Would You, Could You?
I have a lot of time for the author AN Wilson. Despite giving away two thirds of my library four of his books remain. So in this week’s Spectator when he writes of the sex appeal of Theresa May I took notice.
Sex object, warrior queen, mother/nanny fixation? You pays your money. Of course if you are the new President of France you can have an each way bet.
It is said that older men go for women ten or twenty years younger. Aged 70,Theresa is ten years my junior and therefore in my ball park(pun intended). She looks fit, has great legs, would be low maintenance, dresses nicely, lots to talk about and has a husband who obviously doesn’t mind her staying out too late and for security reasons doesn’t ask too many questions. So definitely would and could. MI5 will read this blog and pass on my interest.
Wilson makes the point that the shoes and the leather trousers are May’s way of signalling that she is more than a dull middle of the road politico. Being seen next to her husband on peak time TV is obviously code that she is available to any one with a modicum or courage and tenacity.
My main problem with fantasising about taking my party loyalty to its obvious conclusion, is that the part of my brain which is involved in such affairs is already fully booked. Labour Ladies. Sexy Yvette, bossy Harriet, flawed Tessa. The names are pure Jane Austen, its a dated list, but so am I. So full of it,so sure, so proud, so Oxbridge educated, who wouldn’t want to roll on the carpet with these babes. Preferably at some official do. And as I got up, dusting myself down, as I zipped up the Johnston, I say something like, same time next week. To which she weakly replies, cant it be sooner. There are some dreams you never want to end.
So Theresa, I will have follow you as the soldier of a Warrior Queen not as a would be lover. But as Glasgow Rangers supporters sing, ”We will follow ,follow, follow.”
And the link, on this tangential theme, is one of the funniest I have ever seen. Rangers will be around long after the X factor is forgotten, No Surrender.