From Fitzroy's Private Diary (Extract 161)

I own the fact that I’m not a modest man. In my line of work, although one has to remain discreet, lack of belief in one’s abilities, and ultimate success in most encounters, can be fatal. Blind confidence is not required, but something damn well near it is.

Nor do I believe in living modestly. I’ve previously remarked that during my rare times at home, I don’t spare my purse strings but indulge myself as only a gentleman of means may. I do draw the line at excess. I don’t drink brandy every night, but when I do its bloody good brandy (I’m not enough of an oenophile, or a fool, that I’ll pay thousands for something that passes through my system all too briefly, but I will part with a goodly amount of money for things that genuinely please me).

Likewise, I’m always generous with any of my paramours. I do my best to leave them in no doubt that our relationship is not permanent, but while we’re together, both of us should enjoy ourselves as much our time allows.

On occasion this causes me concern. And this is the nub of my worry. A little gnawing niggle that pervades my conscience. If I give the best of the best, does that mean that after my departure, my ex-lover’s life is forever cast into shade? Can anything else, or rather anyone else, ever be quite as good? This is, perhaps, why I’m a frequent customer at my jewellers. Towards the end of a relationship, I like to give some token that will bring the recipient much happiness (and what else, other than myself, is most likely to please a lady?).

But, still, it rankles. Should I be less charming towards the end of an affair, so that I’m less missed? I have a great admiration for the ladies who indulge my passions, or I would not be with them. I feel while we’re together, I should give my very best in all departments. But, once again, I ponder - does this mean I have to leave a legacy of loss behind me?

I have no answer, and it worries me. As ever, in almost all areas, I am positively unsurpassable.

Poor ladies.