I have often wondered ? and stand in great awe and admiration of ? women of sexual appetite. How in heaven do they find the time? I mean, after making breakfast, tidying beds, screaming at the maid, sending off boisterous children and an even louder husband to their respective days and then, tottering to work to cater to the whimsies of a boss (sadly and increasingly female these days) who most likely doesn?t have a sexual appetite for you.

But these giantesses of the good life manage to pull it off all the same. After all those atrocities of daily living, they actually contrive to set aside a section of their precious 24 hours to reflect on ? or even go the whole hog in ? matters pertaining to regions below the belt.

And with no thought for the consequences. Think Kimberley What?s-Her-Face (goodness me, she can?t even guess at the names of the fathers of her children ? nor does she appear to want to ? how liberated is that?). And then Janet Jackson (imagine the intestines it takes to bare a mutilated breast for no reason at all to an auditorium of sports-lovers who had games of a wholly different kind on their horrified minds). Also, I?m recently told, someone called Tara Reid also let everything hang out and then sued people for talking about it. And oh, I nearly forgot (delving into history), Catherine of Russia. From my enormous knowledge of the past, I know for a fact that her desires encompassed stallions, of the animal kind. I have squandered a major portion of my life figuring out that one. Like how?

Beats me. Anyhow. All I know is, if I were to suddenly transmogrify into such a super being, it would frighten the daylights out of anyone who knew me. I have male friends ? many, actually ? and they usually greet me on the phone with a hugely affectionate ?Hey, Fats, how?re you doing?? Which kind of rules out the kind of funny business that I would, perhaps, welcome. If I came up with anything even remotely suggestive, I know they?d run like the wind or, worse, fall apart laughing. As The Daily Telegraph findings on Saturday suggested, men trust me, which is why they don?t desire me. Apparently the two feelings are mutually exclusive.

Thanks, but no thanks. You bastards.

So what am I doing wrong? And don?t (dare) tell me age has anything to do with it. Look at the platoons of ugly old bats who are still storming the raunchier meetings of the sexes. And, to return to an old favourite, remember what I told you about Catherine of Russia?

P.S. Hot from the press: A news report says former Spice Girl Mel C has sanctimoniously accused showgirl Britney Spears of being ?overtly sexual?. Where do these chicks draw the line? Somebody please tell me so I?ll know when to stop.