Tall stories

ANYONE who saw footage of the launch party for Dubai’s newest hotel, the Atlantis, the other week knows they don’t do things by halves.

This was more than a bit of a do, as the bill came to £7m.

Piers Morgan overpowers us with figures during his tour of Dubai which, in 20 years, has been transformed from a desert to an oasis of stone, marble and glass, complete with man-made palm-shaped island.

If there is an economic downturn – and, to his credit, Morgan asks a few people about it – then no one is talking about it and the wealth on show indicates it has yet to have an effect.

There are 120,000 Brits among the 1.3 million people living in Dubai. Five out of six people are foreigners. But where to live? Rent a four-bedroom detached house half-an-hour inland for £32,000 a year?

Or, for a real sea view, buy yourself one of the 300 islands, made from redistributed seabed, that replicate countries of the world when seen from above (in your own personal helicopter, I assume).

“This is absolutely ridiculous,” says Morgan in a rare moment when it’s possible to agree with him.

Morgan meets two men who have bought England. They’ve paid over 50 million (I missed whether it was pounds or dollars – it’s still a lot of dosh either way) for what amounts to a load of sand.

Don’t worry about their future.

They plan to build 100 luxury villas on island England that will make them about a $450m profit.

Morgan goes to see a property on sale for £17m. Once a heliport is added, clients using it will be billionaires, not millionaires.

You could stay at the world’s only seven-star hotel, where the best room will set you back £12,000 a night. It comes complete with a white Rolls Royce and manservant.

As well as the world’s biggest shopping centre, Dubai boasts the world’s tallest building. It’s still growing.

Morgan ventures up to the 160th floor and asks one of the construction workers: “Does it wobble?”. The final height is still literally top secret.

There is a downside – and not just the arrival of Gary Rhodes on a mission to spread the word about British cooking. This is a Muslim country, although outsiders with their quirky ways – like drinking alcohol and homosexuality – are tolerated as long as they do it indoors. But be warned: last year 230 Brits ended up in prison for breaking the law.

Some people are conspicuous by their absence. Morgan makes no attempt to meet locals. The rich and the glamorous are the only names in his contacts book.

BACK in Blighty, policemen are treading the pavement on “the toughest beat in Britain” in Soho Blues. They need all their investigative powers when a man is reported to have fallen seven storeys from the top of a building.

But where has he landed? They have to go to the top themselves and shine a torch down to discover he fell through a glass roof. Then they have to break into the shop where he landed.

Miraculously, he’s not only alive but able to walk to the ambulance unassisted.

Considering they’re on patrol in Soho, an area of London noted for sleazy joints like sex shops and hostess bars, the coppers get some boring jobs. Unless you count the seven rubber- gloved policeman who strip search a suspect at the police station.

My ears pricked up when I heard the narrator talk about tourists playing with the policemen’s helmets, but this turned out to be just a photo opportunity.

The police also have to be social workers. PC Neil Connor advises punters in hostess bars about the extortionate prices. An Australian is alarmed to be given a bill for £390 after visiting such an establishment.

“I just wanted an orange juice,” he says.

“The nearest place to buy one is Tesco for 45p,” the policeman advises him