The power of positive thinking?

A dear family friend was out jogging earlier this week, fell and cut his leg. It was more of a graze than a wound, and he thought nothing of it. But a day or so later, he was admitted to hospital with Toxic Shock Syndrome, a very serious form of bacterial poisoning which has meant he has been in an induced coma for the past few days while doctors have removed most of the infected muscle in his leg and given him multiple blood transfusions. It has been touch and go as to whether he will survive, although things are apparently looking more positive today. He will, however, not be able to run again - which with three children under three, is a serious readjustment. This just makes me, once again, remember that we must enjoy every second we have, and try to focus on the positive in all the cards we are dealt by our friendly Life croupier.

Possibly as a result of that news, or possibly as a result of my wonderful friends and the forests of self-help books I've been devouring, I am feeling much better. I've booked a hair appointment, ordered new glasses, and the fruits of my workout labours are finally showing themselves as my trousers are becoming a fraction baggier. High five!

What's weird is that today, Michael Jackson is 50. In 1991, when I turned 14, I genuinely thought I might marry him. Imagine. I don't think it would have worked out. The man who I used to dream about, whose dulcet (now freakish) whispered promises at the beginning of I Just Can't Stop Loving You set my standards for romance, whose dancing and singing seemed to be impossibly perfect - well, it turned out he's probably not such an amazing catch after all, what with the child molestation rumours, the collapsing face, the self-hate and the bankruptcy 'n' all...

Hmmm. Who else did I want to marry...? Dylan from Beverly Hills 90210, aka Luke Perry, now 41, divorced with two young daughters and a film back-catalogue that features an unfortunate combination of raspberries and tumbleweed; Howard Donald from Take That, now 40, father of two daughters by two different women, a history of suicidal depression and a penchant for onstage nudity; Keanu Reeves, who will be 44 on 2 September, notorious loner, motorbike obsessive with a limited vocabulary; and Christian Slater, now 39 with an unfortunate hairline and eyes that twinkle with a fragment of their former sparkle, possibly due to a long history of alcohol and drug abuse, with police records for assault with a deadly weapon and battery. Quite a selection, you'll have to agree... I certainly know how to pick 'em.

Sometimes I'm not sure I should be trusted to pick my husband. Maybe I'll allow my mum to do the choosing next time. Watch out for my next boyfriend: wealthy golfer, Torygraph reader, strange sense of humour, enjoys birdwatching, wears chinos and V-neck sweaters with sensible shoes, knows how to hold his cutlery properly and pack a suitcase well, irons his own shirts, eats and drinks to a high standard, penchant for The Muppets. It just might work...