While certain persons at Sir Humphreys eagerly declare that "most women will readily admit" that what they really want is to be physically dominated, I have my doubts. What chicks really dig is, like, guys treating them like fellow humans, listening to them and talking to them. Talking about feelings, dammit. (It can help to come across a bit interesting and mysterious - the not-like-other-guys thing - but obviously, if you ain't got that, you ain't got it.)
And if an hour of two of the opening of hearts, the sharing of souls, should lead to something of a robustly carnal nature, then everyone's happy, right?
It worked pretty well for me in my pre-monogamous days (and, indeed when my darling took the floor at my 40th birthday party to pay tribute to our long and continuing conversation I was moved to tears). It certainly seems a safer way of relating to women than assuming that every one you meet wants to be dominated. That could get you into some real trouble. Or at least leave you feeling angry and lonely.
And surely, that was what Simon Dallow was doing when he unburdened himself of his feelings to his demographically female radio Viva audience yesterday. I'm not suggesting he was angling for a shag - he does, after all, have some serious thinking man's crumpet to go home to - but did he have the ladies' attention? You bet he did.
Anyway, it's been a wearying and sometimes worrying week round here, so I've scrapped plans for serious comment, leaving my last learned sentence hanging like a schoolbus on a precipice, to be continued next week.
Instead, I suggest that you waste a few precious minutes with the Jackson Pollock simulator.
And then buy your kids some Armor of God PJs so they don't go to Hell. Christening doesn't cut it any more, you know.
And if that doesn't do it for you, go read Harry Hutton. He's even funnier than Matthew Hooton. In a good way.