`I will not stare at beautiful women and wish I was a lesbian'

I will not automatically assume that a man is gay simply because he is handsome and amusing, works out, is extraordinarily well-dressed and knows all the words to "Ooh Ahh, Just a Little Bit". Well, he could merely be pretending to be gay, couldn't he?

I will wind down my campaign to have the Lycra declared an endangered species.

In deference to his heartfelt plea for privacy and painful sensitivity on the subject, I will no longer describe my dear, close friend David as "tragically single". Not to his face.

Mind you ... Anyone who wants to date the nicest, sweetest and most thoroughly house-broken Jewish sex god in captivity - trust me, your mother will love him - should write to me here at `The Independent', as I could do with a laugh.

I will not scare the other men at the gym by chanting "I must/ I must/I must increase my bust".

I will quit blaming my mother for making my brothers heterosexual.

I will not blow an entire day shopping for one simple black T-shirt.

I will not spend half my annual income on products containing liposomes. (Note: make 1997 the year you find out what a liposome is.)

I will stop treating straight men like remedial children.

Scratch that.

I promise not to snigger all the way through Platoon - again.

I will not confuse songs heard at four in the morning at The Fridge with real life. This applies particularly to Eria Fachin's "Savin' Myself", the Giant Killers' "Time of Our Lives", Sheryl Lee Ralph's "In the Evening", Suzanne Rye's "Because You Loved Me", all Abba covers, and every lyric containing the words "heaven", "high", "happiness" or any of the following sentiments: "Hold me/Don't ever let go", "Take your hands off my man" and "Dub I Dub Dub I Dub".

I will likewise remind myself that my hair is not "Harlow gold" and my lips are not "a sweet surprise", except in times of national emergency.

On the other hand, I will acknowledge that Moby's "That's When I Reach For My Revolver" contains a message for us all.

When I am next tempted to buy a white vest, checked shirt and leather chaps, I will remember, as one correspondent so memorably put it, that "in the Valley of the Dolls, it's Barbie, not Ken, who has all the fun".

I will stop worrying whether the boy who played the banjo in `Deliverance' went on to have a successful show business career.

I will stop worrying whether Laboratoire Garnier is actually a breeze- block shed on a French housing estate.

I will stop worrying, period.

I will start taking Prozac, period.

I solemnly promise not to cruise my sisters' husbands. No matter how much they like it.

I will wait until the wind is blowing away from me before scattering another friend's ashes.

I will stop making anonymous calls to the fashion police and asking to speak to the Swat squad. If George Michael really thinks that haircut, clone moustache and goatee suit him, that's his prerogative. The fool.

I will not stare at beautiful women and wish I was a lesbian.

I will fund an expedition to find the "Gay Community". After that, the unicorn, the dodo and Nessie.

I will not end my lurid description of the death of Edward II with "Don't try this at home".

I will not fantasise about being shipwrecked on a desert island with Brad Pitt and Daniel Day-Lewis. I will not fantasise that they quarrel over me. I will not fantasise that my solution is a rota system and lots of massage.

I will not dance like a drunk attempting to kill a cockroach.

I will not eff and blind at homophobes and then plead Tourette's syndrome.

I will put away childish things and focus on what is important in life. For instance, the next Armani collection, the new season of Melrose Place, and finding just the right shade of moss-green linen napkins to match the Royal Doulton dinner set Andrew got me for Christmas.

I will not mime to Barbra Streisand's `Guilty' album. (Note: this resolution has been broken every year since 1981. Do try harder.)

I will remember to tell Andrew that I love him at least once a day.

Ditto Derek.

I will accept Andrew's proposal of marriage.

Nah. I'll play hard to get.

Will.

Won't.

Will.

Won't.

We'll see.

Disclaimer: Mr Lyttle's legal representatives would like it known that the above resolutions are subject to alteration, cancellation, whim, amnesia and bribery without prior notification or so much as a by-your-leave. For further information, please see the relevant Citizen's Charter. This does not affect your statutory rights - much.