As I was sitting in the car the other day, I looked to my right and saw a billboard depicting a pair of giant legs. Glancing up, I noticed, for what must be the umpteenth time, the face of Brad Pitt emerging somewhat incongorously from a Greek helmet. There was a gaggle of girls standing about and staring at it with gloopy expressions on their faces.
Brad Pitt — to the modern female the epitome of physical perfection. What a miserable thought. I don’t know a single member of my sex who has been to see Troy to see Troy. They have all been to see Troy to goggle at a half-naked Mr Pitt.
Frankly, I would rather goggle at the Mr Pitt who was once our prime minister. With his angular, rather cold face at least he looked like a man, even if it is doubtful that he behaved like one in the heterosexual department.
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