So, feel free to vote in this poll whichever way you like. No pressure.

UPDATE: Just a few more days to go. Keep those votes coming in. The suspense is killing me. Figuratively.

Let me state for the record that Grace, my much younger wife, would never have an affair with a married man. That time she bore two of my children while my first wife was dying of cancer does not count, of course. My charms are famously irresistible, so she is entirely blameless.

As for poor Dr Gono, it is not as if he has a reputation for going behind his wife’s back, apart from that time he supposedly jumped into bed with a former Miss Zimbabwe. What a scamp! Or rather, what a scamp he would be if such allegations were true.

What I can say for sure is that no one is going to die in mysterious circumstances over this. That would never happen. If there was someone called Peter Pamire who died in a car accident after supposedly sleeping with my wife, I haven’t heard of him.

So, enough of this tittle tattle. If my wife has become the village bike of Harare, then I’m not Knight Commander of the Order of the Bath.

But I was outraged to see, on a re-run of Have I Got News for You, footage of a gay colonial imperialist called Paul Merton laughing at my name. (My predecessor, Canaan Banana, also had this problem, but then he was later jailed for sodomy, so he had it coming.) He said that Mugabe spelt backwards is E-ba-gum. This is funny? Funny how?

Well, Mr Merton, two can play at that game. On Robert, I shall have shows laughing at you. Yes. Your name is an anagram of “lemur panto”. Ha! We shall broadcast hours of lemur pantomime to shame you.

We shall also have:

Manure Plot, a spy thriller involving an international conspiracy to seize control of production of the world’s animal waste;

Mule Patron, a sitcom about an animal rights activist’s mishaps as she attempts to run a sanctuary for load-bearing animals;

Loam Punter, a documentary blowing the lid on underground soil gambling;

Rum Polenta, in which celebrity chefs create a variety mouth-watering dishes employing boiled cornmeal and Caribbean spirits;

Tampon Rule, an educational chat show for ladies;

Menu Patrol, a variation on America’s Dumbest Criminals in which my secret police bust celebrity chefs who fail to use of polenta and rum in their dishes; and

Amulet Porn, a late-night show for talisman fetishists (although this may merit its own channel).

But elections, like the act of love, are matters in which champions must continually prove themselves. My top tip for both is that if things don’t go well the first time, you can make a more concerted effort after a hiatus of your own choosing.

Anyhow, I was delighted to have received the highest of plaudits from the Iranian foreign ministry recently – on the election result rather than my lovemaking, I should add. I have no doubt that Mohammad Ali Hosseini would be impressed by the latter as well, but of course he would have to hang himself, as homosexuality is illegal in Iran as it is here. I am, of course, not gay, unlike many so-called Western leaders, who definitely are.

Dear Rob (Mr President is fine – RM)

You may have read in the newspapers that something is rotten in the Kentish orchard that is my engagement to Kelly Brook. Without confirming or denying whether I’ve been ditched by the former presenter of so-called Celebrity so-called Love Island, I would nonetheless be grateful for your guidance on how to cope with rejection.

Toothily yours,

Billy Zane

His Excellency President Robert Mugabe KCB replies:

Dear Billy,

Of course, I have never been rejected by anyone, but instinct alone tells me that the most sensible course of action is to pay no attention to those who wish you ill and carry on as before. If rumours persist that a loved one desires to spurn you, a zero-tolerance approach is called for. Assert yourself emotionally and – what the hell – physically with the object of your affection and anyone who dares to support her. You may also invite her to examine the situation from your point of view, and with luck she will see that you were right all along. Now if you’ll excuse me I have a country to run.

Yours etc

His Excellency President Robert Mugabe KCB

Never go out with a girl who asks how you are twice in succession, viz

His Excellency President Robert Mugabe KCB: Well, hello there.

Girl: Hi. How are you?

His Excellency President Robert Mugabe KCB: Like a million Zimbabwean dollars (£3), baby. How about you?

Girl: Oh, fine. How are you?

Alarm bells ought to be going off in your head at this point. Or, if you run a police state, in your local constabulary. I mean, was she even listening? In the bad old days I would administer a beating, but I am a new man now. I have taken out my anger by instituting radical economic measures in the form of price controls. Ah, sweet release.

Dear Robert,

I cannot help but notice that I’m not getting any girls. Is it something to do with the way I dress?

Sincerely yours,

Benedict X etc etc

Well, Benedict, you need to make yourself more accessible. Why, only last week some chap was vaulting barriers just to touch you and you didn’t even notice. I use this as a hypothetical example, of course. He was probably gay, and the very suspicion of such evil warranted the massive amount of violence that your bodyguards duly meted out.

Also, have you thought about growing a narrow moustache? Your advisors may say that this plays into the hands of people who wish to make jokes about you and Hitler, but you can ignore them. It never did me any harm.

And yes, that hat is a bit camp. I find that simply wearing a baseball cap during an election campaign is all I need to do to guarantee not only a thumping victory over my rivals, but also more action than a broomstick in a convent.

Saying “I don’t love you” is the difficult one. How do you do it, I am often asked. Love is like an International Monetary Fund loan, I say. The IMF hates rejection and will moan to the world about what a heel you are, but you’ll be glad to be shot of it in the long term. It (or she) will no longer solicit avowals from you, and you will be freed from the guilt of making empty promises in the future.

When should I do it?

There is never a good time, although it is best to avoid general elections. Assuming you know your own mind, the sooner the better, otherwise she’ll “make plans”(usually in the form of a holiday or state visit) that will make it more of an inconvenience.

Where?

Somewhere private that you can leave her without feeling additional guilt. Her palace or, at the very least, somewhere you won’t be liable for broken crockery. (I’ll never truly be able to replace the dinner set I was using on the night Rodrigo de Rato y Figaredo came round.)

How?

Be direct and apologetic. “You can stick your fiscal tightening up your recessionary gap” worked for me, but equally “I’m not in love with you” has the twin benefits of being honest and terminal. The rest will follow as naturally as stagflation follows productivity decline, just so long as you avoid:

a) saying anything critical about her;

b) being specific about when you made up your mind;

c) any suggestion that there was anyone else involved;

d) being overwhelmed by guilt and retracting;

e) suggesting a supply-side solution.

That’s enough detail for now. Readers hungry for more should look out for my forthcoming book: FAQ Off: Questions and Answers for Aspirant Jilters.

Robert x

But few people know that we also shared a lover. Oh, yes. Muggins Mugabe here was seduced by Diana, Princess of Wales back in 1993 when she came to visit my country. Modesty forbids me from divulging the details of our affair, but let me say this: she was rubbish. If that’s good oral, then I’m not a Knight Commander of the Order of the Bath.

What Will Carling, James Hewitt or the Wigan rugby league team saw in her I’ll never know.

Dear Bob – may I call you Bob? (No. Mr President or Your Excellency would be more appropriate – RM)

There is nothing I like more, after making love, than the taste of an oven-baked potato. Does this make me abnormal?

Yours sincerely,

Matti

Well Matti, it sounds to me that you have a type of paraphilia, or sexual fetish, meaning that you attain sexual arousal through contact with a non-sexual object. This is an abomination, and you will burn in Hellfire.

I hope this helps.

Robert Mugabe