Picture the scene...

t'old lass is sat under the

magnolia tree,

all is peaceful in her domain.

Strop-levels wither and die

to the tune of the chirruping of

sparrows in the hedge.

All is content in this jungle garden 

in the heart of Kent.

Chilean wine and upmarket crisps

soothe;

Hubs is quietly tucked up; watching

the British Grand Prix.

Life is good, peace reigns.

Clouds scud across the

azure blue sky,

the wind tickles the leaves,

lulling her into a blissful reverie.

But wait...

at the turn of a page,

her world comes crashing down.

What could possibly shaft 

her Sunday afternoon idyll?

Grand Pricks...

that's what!

Seen here in all their glory.

Now I know I've written at length

about JC and Top Gear

and of late I've thought...

'Get a life Lin...

move on!'

You know something, I can't, I frigging can't.

The reason this time LL?

Well seeing as you've asked...

'We haven't, we haven't!'

'Well I'm gonna tell you any road!'

The TV girls, live in fear of ageing and being 

upstaged by younger, nubile and far more beautiful

  young things, snapping at their 

Louboutin-clad heels.

These podgy toss-pots clad in rubber

 (and if ever you had a yen, for a rubber clad bod, 

this picture would surely be the antidote) 

blithely emerge from Loch Ness or wherever.

It begs the question...

Wrinkles...How? 

Thinning hair...Why?

Beer belly... What!

Triple chins... Whatever!

The question...

are there double standards at

work here...

or should us girls not give a toss?

Chuck out the

corsets, the botox, the silicone implants,

the plucking, the waxing, the hair extensions,

the fillers, the lipo-suction, fake tan,

false nails, tattooed eyebrows,

wonder knickers

(it's a wonder how you get them on,

let alone off!)

Girls...

to a man...

if you'll pardon the expression 

let's be...

Hairy, flobby and free...

although...

I ought to own up...

I do like a quiet pluck by

the light of the silvery moon.