John Lyttle

If I ruled the world ...

Heterosexuals could be arrested for having bad dress sense in a built- up area.

The national anthem would have an "s" added to the end of its title.

There'd be a band called Anything But the Girl.

International tension would be relieved with a nice massage.

Little boys who wore their mother's clothes would be given marks out of 10.

Minority programming would be for homophobes: "Hate of the Matter" "The Brains Dead Trust" "Top Fear" "Band of Mould" "Don't Forget Your Truncheon".

All Tory MPs would come out.

All Labour MPs would come out.

All Liberal Democrat MPs - hell, who cares?

Michael Barrymore would go back in.

Oops. Silly me. He has.

All the squares in Trivial Pursuit would be pink.

Football would be played in the dressing room and the showers moved out to the pitch. Here we go, here we go, here we go ...

Homosexuality would be compulsory in all public schools.

Wait a second, wait a second ... It is.

"EastBenders" would be the nation's favourite soap.

Claudia Schiffer would be forced to comb her hair. Ja ja.

Michael Bolton would be shorn. Or shot. Or both.

Karen Carpenter would return from the dead.

So would all my friends.

Aids would be cured.

Cleansing, toning and moisturising would be a religion.

There would be infant libraries. You'd pop in, browse a few babies, borrow one, give weary parents a well-earned break, and perhaps learn that, gee, you aren't actually the most important person on the planet after all.

The world would know there may be more than one queen in the Royal Family. I name no names...

"Queer", "Nancy Boy" and "Perv" would all be terms of endearment.

"Spokesmen for the homosexual community" would be democratically elected (at last).

And they'd be photogenic, too. I mean, that Mr McKellen and that nice Michael Cashman, they're lovely boys, so well-spoken and polite, but really, would a skin peel, a little concealer around the eyes and a hint of bronzer be entirely out of the question?

It would be safe to cruise the streets.

Bette, Barbra, Madonna, Kylie and the two Joans - three, if you count La Sutherland as well as Crawford and Collins - would be canonised. You know it makes sense.

The heterosexual age of consent would be 18. See how you like it.

Nude wrestling would replace war.

Disco would be recognised as the dominant art form of the 20th century. Get down on it.

Cliff Richard would be declared a site of historic interest. Not.

Clinique would be available on the National Health.

Ditto Brad Pitt.

And Harrison Ford.

And Christian Slater.

And Kevin Costner.

And all the Baldwin brothers.

Excuse me. I'm slobbering.

That's better. Where was I?

The Independent's video promotion would include: Seven Brothers for Seven Brothers, The Man Who Would Be Queen, All About Steve, When Hairy Met Sissy.

The music of Abba would be heard everywhere. Happy, happy, happy.

Likewise Burt Bacharach, the Beverley Sisters and Gloria Gaynor.

Everyone would grasp that homosexuality and paedophilia are two different things.

The Phyllis Calvert revival would finally roll.

Rap, sports quizzes, Stallone movies, and any magazine to do with cars, DIY or gardening would be banned.

Also: the colour spoken of - in low, frightened tones - as ... beige.

Television would consist solely of Rhoda, I Love Lucy, Ab Fab and Golden Girls re-runs.

Convicted queerbashers would be made to work in gay bars under a care in the community scheme known as "Queen for a Day".

The countryside would be crazy-paved, given a lick of paint and I'd have a big party.

The gay press ... well, there would actually be one.

Straight guys would at last realise that they're perfectly safe in the company of gay men. As if we'd be remotely interested in anyone who mixes "the authentic smell of Old Spice" and those ghastly Armani jeans. The only reason you'd have to turn your back to the wall would be to hide the label.

Ice-cream would have no calories. By law.

No drunk would ever, ever again lean over to me at a dinner party and ask what, you know, you know, you homosexuals do in bed.

There would be full equality under the law, regardless of creed, race, religion, gender, age, sexual orientation and taste in soft furnishings. Apart from the heterosexual age of consent being 18.

If I ruled the world, difference would be celebrated, not denounced, and there would no need for marches, campaigns, pressure groups, or for any gay child to feel isolated or alien.

Face it. If I ruled the world, the world would be like "Hello!"

And, yes, why not - every day would be the first day of spring...