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."
Hmm. Sounds like a good trade-off to me.
I think I'll go for Poison by Dior.