My hormones are back on message! It happened while I was in a Hummer. With a single mother who's just joined a dating site called sugardaddie.com to find herself a rich husband. She showed me the picture she’s posted up. A very alluring and not dishonest cleavage shot taken on her phone. “I want security,” she explained, removing her hands from the wheel to billet-doux a texting trillionaire. "He’s on his way to the Chinese Embassy." I didn't ask. Because I was thinking that all those cultural commentators that attack the likes of Heather Mills-McCartney have missed a vital point about "gold digging". Which is that rich men are under no illusion about the women they marry. Indeed, having got where they are through single-mindedness and passion, it’s as much the ambition as the product spec of these beauties that they admire... Passing through King’s Cross, my companion's conversation became alarmingly earthy, which made me anxious as her five-year-old was in the back. And then it hit me. I too am feeling rather... earthy. As we thundered past Regents Park, it was like spring coming to Narnia. I realised that the treadmill of activity and excitement that heralded the company launch last week has clearly acted as an emotional exfoliant. Watch out boys - the mountain may soon be coming on to Mohammed;-)