Paris Hilton’s Phone

Hilton's T-Mobile Sidekick device was seemingly hacked in to at the weekend and its contents spreadeagled across the world wide web, along with a message from the hackers: "I'm Sorry Bitch :) GG FGT SLT BTCH! HACKED BY THE NIGGAS AT DFNCTSC". Naturally, the Secret Service has been in hot pursuit, shutting down offending websites wherever possible, though one fears that this is a task akin to keeping moles off one's garden lawn: they keep popping up again. The celebrity world has been in mild chaos ever since.

One imagines Hilton is bereft without her mobile. Indeed, in the seminal One Night in Paris, she was famously shown answering her phone in flagrante. From this we can conclude one of two things: a) that Mr Solomons does not give good conversation; or b) that Paris's mobile is enormously important to her.

After a brief but intriguing glimpse into the life of the world's premier party girl, one might well assume the latter. Hilton's life is sprawled across her address book - numbers for her favourite restaurants, airlines, bars, not to mention parents, doctors and celebrity companions. There are photos from her phone's built-in camera showing blurred kisses, diary notes reminding her to book spray tans and private jets to Vegas, take morning-after pills and tell her friends the latest gossip about "Jess trying to bone JT", alongside such enthralling messages as: "Welsome back to gamma? I think gamsy wants a little kiss Its a gamma tradition Gamsy is waiting", and "House house fix it buzz kill", not to mention: "Do you wanna leave soon, ill pretend I have 2 go pee and u wait 3 mins than come by yourself to the back entrance".

Initially, this does not prove very fruitful. I try Paris at home but the telephone rings and rings and rings without answer. It's the same at Victoria Gotti's. Perhaps they are out together, enjoying a latte, a slice of carrot cake and a bit of a chat. I call Paris's mom and her sister, Nicky, but both numbers appear to have been disconnected. It's a similar situation with Eminem, Anna Kournikova, Avril Lavigne, Pharrell, Lil John, Andy Roddick, Mark Philippoussis, Ashlee Simpson and Bijou Phillips.

I try Hollywood action hero Vin Diesel. It goes straight to answerphone: "Hey, it's Vin Diesel," growls the message. "I'm a really bad actor. And a total douche-bag. Leave a message." I want to ask Vin what a douche-bag is, but his voicemail is full. As is Limp Bizkit frontman Fred Durst's, but he gives us the option of paging him. I do, but he doesn't call back. Actress Lindsay Lohan has yet to get back to us, but I did enjoy her message: "BURRRRRP I'm a whore... BURRRRRP I'm a whore... Leave your message after the tone."

Despite the not unlikely prospect that these messages have been tampered with, I remain fundamentally optimistic about the enterprise. The model Amber Valetta sounds more promising, and may yet return my call. "I'll be out of town til March 3rd," she purrs in her voice message, "so if you'd like to leave a message, please do so. If it's urgent, please say so. Otherwise I'll talk to you when I get back." Valetta laughs coquettishly before adding, "Have the best day." "Hi, Amber," I say, "it's me. I got your number off Paris and thought I'd just call for a chat... about... stuff... you know?"

But what do I have to say to supermodels and Hollywood superstars? Sure, it's easy to be dazzled by the famous names, the Pammie Andersons, the Ashlee Simpsons, but I figure we have very little in common, apart from Paris, obviously. We'll always have Paris.

So I try a new tack and aim for the slightly less famous. Just what kind of doctor is Dr Randy Harris? Plastic surgeon, gynaecologist, common or garden GP? "Thank you for calling the office of Dr Randy Harris," sing-songs the answerphone. "If this is a life-threatening emergency, please hang up and call 911. If your call is an emergency or if you are a patient in labour, press 2." I really, really want to speak to Dr Randy, but decide that it is not, strictly speaking, an emergency. Instead I call Dr Pat. "Hi, you've reached the office of Dr Pat. The office is now closed." The recording runs through options for emergency calls, how to leave a message, and which button to press for the hotline for production companies with an urgent medical-related query. Only in Hollywood.

The anonymous-sounding Rachel, Paige, "Sh" and X have all barred incoming calls, so I try Sonya. After three rings she answers. "Sonya?" I inquire. "HULLO?" she bellows. She is somewhere noisy - pop music is blaring and, perhaps, a hairdryer. "Sonya?" I say again. "HULLO?" "Hi Sonya, it's Laura from London." There is a pause. "Oh, hi!" she says, her voice a delightful blend of puzzlement and enthusiasm. "How are you doing?" I ask. "I'm fine. Errr, what is this regarding?" Well, I'm just calling Paris Hilton's friends to see how how they are today. "Oh well, I'm fine. Good," she says politely, before evidently being struck by the weirdness of my call. "Errr. Thanks. Bye." She hangs up.

I am spurred by this success, and dial a number for what Paris has labelled "Customer care". It is the customer support line for T-Mobile. "Stacey speaking, how can I help you today?" a voice says sunnily. I explain my endeavour to Stacey and ask how her day is. "It's going good, thank you." Has she been doing anything of note? "I'm just working, answering phones," she answers brightly, before explaining that she finishes work at 4.30 and will then head home to look after her six-month-old daughter. Has Paris called today, I wonder? "No," she says. "I haven't had any interesting calls today... Anyway," she adds, politely but firmly, "it was nice talking to you." Thank you, Stacey, I say. It was nice talking to you, too. And if you see her, send my regards to Paris.

Identity theft: how the hackers got in

It may not help Paris in her current phonebook-less state, but she seems to have fallen victim to the latest trend in hacking; blue-snarfing. In recent months, there has been increasing concern over the phenomenon, which, simply put, means using wireless Bluetooth technology used to connect phones to headsets, laptops and other gadgets to get access to people's private data by the back door.

"The tools you need run on a standard laptop," explain Adam Laurie, technical director of security firm the Bunker. "There are even tools that can be run on phones. And with a special antenna, the range can be extended to a mile."

Snarfers are able to scan for nearby phones and hack into those that are vulnerable. In theory it is difficult to attack specific phones, but by following an individual, they can pinpoint potential victims. "You can do it from a car following the target's car, or from the next room. If you knew they were in a restaurant - say Paris Hilton was in the Ivy - then you could do it to them while standing outside."

Once a hacker has exploited cracks in your phone's security, they see every piece of information on your phone, including contacts, text messages and camera snaps. "Once I have access, I can take full control of your phone," says Laurie. "I can tell it to call me - turning it into the perfect bugging device - or I can even enable it as a tracking device."

However, Paris could also have fallen victim to a traditional hacking attempt. Her phone - a T-Mobile Sidekick II model, not available in the UK - housed most of its information on a server elsewhere. Last week 22-year-old Californian Nicholas Jacobsen pleaded guilty to hacking into the T-Mobile network. Jacobsen said he had access to information the telephone records of government agents for more than a year, and now faces up to five years in prison.

Such are the growing concerns about security in certain quarters that it's not unkown for people to remove the batteries from their phones during meetings to stop them being listened in on. The advice from the experts is simple: protect your phone with a password or Pin number, be careful when transferring data to your phone, and contact your network for the latest security updates. But the only way to avoid the threat to your privacy is simply not to have one in the first place.