Do they still make that TV show for would-be entrepreneurs, I wonder? I believe it was called Dragon's Den? For I've got an idea for a guaranteed money-spinner. My idea is this: sheltered accommodation for retired and semi-retired playboys.
It seems to happen every day now: yet another male celebrity falls off the 'family man' bandwagon and is pictured 'dirty dancing' with a young thing in a saucy corset and big pants.
Cue humiliated wife in dark glasses, mortified children (with commitment issues in later life perhaps), the appointment of high-profile divorce lawyers, the kiss-and-tell exposes by the young thing in question and hundreds of pages of analysis in the newspapers. But when the dust finally settles, what then? Call me old-fashioned, but it seems to me that the one thing these playboys have in common is a distinct lack of housekeeping skills. Alex Higgins might have 'had more women than century breaks', but he doesn't appear able to buy and consume soft yet nutritious foodstuffs on a daily basis.
Surely everybody has heard of M&S's delicious Clotted Cream rice puddings? Only 30 seconds in the microwave and you've got 360 calories of heavenly goodness right there.
The late, great George Best may have been the best football player the world has ever known, but, again, he didn't seem able to get a haircut on his own, or turn up to an interview on time. And now boyband heartthrob Ronan Keating has been chucked out of the family home by his devastated wife, Yvonne, for allegedly cheating on her with a backing dancer from Leeds.
Already Ronan was looking rather scruffy as he exited the Malahide mansion. Was Ronan too upset to iron his own clothes, I wonder? Or was he secretly enjoying the 'good-boy-turns-bad' press coverage? Will Ronan promise to behave from now on and get back with his wife? Or will he throw himself into a slavering sea of eager groupies and rejoice in the media furore that will follow? Only time will tell.
Either way, I do think there's room in the market for a rest home for retired playboys. For I truly don't think it's fair to ask the abandoned wife to provide 24-hour care whenever their playboy husband develops twinges in his knees or a hacking cough.
So, during their boom years, stars could pay a monthly contribution towards their upkeep in the twilight years. They could have the basic package which would include clean sheets, clean clothes and three healthy meals a day. Or they could have the deluxe package which would include fresh flowers, chilled champagne and a prettier-than-average chiropodist.
Do I sound unkind? I hope I don't. I'm only trying to be realistic. If I had a famous husband that ran off with a pouting wench and a sycophantic entourage and left me to raise a young family on my own, I certainly wouldn't be prepared to give him a bed-bath or rub on his various ointments 30 years down the line. Would you?
The list is pretty endless, you see, of once-glittering showbiz personalities that spend their final years living alone in a tatty flat.
Adam Ant has been sectioned again. Ronnie Wood is thinner than a pipe-cleaner. Even the mighty Elvis couldn't get around to eating a daily bowl of high-fibre cereal, God bless him, and I mean that most respectfully.
I don't know about you, but I spend about three hours a day doing housework. This involves opening windows, opening blinds and curtains, making beds, vacuuming and dusting, emptying wastepaper baskets, plumping the sofa cushions, checking the fridge for out-of-date food, bleaching the loo and sinks, chucking out frayed towels and T-shirts and the near-constant loading and unloading of the dishwasher and washing machine.
Now, tell me, how can your average playboy find the time to do all that? What with the preening and posing, the anecdote-telling, the profligate womanising, having to manage multiple mobile phones and, of course, all that sex-texting? I mean to say, there are only so many hours in the day. And so that's why I've hit on the idea of a rest home for retired and semi-retired playboys. The mundane things would be taken care of by my highly trained staff.
The playboy residents would have nothing to do but tell old showbiz tales all day . . . and keep their hands off the cleaning lady.