I resolve . . . to remain rich

The year 2010 certainly didn't last long. Time flies when you're having fun, doesn't it? What do you mean, you aren't having fun? Who cares about you! This is my column. Anyway, it feels like only yesterday that this country had a deluded prime minister, a divided government and a lightweight chancellor . . . Hold on, it was yesterday.

Nevertheless we have reached that point in the year when we are expected to make our resolutions, a tradition I keenly support, because I wasn't born disgustingly rich and richly disgusting; I resolved to become so. You may be surprised that a libertine like my noble self should give such hostages to fortune, but my resolve is my fortune, as it says in Latin on the door of my Rolls, the flank of my hunter and the buttock of my masseuse.

Therefore in a spirit of sincerity I resolve in 2011 to:

End my affair with Carla Bruni. Having to listen to her self-indulgent, overrated busking is too high a price to pay for the stupendous sex - she'll just have to get the stupendous sex from someone else.

Speaking of sex, reluctantly I shall have to give up organising orgies for Silvio Berlusconi. His hair may be 45, but his eyesight is 75, and last week he looked at me in a very peculiar way and called me his little zabaglione. Too risky.

Staying with sport, I have decided to become president of Fifa, the richest and least accountable organisation in the world. Even Rupert Murdoch's papers think it's corrupt.

Of course, it will mean getting rid of Septic Bladder, but that shouldn't be difficult. He's an old man, so I'll just kill him with kindness. I'll ply him with foie gras, Lafite 1949, naughty girls and a Bugatti Veyron. I doubt he'll last the month.

The Post Office will be up for sale next year. I think I'll buy it. I loved playing post offices when I was little. I used to creep downstairs as soon as I heard the letter box, take all the post into my room and ransack it for cash and postal orders. There were 50 students in my hall of residence so it was a profitable exercise; when they ran out of cash because money promised from home hadn't materialised, I was able to help them out with small loans at modest rates of interest - never more than 5 per cent per week. I'm sure I can apply the same principles to Post Office privatisation.

Finally, I resolve to give up the dreary British winter. I'm spending the next couple of months cruising on my two yachts. "Why two?" you ask, ignorantly. "Because I keep one in each hemisphere," I answer curtly. Otherwise I might be stuck in the Caribbean when the action is occurring in the Pacific.

Incidentally, it's not true that ocean-going yachts are terrifyingly expensive to run - not when you lease them half the year to Somali pirates. See you in the spring.

As told to Marks and Gran

This article first appeared in the 03 January 2011 issue of the New Statesman, The siege of Gaza