Where's a gay husband when you need one...?

Stuck for anything to watch last night on TV, and too apathetic to do anything more constructive, Bill and I half-heartedly watched half of Kylie Minogue's White Diamond.

Kylie, beautiful and petite as ever, was revealed in all her, for want of a better word, 'niceness' - no star-studded tantrums, no footage of her making unreasonable demands of her gigantic hard working crew. In fact no 'warts' at all. Just sequins.

Perhaps this reflects the fact that the film was made by Kylie's very own 'gay husband', close friend and companion, who would understandably want to portray his close buddy in the best possible light as she makes her comeback after a difficult interruption by cancer. Perhaps it simply reflects that she is just a thoroughly nice girl.

But having said that, I should imagine it is much easier being a thoroughly nice girl when you have an entourage of assistants and a sprinkling of gay husbands to help you out. Exhausted after the first night of her comeback, Kylie flops, face down, onto a luxurious fluffy sheepskin. Her voice over says she was too exhausted to do anything, couldn't even open her eyes or make conversation. He darling gay husband is on hand to witness the moment for us all from behind the camera. And nobody disturbs her. It is a truly serene moment.

What joy it must be to have such undisturbed moments of peace. Ok, so she lives her life in the peculiar bubble-world that is showbiz - unable to do her own shopping or order a round at the local pub for fear of being spotted and crushed in a clammer of well-meaning and not-so-well-meaning people eager to get close. And she is recovering from a serious, horrific and life-threatening illness. But to be able to literally stop the world by just closing you eyes and lying face down in a rug commands a control over the everyday that is beyond the reach of most ordinary mortals whatever our circumstances.

So I've decided the solution to all my problems would be a gay husband - or perhaps a small collection of them. I will have a gay husband in the kitchen to prepare fantastically exciting meals for me and do the washing up afterwards (ok, so I have a straight husband who does this, but he does tend to expect me to do it occassionally). I will have a gay husband in the bedroom who will be on hand to bring me my morning cuppa and always respect my unquestionable need to wrap myself in the duvet like a swiss roll (he will bring his own duvet). I will have a general gay man-about-the-house husband, who will keep the place looking lovely and give me encouraging smiles and hugs whenever we meet. I will have a gay husband at work to keep all those troublesome problems at bay without me ever having to know about them.

And most importantly I will have a bubble-gay-husband. It will be the important job of my bubble-gay-husband to allow me to collapse at the end of a busy day, face down into my not so fluffy rug and ignore the world completely. He will act as a barrier between me and the kids, between me and my real husband, and between me and my other gay husbands who may be flocking around trying to do helpful things for me. He will siphon off unwanted interruptions from telephones, email, door-to-door canvassers and work. And he will do all this whilst gazing adoringly at me from a safe distance.

Yes, I think with the help of my band of gay husbands, the world might look a much more manageable place.

And Bill, well he agrees too and can't wait for them to start work. Says they'll make his life a lot easier too.

I should be so lucky, lucky, lucky, lucky...

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