Well, Jenny's in London for a while, so to mitigate the appalling loneliness (especially now I'm jobless), my dear friend Voluptua is hanging out with me and keeping me up to date with all the celeb gossip.
But she's such an awful tease. She will insist on showing me her new enlarged bosom and her pink lacy underwear, and I have to keep telling her it really isn't appropriate, I'm a happily married man and I have to resist temptation.
I'm forced to keep the bedroom permanently locked to prevent her draping herself provocatively on the four-poster bed and eyeing certain parts of my body suggestively. If this goes on, I might be compelled to end a beautiful friendship and show her the door.
The last time Jenny returned from one of her trips, she discovered several intimate items of Voluptua's and dreadful scenes ensued. I was confined to the garden shed for a week and allowed only bread and water. She simply didn't believe I was going through one of my transvestite phases. The lipstick just isn't your colour, she said.
So now I really have to watch my step and resist Voluptua's delectable body, or there'll be hell to pay. I'll find my bags have been packed and thrown into the front garden.
Voluptua and I are sticking to strictly respectable activities, mainly involving lines of white powder and extensive online gambling. Fortunately she's agreed to foot the bill to celebrate her lucrative modelling contract with New U Beauty Salons.
This shameless hedonism will as usual have to be followed up with a week's retreat at the Sacred Order of Divine Bliss to unscramble my delirious brain. Luckily the nuns know just what I need.
Photo: Voluptua is suddenly camera-shy.