Incase you hadn’t heard, ‘literary powerhouse’, FHM has just released their annual ‘Top 100 World’s Sexiest Women’.

Bizarrely, I don’t seem to be on this list. – and I can pretty much guarantee, neither are you.

The fortunate thing for me is that I don’t really give a tiny rats ass. Do you?

I only ask because an infuriatingly large number of girls seem to be yattering on about this damned list.

For some people it seems to have sparked the hideous green-eyed monster into life, prompting catty remarks and unnecessary slights – I mean really, you work in a chip shop on the Holloway Road, your barnet is full of grease, your belly enters the room five minutes before you do and your spots release enough pus to re-hydrate the Gobi desert –who are you to be criticizing the slightly rounded buttocks of ‘entry number 25’.

There also appears to be an inordinate amount of women obsessed with ‘how they too can achieve skin that glows as radiantly as that of Cheryl Cole’ or some similar nonsense.

Think about it fools, this is a chick from Newcastle, by rights she should have the pasty face of an albino rat. Her looks are not down to luck nor are they down to genetics. They are down to 4 hours a day in the gym, a stylist, a bucket load of make-up and enough good lighting to wake a sleeping polar bear from his hibernation. Don’t get me wrong; I’m not knocking her, or anyone else on the list – in fact given the opportunity I’d probably go in for a snog with at least 20% of the entries – I just think we need to keep our brains out of fantasy land and plant them firmly back in reality.

There’s no need to believe you should look as hot as these women. The average bird stands bugger all chance of achieving it; and unless your boyfriend is number one on the ‘World’s Sexiest Men’ list, then no one is really expecting it of you either.

We should scrap the jealously too because there’s chiff all to be jealous of! Oh sure, they may be so fit grown men weep in their very presence, but who wants to spend two hours with a stylist just to nip out for a bag of Wotsits? Frankly all that fannying around each and every day would get right on my very small, decidedly un-enhanced, but wonderfully real, jubblies.

I hope you, my lovely Flirto friends, have the smarts to feel the same.

So screw the list, and screw the beauty regime, I say we all go out for a kebab instead…who’s with me?

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