx. Your vomit will be mopped with clean £5 notes, as you'll have revived the fortunes of struggling gossip magazines whose £14m (you can haggle - that's the Jolie-Pitt fee) will be well spent on your first pictures. Your cries will be muffled by the shoulder of a nanny, and then by the thick walls of your birth château, but cry you will - your best-selling record, clothing line and biopic won't make themselves.