Where have all the beautiful people gone?

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Let me not talk here about the World Cup or the weather or something else beginning with “W”. Let me talk about the beautiful people — or the lack of same.

I first have to declare that I am not not one of the beautiful people myself. I am tall (6ft 4in) and broad, but added to that I am heavy, greying and tired-looking. Make no bones about it, I am getting old.

But then aren’t we all.

To be fair, I’ve always been old. I never liked music festivals, or discos or any of the things that you are apt to want to frequent. I was always an old fogey, in behaviour as well as outlook.

But I’ve always been able to spot the beautiful people — male and female — only I was really only interested in the female type.

As a young, horny adult, I used to say that I thought nine out of 10 women were attractive. These days I’ve revised my opinion: I’d put it closer to two in five. I’m not sure how it happened but women today seem to be fatter — or painfully skinnier — with a complexion reminiscent of spotted dick or poorly-fried eggs.

Has this change of opinion happened as a result of my advancing years? Or is it actually, a result of the clash of media-induced eating disorders and a processed carb-rich diet?

That’s not to say I don’t see attractive women around (more so in central London that elsewhere) and I also think there’s a move among some elements to kick against the pricks and to dress to shock — amongst men as well as women. People these days seem to be a lot more frightened of their fellow citizens, and adopt an air of aggression in place of assertiveness. It’s seldom very attractive.

There’s also the factor of the sexualisation of childhood: it’s going both ways. While kids as young as seven are being targeted with padded bikinis and my Little Pole Dancing outfits, grown women are being decked out in clothes that they might have worn as four-year-olds, except with six-inch heels and lipstick.

The one sector of society which seems to be maintaining “standards” is gay men. At the risk of opening myself up to misplaced assertions about my sexuality, gay guys just seem to get it. But then they are out to “get it” anyway and know what looks good and what doesn’t.

Ooh, er. Missus.

And of course with advancing years comes the problem that (almost) all the women I find most attractive are almost young enough to be my daughter. Let’s not go there. Thing is, I’m getting older, but in my head I’m still the horny kid who used to think that 9 out of 10 women were attractive.

Luckily for me, I already have someone. She is my perfect 10. And that means that whatever is going on with the beautiful people, the other nine simply don’t matter.