Wednesday 23rd October
I am probably not unlike a lot of men in that I do not consider myself good looking. In fact I was always amazed that any woman would think me attractive, and would work on trying to be amusing rather than rely on my looks. But you reach a certain age and you realise that actually you are okay. In any case there are a hell of a lot of uglier men around than yourself. And looking at men on the tube there ‘ain’t half some ugly bastards about.
There are those of a certain age – late sixties or so whose ears seem disproportionately large, great big Dumbo lugs. There are those heavy drinkers whose cheeks are covered with tiny red capillaries and whose nose is bulbous and bloated. There are those thin weaselly men who look as though they have just emerged from some troglodyte existence and cannot wait to get back underground. There are the fatties, the seriously obese, taking up almost two seats, their thighs bulging and multiple stomachs hanging down between their legs. There are the geeky ones, thin with almost skull-like faces. But all of these are fairly rare. Far more common are the Eastender lookalikes. These are bald or balding and have a hard angry look on their be-stubbled faces. Some, like Mad Max Branning have long square faces and slightly bulging eyes – I can hardly bear to look at them. And then there are the Phil Mitchell ones, again bald and bristly but short, overweight and pug-faced.
Honestly some days the tube trains are full of them, as if an advert had just been placed for looky-likeys in The Stage. And here is the funny thing – women go for them. There is something about these bald belligerent ignorant thuggish types that women like. Display a hint of respectability, of genteel intelligence and women run a mile. Don’t shave, go bald and look ferociously angry all the time and they come running. Funny old world.