Dear Charlene,

or is it Lenny?

I'm sorry to hear that you've been unlucky in love again. I know that you're not the most fortunate in love. I mean, look at your Svengali, Michael Hutchence, not only did he leave you for the somewhat desiccated Ms Yates, but then he went and did himself in... that's pretty damned unlucky from where I'm sitting. And what about Jason Donovan? He was young, pretty and clean cut one minute, and the next minute he was looking like an unshaven vagrant version of his father, struggling with drug addiction and trying desperately to prove his sexuality; I'm not even sure that you actually dated!

The point is, you clearly need something better from a relationship than you've had so far. I write to offer you the best services I have to give and I'm pretty certain that the Kylie jinx won't affect me. I am a dab-hand in the kitchen and would have no trouble feeding you the vegemite on toast that you undoubtedly live on. In addition, I'm a keen gardener, or at least I'm keen at doing certain garden tasks, like fence creosoting and lawn mowing, so you could save a little of your vast fortune in gardening fees. 

I'm quite good on the computer, so if you need to know exactly how many raunchy pictures there are of you on the internet, I'm sure I could help you find them all. In fact, if we tried really hard, I bet we could find a picture of you where you're completely clothed. I know that the internet can make or break a star like yourself, and I'm aware that there is already support out there for pretenders to the crown of Pop Princess. Between us, I'm sure we could work to fight off such false pop-idols as Miss Holly Valance. I mean, who does she think she is? It's sickening to think that she expects to get away with it - surely people will not be impressed at a lithe bodied 19 year old ex-neighbours star singing some manufactured dross... I'm glad those are depths to which you would never stoop.

As a man, I'm completely in touch with my feminine side. Indeed, I'm not afraid to cry. In fact, I am so in touch with my feminine side, I may cry without provocation or reason, and I might be tempted to borrow your clothes, swap make-up tips and made caustic remarks about how you'll not keep your good looks - behind your back, of course! I am a little larger than average, so if you need any more of your trousers splitting, I'd be happy to help.

No doubt you're worried about forming a relationship with someone who has only seen you through their TV and doesn't really know anything about you. You would probably wonder what would happen to such a relationship when, eventually, the wrinkles start to form on your smooth brow, the finest arse in pop starts to sag, and your cutesy pop princess voice starts to sound like your mother Madge's. Well, I'll be honest. If that happens, I'm out the door, which only goes to illustrate how urgent it is that we meet up as soon as possible.

I know that nearly every single mother (and by that I mean all of the single mothers) in 1988 named their daughter Kylie, but for me there is only one Kylie, and it's you (with Kylie Flinker as a close second). You're a big star. As Australians go, you're almost as big as Rolf Harris. As singing entertainers go, you're definitely bigger than Kermit (although only just - I saw you together on TV once). 

As you used to sing at the start of your show, "You and I belong together", so I hope you'll reply to this letter as soon as possible so we can get started.

All the best and G'Day.

Ashley