I can’t believe Boris Johnson is getting more kisses than David Beckham or even George Clooney. Apparently, gals are smothering the moptopped London Mayor in lasvicious slavers.
I hasten to add, it's not the real Boris, but his waxwork at Madam Tussauds.
All the same, how perverse. I will go to my grave finding UFOs, the Barabar Caves, and the purpose of life less mysterious than women. Indeed, I'd die happy if could discover the purpose of Boris.
Once, I offered him a lift from Belfast to Dublin, when we were part of a hack-pack following Bill Clinton.
My plan was to bung him in the back with a prominent left-wing intellectual and enjoy the fireworks on the road trip south.
Alas, he declined.
Had he accepted, the left-wing intellectual might have chucked him out the car on a sharp bend, and we'd all have been saved a lot of bother.