Kimberly becomes a Fortier - but she's really still a Quinn

If you thought Boris Johnson's departure would be enough to allow The Spectator to draw a line under the so-called "Sextator" affair, think again.

The magazine's publisher Kimberly Quinn is suffering from an identity crisis that has ushered the ghost of scandals past back down the chimney of its Doughty Street office.

In mid-December, the comely brunette, right, was the subject of renewed tittle-tattle after she changed her name back to Fortier, her first husband's surname, on the masthead of the Speccie's Christmas issue.

This was seen as significant, since Quinn had made a point of using the name of her current hubby, Vogue publisher Stephen, since news of her affair with David Blunkett broke in 2004.

However, in the magazine's latest issue, her moniker has reverted to normal. And I now gather that staff have been sternly ordered to ensure that it remains that way in the next edition, which goes to print later today.

So what's going on? Fleet Street gossips have already wondered if the ongoing confusion reflects further rumblings of discord in the Quinns' marital home. However, the truth is somewhat more prosaic.

"We've heard the jokes about Kimberly's identity being even more complicated than her kids'," says my Doughty Street mole. "In fact, it was a printing error: a fat-fingered staffer used an old template for our Christmas special.

"They've had a proper bollocking and it won't happen again. She's Kimberly Quinn from now on."

* Few couples have so thrilled the genealogists of modern celebrity as John Lennon's son Sean, and Tamara Beckwith's daughter, Anouska.

Sad, then, to report that the elegant pair - scions of two noted dynasties - have suddenly decided to go their separate ways.

Confirming rumours of a split, Beckwith's agent said yesterday: "Anouska and Sean are just friends."

The news, which comes after Anouska moved to New York (where Lennon lives) will come as a great shock to her socialite mother, with whom she is pictured.

In November, Tamara told me rumours of a falling-out were "total and utter nonsense".

"They are both very happy," she said. "In fact, they just spent the weekend in the country with Sean's mother, Yoko Ono."

Back then, six months into the liaison, Beckwith Snr could think of no more splendid prospect than perhaps one day being related to the colourful and charming Yoko Ono. But now it is all over.

*John Leslie is returning to TV two years after he was booted off This Morning's sofa for taking cocaine.

In a few days, the brassy Scotsman will take part in a BBC documentary called My Childhood in which he visits a psychologist to see if infant experiences contributed to this (and other) problems in adulthood.

Aside from revealing that Leslie, right, was once engaged to Catherine Zeta-Jones in the 1990s - how have the mighty fallen! - it reminds us how he was later wrongly accused (charges were dropped) of indecent assault.

"The shrink will conclude that this downfall stemmed from an incident at primary school when Leslie was caught stealing a half-eaten Mars bar," says a BBC source.

"As excuses go, it's certainly inventive. But I'm not sure it would stand up in court."

* Piers Morgan has always been careful to prevent details of his occasionally colourful love life entering the public domain.

Until now, that is. For in this week's Easy Living, the former red-top editor contributes to an article on that old chestnut: "Does size matter?"

Asked about a straw poll of female readers, which suggests that it jolly well does, Morgan comments: "Slightly above average, and with a skilled and energetic technique, will keep any woman happy.

"Small dicks and huge dicks bring frustration and surgery. That's why I'm so in demand."

Hmm. Does anyone out there have reason to disagree?

* Paul Daniels has tossed a magisterial two penn'orth into the topical debate over political correctness.

Discussing his current stage show - Sleeping Beauty, in Peterborough - he complains that (in a break from tradition) Prince Charming wasn't cast as a leggy young woman.

"There isn't any thigh slapping in our panto, as the Prince is played by a man," he notes. "I think political correctness, known around here as 'lack of common sense', has crept into panto."

Elsewhere in his internet journal, Daniels describes how he finishes the show by doing a "linking ring" routine with a small child.

"I like to use a girl of about seven," he says. "But staff in this theatre are simply not experienced in the art of panto. For the first show, I got a five year-old Iranian boy with a lisp. Not even close."

Where did it all go wrong?