Style gives away the great guessing game

It's challenging to be, well, mature and not to groan at the tales of poor little semi-maidens in their thirties and forties shocked to the quickie by filthy brutes of men who want to … I pause for the cue for a dramatic sniff and deep sigh. 

Blessedly I don't have TV so I don't suffer a screen-view of the won't-lie-down news of poor gals troubled by what comes naturally.

And, seeing that the world population stands at around seven point six billion – 7,600, 000,000 - seemingly still might do.

If I might reef wicked male pride, I'll borrow that old phrase 'in my day'.

In my day, on my way to Cape Horn and back and having to find a port for repairs, I don't recall any fairer gendered lovely holding off, nor wanting to – just as it was back in Cape Cook's time, and earlier.

Enthusiasm to at least match mine seemed to be the case no matter which of the three far-apart ports.

Back in my years in journalism, I don't recall even one lady reporter who didn't want to (numerically two or to with enthusiasm).

When part-timing on magazines in London, I could envy the depth of respect many lady reporters paid to their seniors in locked offices.

However, of course, one huge difference exists now that certainly wasn't so in office quickie times.

A keen bloke

Back then, a keen bloke mightn't have had to wonder if she would, but he certainly could speculate about what he would find.

No space here for a biology class, so let me just offer the reminder that not all gals are the same. Hence, I suppose, the recent weirdness we hear of alleged up-the-skirt photography.

No need these days for snaps of that nature. Definitely not. The shape of everything is on view. Everything. That's thanks to fashion, and presumably the wearers of fashion.

And whether it's in London, Warsaw, Salisbury, or Cape Town, we all see everything – like it or not - of not just wives—in-waiting but of mothers, grans, office workers, and very surprisingly even little girls.

On the street it's staring you in the face, to borrow another expression, and that's everywhere – on the street, on buses, on the tube and on trains.

Travel to your office in London, for instance, and many fellows are likely to be as ready to pass on pleasure as a Jersey stud released into a field of bulling heifers.

And one last, er, stand in defence of my wicked gender. Continues on the blogs for my ocean-travel adventure book, Sailing to Purgatory, at SailingToPurgatory.com