For a lifestyle makeover one needs a go-go guru

Recent events have convinced this column that what it most needs is not the long rest recommended by readers, but a lifestyle guru.

For too long I have muddled along, making do with a makeshift lifestyle constructed from such unpromising components as Marks & Spencer jockey briefs, crunchy HobNobs, and Country Bitter brewed by McMullens of Hertford. For one connected, however tenuously, with the world of marketing, in which the barometers of taste, style and fashion are so finely tuned that a small shift towards, say, polenta or kitten heels can mark a significant climatic change, a ramshackle lifestyle is simply not good enough. What I need is someone to put me straight, someone with the demonstrable style and impeccable credentials to dismantle my lifestyle and build it anew; in other words, a guru.

I ought at this stage to point out, for the benefit of those few readers with a literal turn of mind and a punctilious regard for the meaning of language, that I use the word “guru” not in its original sense of a Hindu spiritual leader (who in any case would probably know little of the advantages of striped boxer shorts over jockey briefs), but in its modern sense of meaning a former topless model.

For a fuller definition of lifestyle guru we are indebted to the Australian adventurer Peter Foster, who describes the role thus: “She looks after her clients’ fitness, diet, wardrobe, attitude to life and image”. Put another way, she is a kind of mother. In a bygone age a man of means would, once free of his mother’s apron strings, graduate to the services of a butler. Preferably a Jeeves-like figure, the silken servitor would advise, by means of a discreet cough or raised eyebrow, on matters sartorial, and would also attend to diet. Fitness would come in the form of a skilfully blended hangover cure.

In today’s debased world butlers are employed solely for their skill in disposing of unwanted goods or chattels, with or without the consent of the owners, which, as a contribution to lifestyle does not amount to much. That is why the lady guru has usurped his role.

Needless to say, she is expensive. The going rate is apparently some £4,000 a month. However, this is no more than a reflection of supply and demand. After all, you can sit around waiting for a long time before a former topless model with big hair and a mother who is in touch with the dead happens along. As for bona fides, much has to be taken on trust. Though taking one’s top off several times a day is a form of exercise, it falls short of what most people would regard as a fitness regime. Nor does being half-dressed for a living suggest much expertise in the wardrobe department. As for attitude to life and image, well, I suppose there is something to be said for a carefree, unbuttoned approach in today’s more relaxed Britain. In one respect, however, I can foresee problems. According to one of the Sunday newspapers, the guru occasionally shares a shower with her client. As far as this column’s other half is concerned, that might take some explaining. Showering with a topless model emeritus in order to develop a more rounded attitude to life and to improve one’s image is, in terms of credibility, not unlike the Duchess of York receiving financial advice orally through her pedal digit. Never mind, we shall stoically face that hurdle, teeth gritted, when the time comes.

So, once ensconced, where will the lady guru begin? Fitness, I suppose. Fortunately, there are many varieties from which to choose. I would be loath to join a fitness club, partly because I’m not much good with machines, but also because a club worth the name should have a lounge and a bar, preferably with stools on which one could perch alongside one’s guru. Few, if any, are so equipped. Jogging, too, is out. So I’ll settle for yoga, the kind that involves sitting on the floor cross-legged while contemplating physical wellbeing.

After the workout comes diet. Fight fire with fire is my motto so, with the encouragement and support of my guru, I shall go for the revolutionary all-fat diet that has won so many adherents in the US.

Wardrobe. Now here’s a problem. Since it has become à la mode to forego neckties, I have taken to wearing mine again as a form of protest. Will this win favour with a busty model of refined judgment, or will she insist that I wear my collar open, especially on formal occasions such as the State opening of my wallet? As luck has it, whether I should be seen dead in M&S underpants need not remain a matter of speculation, as we can ask her mother to consult the other side, where being dead is taken for granted.

Attitude to life is a deeply philosophical matter, since before one can adopt a satisfactory attitude towards it, one needs to have an understanding of its meaning. I look forward to many candlelit hours of Wittgensteinian discussion with my lip-glossed adviser.

Of course, it may not work out. My lifestyle may remain unsatisfactory, unfit to parade in public, undeserving of admiration. In which case I’ll take the tougher option and appoint a lifestyle tsar.