Guinevere, it's good of you to ask. Well, I have had thoughts of becoming a world statesman. Probably for the UK, but I would be willing to settle for Holland or Switzerland or the U.N. if the UK doesn't pan out. Definitely not Namibia, though. The USA? Perish the thought! I'm not stupid enough to take on that job.

Failing the world statesman's career, I rather fancy the thought of being a male model for one of the more prestigious lines of English clothing. Tasteful stuff only, you understand. I've always thought that I looked just a wee bit like Roger Moore when I dress the part and the lights are dimmed a little. It's the cheekbones. I've got Roger Moore cheekbones. Too bad about the chin. But...there's always plastic surgery, isn't there? And if I was to land a fat contract modelling the more, shall we say, rugged look of the common working man then I could put some of my earnings away and get a proper chin job. Then, look out world!

These are the dreams I hold dear. The other dream of my youth was to marry a ravishingly beautiful and morally upright young woman who would make my life into a sort of domestic paradise. That one has eluded me thus far, but I have succeeded in garnering massive amounts of rejection in pursuit of it, so it's not all bad.