Scientists have the shortest hair and the thickest spectacles. They wear white coats, talk in whispers, and have never read a book. When they meet a pretty girl they turn pink like litmus paper and have difficulty raising a retort stand. They are all described as brilliant to compensate for being on the non-smart side of the two cultures, and tend to be left wing.
They have a curiously cold analytical approach to women, and are too busy making explosions to have much fire in their bellies.
They are the first target for Rats’ Lib.
THE CLERGY
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In theory the clergy don’t—except with their wives or the bishop if he asks them. In fact it is difficult for them to get off with anyone, as unlike catholic priests they don’t have the intimacy of the confessional. It must also be a bit turning off to have a whole pewful of parish hats gazing at you with adoration every Sunday.
Perhaps they say: “For who we are about to receive may the Lord make us truly thankful,” before they pounce on you, and then send you to the jumble sale afterwards. They are all tone deaf.
DOCTORS
Very easy to get at. Anyone can pretend to have a migraine or pains in the chest. But the Hippocratic oath stops doctors doing anything about it, unless you meet them at a cocktail party or down in the shopping centre. I think most women imagine that because doctors know so much about the female body, they’ll be better at making love to it. I should hate to have it off with a doctor in case he found some bump or cavity he shouldn’t.
LORRY DRIVERS
Available to hitch-hikers. They make love at 20 miles an hour and have red lights on their rears. They spend a lot of time in lay-bys. A girl friend of mine had a fantasy about lorry drivers in which she passed them a note saying: “You can come home with me as long as you don’t speak.”
STOCKBROKERS
Stockbrokers play squash all the time—they squash themselves against women all the way to the City on the Tube, then play squash in the evening to keep their weight down. Later in the evening they play bridge, or go to cocktail parties and shout at girls with flicked up hair and bare foreheads. During the day they make up filthy stories and think about Bulls and Bears.
At weekends they make desperate attempts to be trendy, tripping off to the launderette in sweaters, paisley scarves flowing through a brass ring, their trousers held up under a spreading stomach by a stockbroker belt.
There are very few pretty girls working in the City, which is one of the places to go to if you want to hook a man.
THE LEGAL PROFESSION
Most women, being irrational, will be driven up the wall by the pedantic exactitude of the legal mind. Occasionally a lawyer sends you a legal document covered in kisses, and you really think you’re getting somewhere until he tells you he only wants you to sign your name, in three places. And his indecent proposal will be couched in such convoluted jargon, you won’t have a hope of defending your honour against him. He will overrule all your objections.
On the whole, barristers are more interested in their briefs than yours. They tend to be pompous and divide you mentally into twelve good men and true when they talk to you. They also put their upper lips in rollers every night, so they can sneer better at their opponents.
TELEVISION (See Fairies)
Men in television brush their hair forwards, and wear white polo-necked sweaters, suede jackets, name-tag bracelets, and deaf aids. They spend their time gossiping—the television centre in Wood Lane is built in a circle to enable the gossip to travel more quickly—and in backbiting—you can recognise a television man once he takes his clothes off because his shoulders are covered in stab marks.
POLITICIANS
Politicians have ringing voices, graciously waving hands, and an all-embracing smile that passes over you like a lighthouse beam. They also make love on all three channels.
Like most men in power they have a hayride sexually—all women wanting to go to bed with a 20,000 majority.
Because on the whole they work so hard, politicians become tremendously randy on the rare times they are off-duty, and because the newspapers are always saying nasty things about them and thwacking them on their marginal seats, they need the reassurance of sexual conquest to soothe their bruised egos. It is very easy for them to be unfaithful because once they’re in the House they become completely ungetatable, and their wives never know if they’re snoozing on a back bench, chairing a committee meeting or carrying on an affaire of state.
Women, being naturally subservient, are generally attracted to a man in a position of authority—whether he’s a doctor, a psychiatrist, a solicitor who advises them when they’re in trouble, a general in time of war, a teacher at night school, a ski instructor, or most often their boss.
SCHOOLMASTERS
Schoolmasters however are a very different cup of tea—‘children among men, men among children’, as Dr Johnson called them. They have chalk in their hair, are dry as dust, hearty, antiseptic, and almost invariably undersexed. They adore the sound of their own voices, and often develop tics and private jokes. Ill at ease in the company of women, they prefer the adulation of a captive audience, their pupils, or the fusty misogyny of their colleagues.
Being accustomed to school dinners, they invariably take girls to awful restaurants. Naturally bossy, they treat their wives like little boys of eleven.
Recommended for masochistic ladies—they are very good at knocking the stuffing out of those smaller than themselves.
FARMERS
Farmers have red faces, purple raw hands and straw in their turnups. They wear long jackets, frequently suffer from calf love, and wear gumboots to keep the sheep steady. They get up very early in the morning and assist in the sexual couplings of animals. In summer they get bitten by insects, and summon milkmaids and landgirls to come and see their itchings. Their houses smell of pigs.
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Gentlemen farmers spend their time drinking at lunchtime, butchering wildlife, riding in point-to-points and swapping wives. At hunt balls, one glass of bubbly turns them as scarlet as their coats, and soon every cordoned off fourposter is heaving with occupants.
