Dear Helen,

What is the matter with that silly rag Cosmopolitan? Ostensibly written for women – but the staff have to be men, or they wouldn’t exhibit such absurd notions about what turns a woman on.

I was just flipping through “The Twenty Hottest Guys of 2010.” Now, the issue may be a year old, and as we all know – a man who is hot in one year may be entirely withered the next. The years twenty-three to twenty-four are crucial, in that respect – that is when the six pack abs wilt into a beginning beer belly, the hair line starts to recede ever so imperceptibly, and something so intangible as the flower of his youth seems to fade.

But, of course, not even in 2010 was Cory Monteith hot, or Daniel Radcliffe, or, God help us all, Prince William of England. These poor lads are too young for me, anyway. I have an unfortunate penchant for older men with personality disorders – which doesn’t mean I don’t like the young, but only for their physical qualities. When these are absent, the situation is hopeless.

And, good Lord – Matthew Morrison? Russell Brand?

No healthy woman would display such questionable taste. I’m not fooled by the writer’s comments “God, what a smokin’ cast!” and “wouldn’t you die to be that [his] girl?” And what about this? “Early in his career, a casting team told his agent that Bradley wasn’t “f**kable.” We’d be more than willing to prove them wrong.”

Now I’m certain Cosmo is written by men. Always thought Bradley Cooper could be a boy’s boy…

It was Joanie who sent these Cosmo’s to me – that girl has no sense, sometimes. If she has to fill her days with reading cheap rags, at least let it be something female-oriented.

Love,

Lisa

Dear Julie,

I don't have a lot of time, but in my spare moments I sometimes glance at Wimbledon. Can you believe the BBC? They're showing the entire Murray match, while ignoring Nadal's quarter-final! This shows unbelievable contempt for their female viewers.

Can't believe Murray is allowed on the courts, anyway - hideous body hair in the wrong places (on his throat!), untanned, unpretty...I thought tennis was a spectator sport!

Love,

Lisa

Dear Marcia,

Oh, the ravages of aging! Was watching a little tennis, today (I try to watch Wimbledon when I have a little time to myself), and saw a face I recognized at court side. It took me fully 5 seconds to realize who it was. How awful is aging, if it makes one unable to tell Ann Jones from Bjorn Borg!

Incidentally, the same was always true of Golda Meir and Lyndon Johnson, in their middle aged years. It was impossible to tell those two apart, for anybody but their very nearest and dearest.

Love,

Lisa

Dear Helen,

Thank God Nadal won, today.

He had a slight injury, in the first set, and stretched his magnificent legs out for the trainer. As a result, one could study these legs up close. (A purely aesthetic pleasure for me, of course.)

The atrocity about tennis has been, since many years, the change from normal short shorts (as God meant them to be) to the hideous baggy things the boys drape over their rectus femoris and gracilis muscles, these days. (No, dear, the ‘rectus’ in rectus femoris has nothing to do with what you’re thinking.)

Aren’t the sponsors worried about losing the female audience?

But you know how I always recover from the disappointments in my life. Especially when that splendid specimen of a Spaniard arrived on the scene – excuse the alliteration. What a thoroughly deserving physique! You know how I am normally a leg woman, and his are simply commendable. I’m also, to some extent, a chest woman – and I will go on the record as saying that Rafi’s chest, revealed when he changes into a clean t-shirt, is entirely beyond reproach.

Just the right amount of hair – too little chest hair induces sadness in me, as you know – but too much of it can put one entirely off one’s feed. Remember Sam Gotthardt? Daniel went to Greece with him, last year. They shared a hotel room, and when Sam undressed, Daniel found himself thinking: “Could evolution be true, after all?”

Our descent from apes  (oh goodness, wouldn’t Faber scream at me – “there’s only a common ancestor”; but I don’t care much for such academic distinctions), our descent from apes, I say, should not be too obvious in a man. Don’t you rather agree? It’s been proven, incidentally, that we have on average 4% of Neanderthal blood in our veins. Averages don’t mean much – I’m quite sure I have none, and that some people are close to 99%. I won’t mention names – but don’t you think it’s time to trade Scott in for a newer model, dear?

Anyway, Helen – Burke is genuinely worried I will try to get a date with Nadal. I suppose the dear man still thinks of me as 23 – isn’t that lovely? Mind you, I could still beat that young Spanish girl of Nadal’s, hands down. But I prefer not to.

I adore boys. But the truth of the matter is, and don’t ever tell Burke, that I can fall, emotionally, only for older men with personality disorders. And these days, I’m just not so sure that I feel like having sex without ‘feelings’. Well – now and then, of course, but not on a daily basis.

Incidentally – I haven’t yet cheated on Burke. What is the appropriate time, in a relationship, when one should start thinking about doing that? I always feel it’s rather de rigueur to observe a certain period of exclusivity, a little time set aside for one’s mate, only. But at 8 months into this thing, I’m getting a little jumpy…

Love,

Lisa

Dear Emma,

Back from France! A brief thrill of excitement as I made ready for Amsterdam in my Paris-bought outfit, and then the inevitable disappointment and tedium of Dutch Social Life. Party in the famous Schreierstoren, a 15th century tower overlooking Amsterdam harbor and the Central Station – very poor service, as one is used to in Amsterdam, rain (also used to in Amsterdam) and, at dr. Veltman’s party: old people practically disintegrating into their constituent parts, increasingly many of which are made out of durable plastics.

Did give me a chance to see Donald S., former ambassador to Albania, who as you know has had his eye on me for many years. Have you seen him around at all, lately? His conversation centers primarily around the visual arts, and culture in general, which is painfully boring - but I do rather like him, mostly at the moments I am able to interrupt him and talk about myself. So much more rewarding, as a subject.

I was glad to see him looking so good, and not at all surprised that his crush on me hasn’t abated since my torrid affair with Burke (now so much less torrid.) It’s not exactly that he’s one of those men who desire one the more hotly if one is ‘romantically attached’, as the horrible cliché goes (there isn’t all that much of romance anymore between Burke and me, after eight months), but he simply does not view relationships or marriages as legitimate obstacles to his sexual feeding frenzy. He’s been married to Marjory for positively decades,  but the two of them don’t live in the same country. In fact, as he likes to say, enjoying his wine and his popularity amid a small group of devotees at social do’s: “No wonder marriages fail. People insist on being in the same country. I wouldn’t even want to share the same continent with Marjory!”

So he shoots off on a plane to her a few times per year, never mind the hours it takes him to get to Belize. Did you know, by the way, that Belize is one of the most dreadful places to live in the world? According to a survey into World Happiness, anyway. Supposed to be at or near the absolute bottom. I suppose it’s a matter of personal taste? Marjory is apparently perfectly happy, living there. Sunny weather, lovely house, staff entirely devoted to her…It’s what you make of things, isn’t it? I think one can be happy anywhere.

Oh darling, more tomorrow – just got another call from Moffat, the unhappy artist. Insists on seeing me today, because he happens to be in town. Well, there are about 700,000 people in town, right now!

Oh well, I suppose I’ll let him take me to the seaside. Will have to listen to more griping about his personal and financial hardships…I do so hate it when people complain. If they only knew how unbecoming it is…

More about the Schreierstoren party will have to wait! Will get back to you soonest, off now, love,

Lisa

Dear Joanie,

Burke annoyed with me – so humourless of him!

I hadn’t been in my house in the Netherlands for a while, a small place in the center of an old town, quite adorable but one does so dislike the weather.

Apparently it had been sunnier than I knew – when I walked into my bedroom, I saw that the Hedera Helix had grown into my open window! (Forgot to close it before I left, the last time, and the neighbours are apparently too busy with whatever they spend their life doing to notice my open window and close it. We’re in the age of the Selfish Society, as you know…)

And not just a few centimeters, either! I must send you a photo – the tendrils extend well into the room, it’s actually quite charming! But Burke of course emphasized my ‘sloppiness’, which seems a little unfair, since this could happen to anyone. He was irritated about having to sleep amid so many open suitcases, too, with clothes flung over them and on the floor. Not recent suitcases, either – they’ve been there since my last trip to Holland, which was, oh, a year and a half ago. 

He takes these things so seriously. I like a tidy room, too – but where do I get the staff? In a sense it’s his own fault, for not having more money. Which is because he’s been married such a lot. Shouldn’t be taking that out on me, should he. If he can’t pay for someone to clean up after the both of us, he shouldn’t complain if things are a little less than perfect, now and then.

Don't you rather agree?

Love,

Lisa