It gets so that one can't even walk down the street without being set upon by hordes of delightful darlings all keen on getting to know me in the flesh (or en flagrantly as I believe the infamous Frenchy nation of lovers-not-fighters has it).
And it's not just the impingement on my freedom either. It is of course entirely unfair on these luscious loverlies - I could not attend to all of them and their many and various wants, not with the best willy in the world. There just isn't enough of me to go round yet.
This regrettably enjoyable turn of events has left me with no option but to instigate - at my own enormous expensivity - a process whereby the parties doing the chasing of me must go through a rigorous selection procedure. This involves a presentation on a subject of my choosing - e.g. "lovin' it up big time with a celebrity" (such as myself), followed by a mock media appearance - asking such questions as "are you prepared to dress up as a woman monkey?", and a panel interview against a strict job description and personification specification.
The successful candidates are then invited onto live television (BBC Radio Six) to take part in a revival of that old favourite 'Blind Date', where they are put through their paces in spoken smut and sauciness.
I, of course, am far too busy a-lovin' and a-so-forth to dirty my hands with this broadcasting processing of the hopefuls, so I am delighted to have volunteered the ever-grumpy Beattie. Well, who else would know my foibles in such glowing detail?
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