This is exactly why a pompous frontman like me occasionally needs to break free. Bri Jnr. has always lacked stamina, so strategically - this ditty was written for when he tires - stick it in the set and have a rest. Which is fine, but the middle section - where I had one of the main contributions - leaves me exhausted. I don't know what kind of game he plays, but it's his rules and he wins. If it looks like he's not going to win he picks up his ball(s) and goes home - and he does just that on this very occasion.

Oh, darling Des'ree, where would Tico and myself be without your deliriously devine inspiration? Would we be back down the gullet's gutter, forever gazing up at the little stars that sparkle in the night? Or could we have been counting our much-deserved-millions and enjoying a toast whilst watching the evening news? All Bri knows is that without darling Des'ree, neither Tico nor myself would have known how to follow up our platinum-smelling debut album - where do you go from an album that celebrates Nobby the Tramp, Mr. Greensocks and all things Swedish? The middle of the road is the only way, of course, and that is more than fine with me.

I strung together this most coffee table-friendly chord sequence that I could muster and cast myself as Bridget Jones to Tico's Hugh Grant figure. I pushed the boat out for three to guarantee a Magic FM future playlist contender, and defied our non-existent record company's concerns about the dramatic 'ladder in my tights' section - they would have insisted on a radio-friendly edit, omitting this section, but Tico and I were defiant.

Adele has sent sparks flying with rumours that she will cover this song on her next multi-million selling album, imaginatively tited '40'.

If this song were a broken biscuit, it would be a Malted Milk - nice and indeed inoffensive on the taste buds. Unless you are a cow's rights activist, of course.