Real life | 25 August 2012

Being the girlfriend of the world’s most devastatingly handsome gay celebrity nutritionist has its disadvantages.

I know, how could that statement possibly be true? What could be more divine for a girl than lounging by a Spanish poolside with an eye-wateringly handsome, gallant, kind, generous, caring, courteous, accomplished, witty and charming forty-something gay man and his similarly attributed friends?

For the first few days it was very heaven. He and his first handsome, gallant, kind, caring male gay house guest treated me like a princess. I didn’t lift a finger. They laid a fresh, immaculately laundered beige Ralph Lauren towel on my sun lounger every morning and then lay down either side of me on their sun loungers, draped with matching beige Ralph Lauren towels.

They fetched me glasses of fizzy water with twists of lime in them. They prepared me lunches of lightly grilled meat and salad and in the evening escorted me, in precision-ironed chinos and polo shirts smelling lightly of Jo Malone grapefruit shower gel, to dinner at elegant restaurants in the harbour, where, truly, we could have passed for a photoshoot.