And yet I feel I should try as over the last few years I have lost a great deal and If I give up writing and my freedom to express I will lose even more.
And I can't allow that to happen. I have always been a creative. I will probably die creatively - perhaps while parachuting into France on a horse.
Anyway, by the end of the year, I suspect my life will have changed even more and I will need to think creatively if I am to support myself and my children. So I might as well start now.
So the obvious solution is I could shack up with a rich man. That would solve a few problems. But how? At 52 the odds are stacked against me finding anyone who doesn't look like corpse since Jerry Hall has already snapped up Rupert Murdoch and Amal has got her teeth into Gorgeous George. That just leaves only Prince Harry, Tom Hiddleston and Tom Cruise as eligible bachelors. I've got to be honest, even though HRH and I are pretty tight I don't think she'll want me as a daughter-in-law. For a start, the balcony at Buckingham Palace might collapse during a fly-past if I was required for an official waving session. And my big gob could be potentially very embarrassing at state occasions. Plus I'm old enough to be Harry's mum as I would be for the dishy Tom Hiddleston.
So that just leaves my arch nemesis Tom Cruise as a potential mate.
God, just how unfortunate can a woman be? The one available man who is old enough for me is a nutter who believes in little green men and wears platforms heels.
Still one can't be too picky at my age. Anyway, I reckon Tom has a good sense of humour so he won't have taken all my jokes on this blog seriously. After all, they were only little jokes. And Tom needs a woman with a sense of humour to counteract all his serious thinking. I could even help him build up his muscles for his next Mission Impossible role by feeding him up with British delicacies like fish and chips and pie and mash. In fact, I'm fairly sure I could win him over just by throwing myself out of a multi-storey wearing only a harness and a t-shirt which says "Tom for US President."
So the obvious solution is I could shack up with a rich man. That would solve a few problems. But how? At 52 the odds are stacked against me finding anyone who doesn't look like corpse since Jerry Hall has already snapped up Rupert Murdoch and Amal has got her teeth into Gorgeous George. That just leaves only Prince Harry, Tom Hiddleston and Tom Cruise as eligible bachelors. I've got to be honest, even though HRH and I are pretty tight I don't think she'll want me as a daughter-in-law. For a start, the balcony at Buckingham Palace might collapse during a fly-past if I was required for an official waving session. And my big gob could be potentially very embarrassing at state occasions. Plus I'm old enough to be Harry's mum as I would be for the dishy Tom Hiddleston.
So that just leaves my arch nemesis Tom Cruise as a potential mate.
God, just how unfortunate can a woman be? The one available man who is old enough for me is a nutter who believes in little green men and wears platforms heels.
Still one can't be too picky at my age. Anyway, I reckon Tom has a good sense of humour so he won't have taken all my jokes on this blog seriously. After all, they were only little jokes. And Tom needs a woman with a sense of humour to counteract all his serious thinking. I could even help him build up his muscles for his next Mission Impossible role by feeding him up with British delicacies like fish and chips and pie and mash. In fact, I'm fairly sure I could win him over just by throwing myself out of a multi-storey wearing only a harness and a t-shirt which says "Tom for US President."
Well lets' face it - even Tom's got more political savvy than Trump. And Tom can even fly a plane!
Okay, so it was only in a movie. But he was darn good in Top Gun. Tom's flying ability alone would definitely get him through the first electoral eliminations.
And with a British Rose by his side it would be easy route all the way to The White House. Then, once he's elected, I could leave him to do all that political warmongering stuff whilst I hang out in The White House hot tub.
Hmm. Sounds like a good trade-off to me.
Hmm. Sounds like a good trade-off to me.
Right. I have a plan of action. Now all I need to do is lose half my bodyweight and stock up on perfume to spray on my love letters.
I think I'll go for Poison by Dior.
