Girls Girls Girls… Sailor intoned in 1975, dressed rather self-consciously and perhaps over-literally in their sailor suits. Get up and meet those pretty Girls, Girls, Girls; Step on, the world keeps swinging; Put on the dazzling charm; Get up and find those pretty girls. Yeah, back in 1975. I’ve just been on holiday on a beach with my wife and 10 of her friends, who are single women, aged from 34 to 53, just a few years either side of my own age. For a single day back in the 90s I stood in for a friend as an artists model, and I realised then how much one thinks about it without ever wanting to; standing in Grecian poses trying oh so hard to think instead about income tax returns, Geoffrey Boycott, etc, while the budding Lucian Freuds and Tracey Bloody Emins smirked as they fancifully charcoaled in my pathetically quivering loins. But I’m happy to say that I have returned from my summer sojourn with my conscience intact. Sometimes being old makes things a little easier.
