IN THE years I have known her, my wife has never been one to scrimp when it comes to doughnuts with a wee strupag. She had just handed me my third when I noticed the most unlikely headline since Free Churches Agree Peace Deal.

Cheryl Cole is soon to be single, it said, and just wants to find a nice ordinary bloke with a big belly.

The attractive and intelligent creature that she is, she has decided she has had enough of ribbed, fit guys who use their mobiles to take photos of their own bellies to send to strange women. They may earn sums not unadjacent to £82,000 a week, but all the guys she knows are, she reckons, completely obsessed with their own looks and not hers.

But then, Cheryl, you don’t know me.

The lady has figured out what wise wives throughout the ages have deduced. Looks aren’t everything. Toned physiques and rippling biceps are all very well for showing off in the Lewis Sports Centre in Stornoway.

Sadly, though, they are also symptomatic of guys who are obsessed, more interested in what they see in the mirror than about anyone else and who, probably, should not be left alone with small children or animals.

On the other hand, abdomens that are, er, somewhat prominent are also a sign of a well-rounded character, of someone whose priorities lie with nourishment rather than shallow style culture and who finds it no problem at all to stay on the paths of righteousness.

We are tempted less. I suspect that is why the wily Mrs X pretends they are low-calorie as she shovels another half dozen Danish pastries my way each day.

By ensuring I keep what my doctor has taken to referring to as a soft midriff, she knows there is less chance of me being snatched away by any Cheryl Cole lookalikes.

Well, she’ll have to think again. I bet I’ll be put on a diet in the next few days.

Just last Thursday, my weight was found to be useful. I was battling up Francis Street, taking my constitutional, when one of those fearsome squalls, almost like a mini-tornado, suddenly came roaring over from Goat Island.

It knocked a poor waif of a woman off her feet outside the post office. Despite the blast, due to my superior ballasting arrangements, I stayed completely erect.

Like a gazelle, I sprang across the road to the rescue of the fallen woman who had by then been blown up past the Lloyds TSB bank. She was a wee, slim, light, slight thing, not unlike Cheryl Cole, in fact.

When I got to the Carlton, I told Ali Bean and Tina, the barmaid, what happened. Tina also always looks at me out of the corner of her eye in that cute Cheryl-like way.

Usually, though, it’s only because when I go in my flies are undone. Must get those zips mended.

They wondered whether it could, indeed, actually have been Cheryl, but incognito. I had offered to walk her back to her accommodation, but she declined. So, obviously it wasn’t her.

Another young woman going up in my estimation is Sheena Norquay, the Tories’ delightful prospective candidate, whose bottom deserves to adorn a well-upholstered seat in the House of Commons. How else are we going to get to fruition all those much-needed projects which, until now, have been merely the stuff of dreams?

In a revealing interview last week, Sheena confirmed that developing the harbour at Achmore was now the Tories’ priority. Before she unaccountably cut short the conversation, she just had time to reveal that, if islanders are wise enough to elect her, she is absolutely committed to building up the harbour wall.

Achmore - I see no ships

Now, yes, there have been some cynical remarks made about that electoral promise. Some people are calling it a nonsense just because Achmore happens to be a good few miles from the sea and almost up in the clouds. So what? Get over yourselves.

The Tories are obviously proposing to cut a Panama-like canal going deep inland, probably from Loch Luerbost. What a brilliant job-creation scheme Dave’s party have come up with.

Obviously, the Free Church at Crossbost pier and all the houses in Luerbost south of the road will have to be flattened but, gosh, I am sure everyone agrees that would be a small price to pay to put Angy Hogg and the rest of the Lochies with too much time on their hands back into gainful employment.

For my unstinting support, and mentions here more often than the Free Church (Continuing), I would expect Sheena N and party leader David C to nod through my own small and perfectly-affordable plans.

I would not ask for much. Just the go-ahead for a wee international airport on Great Bernera. It would be on the sports field between the polytunnels and the two manses.

After landing on the pitch, the Ryanair and easyJet jumbos could just take the southbound taxiway towards the Bernera shop. It already sells fuel, and shopowner Aileen could easily instal another pump with an extra-long hose to supply cheap, no-frills aviation fuel.

The planes would disgorge the 300 hungry and thirsty souls who had left JFK Airport six hours before and so would head straight for the shop. Aileen would have to employ most of Bernera to cope with the demand for pies and black puddings.

You could have all these jumbos lined up on what presently serves as the square in the middle of the Heath Park scheme. Simple plan. Just needs a bit of Tory oomph to make it happen.

Oh, and I would be looking for high-level backing and adequate funding for my long-awaited Make Point a Proper Island project. Just enough explosive to blow the Braighe strip to smithereens somewhere around Engy’s loch should do it.

So remember – vote Tory. This time next year we could be millionaires.