It was Joan Bakewell's 76th birthday the other day. A couple of days earlier she was being interviewed on BBC News 24 in her "Champion of the Elderly" rôle. Nothing in the adolescent fumblings of middle-aged manhood prepares you for the day that you fancy a 76-year-old woman. I'm not saying it's a bad thing (as it happens, I'd argue I was showing ineffable good taste), it's just a surprise when the realisation dawns.
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Joan Collins was in Plymouth during the week, trying to be incognito or charming. She's 75. I would never have guessed she was younger than Joan Bakewell.
But I was brought up never to ask a lady's age... (As were you, I'm sure.)
How old's Germaine Greer? I fancy her. But in a wholesome and objective way, of course.
Chris: we're too well brought-up for our own good.
Gareth: Germine's 70, a mere slip of a thing.
Well, I think Sean Connery is a sex god, so I can hardly launch any projectiles in your direction. And if I ever look as good as Joan Bakewell, I'll be happy. Old, but happy.
I think you do indeed show ineffable good taste. Oh I see I've been beaten to mentioning Joan Collins. Lauren Bacall's still looking well.
Hurray - there's hope for me yet!
I may not be the 'thinking man's crumpet' - but there could be someone who'd like me for breakfast.
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