PICTURE : http://www.flickr.com/photo_zoom.gne?id=2219296507&size=o 

Help me out here, please, will you? This phenomenon has been a mystery to me for a long, long time. It’s not exactly given me sleepless nights, but it has certainly exercised my curiosity from time to time.

I’m talking about the apparent irresistible attraction to women of what I’m calling ‘trivial celebrity’ … you know  - the way a totally ghastly over-the-hill monstrosity of a DJ can still have a bevy of quite presentable young females drooling around his podium. Now I’m sure every woman reading this here will be too intelligent, too discriminating and too plain sensible for it to apply to her … but grant me, please, that even if you think women like this are in a minority, it is, without doubt, a significant minority.

Take our DJ …it doesn’t seem to matter whether he’s way past his sell-by date, ugly as hell and has a lethal combination of B.O. and halitosis.

He’s the DJ, so he’s got his adoring fan club …

…. Please tell me why?

I’ve even had the same happen to me, believe or not, when I was a Redcoat [holiday camp host] in my twenties. Though I was not repulsive I grant you, in no circumstances could I be described as handsome. In addition, I’m only 5’ 8” to boot … a package which can hardly be described as every maiden’s prayer.

My job was to be generally helpful, be ‘Uncle’ to the Kids’ Club during the day, and help with the entertainment at night, including being a dancing partner for ‘unaccompanied females’ in the ballroom. Not too much skill was needed for any of these, no talent to speak of …and yet, my friends, [and I’m not exaggerating] there was not a single night when I needed to sleep alone, if I chose not to.

Incredible, I know, but true …

… And I’ve no idea why?

Even more strangely, I had a very odd week … aged 57 amazingly … when I was again surprisingly ‘in demand’ – this time purely because I’d been in the right place at the right [?] time:

I won the adult disco [which I’d entered purely by accident] and “Miss Gay Paris” – a joke ‘drag’ contest [again, by accident] – both of which I’d only entered to help out a current partner’s children, and each time my participation was with extreme reluctance. Then, later that evening, I was dragged out of the audience by a girl dance troupe to give a Michael Jackson impression, and made such a spectacle that I was retained for a bloody solo spot! There followed the next night a highly embarrassing pretend strip after hypnosis – I still dread hearing that tune “The Stripper” - and later a flinging into the pool when the Crocodiles [the kids’ club] discovered the Mystery Man … you’ve guessed  - it was me!. By the end of the week the Crocodiles had nominated me the Favourite Uncle and paired me off with one of the young bluecoats … and I was just a guest.

I was also voted Man of the Week.

Can you believe that? … Shy and retiring me!

But I can tell you in all truth I had seven serious very personal propositions and a good few other juicy hints. How did I respond to these blatant blandishments? Another time perhaps … but  … oh come on! All this very trivial and very temporary ‘fame’ was sheer coincidence and [bad] luck

… So, tell me please … Why?

You see, I do understand the attraction of good looks; of an attractive, fit body; even the pull of riches [though that’s a wee bit tacky]. Fame can, I admit, have its attractions and I can vaguely see that real power and position might be desirable [though I hate that thought]; of course, a nice personality and a sense of humour [well we all say that] I also understand. All of these things are, I concede, legitimate grounds for interest, and even adoration if the lady is that smitten.  

But … when I see that a zit-encrusted repulsive beanpole of a wimp [who anyway only has eyes for the male Entertainments Manager] who happens to be a - wait for it - assistant camp host is making half the teenage girl guests swoon, or see a balding overweight sailing instructor with droves of fawning nubile beginners, or longing looks of rapt admiration for an aged Elvis look-alike on a gig at a third-rate hotel, I think I’m entitled to ask

Why?

When you consider that, in each and every one of the situations outlined above, there are plenty of physically presentable, very eager and available ordinary down-to-earth men who are largely ignored or relegated to second best in favour of patently inferior trivial celebrities, you can perhaps understand my bafflement.

Enlighten me, please!