If Carlsberg made boyfriends...

They'd have a geeks techy brain wrapped in a rugby player's body.

They'd send fancy flowers from interflora and plain packages from lovehoney.

They'd separate your portion before adding chilli peppers to the dinner they cooked for everyone. And serve your sauce on the side if it's the least bit hot or spicy, just in case.

They'd defuse your tension over who paid for the ingredients at the checkout by loudly exclaiming 'ooh, it's our first argument!' then kissing you into silence.

They'd turn a stroll round the countryside into a 'joys of rugby' lesson for the kids and a 'conquer your fear of very large horses' episode for you.

They'd bring you a usb stick, ostensibly because buying two was an irresistible bargain but also because it's something handy that you'd not buy for yourself. And, prior to giving it to you, they'd pre-load it with all their fabulously NSFW writings.

They'd do measuring and carrying large bits of wood round DIY stores, waving away your foot-stomping protests of independence with 'honey, just because you can doesn't mean you have to do it yourself all the time'.

They'd organise things in their job to work from home then drive three hours so they can work from your home and be with you, even though it's a madhouse and not entirely conducive to concentration or conference calls.

They'd veto sex on sunday nights and drive to work at stupid am the next morning just so they can cuddle you to sleep, making absolutely clear to you that although it's very, very good, it's not all about the sex.

They'd read your blog and immediately say 'why didn't you tell me, ya daft mare!? You and the kids call me anything you're comfortable with. Babe, I've had a decade in the military, there's no name I ain't heard yet and nothing you can do, think or say that will shock me'

They'd be called Bing.

I'd be I am a lucky, lucky bitch.