Julie Burchill

These women whose antics we smirk at good-naturedly in the pap-traps put themselves out there at least partly on their beauty they are in showbiz, and showing what they’ve got is part of their business as much as it is for male show-ponies from the Chippendales to George Clooney.

No one knows ‘men’ as such, any more than anyone knows ‘women,’ and if they do generalise they’re probably trying to hide their own ignorance. You might know one ‘man,’ yes, or even lots of individual ‘men’.

Make no mistake, most women are well aware that they’ve never had it so good when they enter a spa or salon, it is purely a hair/nails thing, a prelude to an evening of guilt-free fun.

Most women are wise to the fact that lots of men love a cat-fight, and thus go out of their way not to give them one.

‘Stress’ was the catch-all every pamper-pedlar I spoke to used to explain why healthy women feel the need to be regularly patted, petted and preened into a state of babyish beatification.

As a kid, I grew to define what I didn’t want my life to be like by sitting behind moaning women on the bus, hearing them bang on about their aches and pains, both real and imagined.

When did women whose looks are not their living start conducting themselves like the simpering inmates of an Ottoman empire seraglio?