I have nothing. No dream châteaux with Ferraris parked in front. No chauffeur driven May Bach, an office on wheels with a bar. Neither do I dress to work in a ten thousand dollar Armani suit, though I wish I could, looking like the men who model them in fashion magazines, clean shaven, their features square. All I have is a shirt. I am not the owner of a fat Swiss bank account from which to buy you as a treat a diamond studded brooch. Neither am I the lucky winner of a lottery, with women tha.