Two years ago, this scenario seemed so natural. His was a star in the ascendant, she was an inveterate starfucker. It was nothing to me to just accept that it was happening and just get on with me life.

But I just realised: Kate Moss is a stunningly beautiful supermodel with [relatively] above average business nous. And as I write Pete Wossisname is probably huddled under some bridge; surrounded by a pile of rizlas; his face ravaged by tick bites and carpet burns. His royalties frittered, genitals shrivelled, Libertines: shit, Babyshambles: See Libertines (add uncaring session musicians). Desperately trying to remember which night bus takes him back to his flat in London's trendy east end. Though where exactly in the east end he lives, Pete has long since forgotten.

I sit here thinking about this and the realisation hits me: I need to sort out my life.