After the recent success of Michael Jackson's death I was keen to see what business opportunities my own mortality could present. According to the 100% scientifically accurate website Death Clock I'm not due to die until Saturday 5 March 2039, just a month before my 92nd birthday. Whilst this might be good news for me sensately it is hardly good news financially. But before I decide to end it all under a bus between Castleford and Airedale or in an elaborate sex game involving citrus fruits and a complex pulley system I thought I'd better find exactly what my untimely demise would be worth in pounds and pence.

The Character Group, who produce (among others) Peppa Pig and Postman Pat figurines, have hatched a brilliant idea to profit from Jackson's death. Michael Jackson dolls. But what would Hilary Fortnum dolls fetch?

I thought I'd ask.

Dear Character Group,

Well done on the Michael Jackson dolls. What a great idea! I'd almost forgotten what Jackson looked like after he died given that there was a marked dearth in images of him available in the media nowadays. Next Christmas I won't have to worry - I can simply keep a pocket-sized Jackson replica with me at all times to remind me of Jacko's tragic existence and his ersatz visage.

Presumably they will make a great gift for kids. What a joy it will be to have mini Jacksons the world over being fondled and molested by the world's children. I didn't know Mr Jackson personally but I'm sure it's what he would have wanted.

This is all slightly off-point, however, because my question for you is this. Imagine I were to, say, accidently drop a toaster (which was connected to the mains) into my bath or unwittingly swallow 50 ibuprofen tablets. Do you think you could market figurines of me? I know of at least 8 people who would buy one (one of whom has already offered me a deposit).

I look forward to your response.

With baleful intentions,

Hilary

I'll tell you what is becoming popular with dead celebrities just lately. Tribute editions of glossy magazines. OK! Magazine are the leaders in morbid fascination with celebrity mortality. Their tribute to Jade Goody was a miracle, particularly as the front page promised to let readers know her "final words" despite the fact it was published and on sale days before her death.

I wondered if OK! could knock up something similar for me.

Dear OK! Magazine, 

You received a lot of criticism for publishing your circulation-busting tribute to nation's sweetheart Jade Goody before she had actually died. However, Jesus was reported to have once said "let him who is without sin cast the first stone" and, hey, we've all left a game of football with our team 2-0 down and 5 minutes to go. It helps to beat the traffic ... or increase magazine sales, whichever example you are looking at.  

You can rest assured that when I die, which could be sooner than you think, I am happy for you to run a glossy tribute edition (with black borders a la Goody's) a matter of days, even a week, before my heart ceases to pump blood around my body. Indeed, if I am still sensate I may even be able to give copy approval to a couple of pieces. 

You can even safely promise your readers my final words. Provided I remember to say them before my lungs fill with blood and my body goes into shock through dropped blood pressure. I'm thinking of going with “Dulce et decorum est ... to be remembered in a celebrity magazine tribute edition”. I’ll keep you up to date with my health and I’ll be in touch should anything arise which makes a tribute edition look necessary. 

In loving memory, 

Hilary 

Once one has secured a glowing and gushing obituary he or she then needs to stir up some controversy. In October last year Daily Mail coroner Jan Moir overruled the Crown coroner by declaring that there was nothing “natural” about Stephen Gateley’s tragic death. This was a career-defining article for Moir - it defined her as an utter cunt – but it also made me wonder if a sneering piece about my demise might stir up a bit of media interest. 

Dear much-maligned Jan Moir, 

Everybody dies. It’s a simple fact. Some die in completely non-suspicious circumstances like, say, Elvis Presley. Others, like Stephen Milligan MP, die whilst simultaneously masturbating and choking themselves with an orange in their mouth.  

But it’s often the reactions to our deaths that define how we will be remembered. I was thinking about your words “strange, lonely and troubling” to describe the death of an inoffensive pop star and started to wonder. What if I, dressed as a clown, sat on Bouvet Island, an uninhabited island in the South Atlantic Ocean, and managed to repeatedly shoot myself in the head? I know you may be “once bitten twice shy” but would you be prepared to report that as “strange, lonely and troubling”? 

Do let me know. 

Yours with mortal desires, 

Hilary  

Finally, I would need a memorial fountain. Princess Diana has had unprecedented success since her sad demise, largely due to the Daily Express’ daily coverage of her but also, in some part, due to the Princess Diana Memorial Fountain. It may or may not be how she would have liked to have been remembered. Personally, I will remember her shaking the hands of people in an assembled line up and having a string of extra marital affairs but others remember her because of the sight and sound of running water in Hyde Park. These young women remembered Lady Di with particular fondlness during the 2006 heatwave. 

If I could secure the possibility that three bikini-clad beauties would sunbath on a fountain named after me when I die then that was good enough for me. So I contacted the Department for Media and Sport (including fountains). 

Dear government department in charge of memorial fountains, 

I’m not dead. Of course I’m not I’m sat at a PC typing this email to you. One day I will be though. No doubt this possibility makes you 2% as sad as it makes me. Please put aside your negligible sadness, however, because I have an idea which will preserve my memory forever and guarantee me theoretical immortality. 

The Princess Diana Memorial Fountain is obviously the world’s greatest tourist attraction particularly if you limit the scope to fountains which memorialise people who failed their O-Levels twice despite a privately-funded education. On that basis The Hilary Fortnum Memorial Fountain, based in somewhere like Newcastle-Under-Lyme, Chatham high street or on an industrial estate outside Wolverhampton, would be at least of negligible interest to the British public and perhaps some tourists from the Far East. 

Not only will it be a matter of some solace to my widowed wife it would also generate much-needed ridicule for our failing tourist industry. 

Please do let me know what further information you require so that we can set this up. 

Yours immortally, 

Hilary