Making Love is what they do in Mills & Boon novels, all those heaving bosoms and porcelain complexions, where the men are all just tall enough not to be called "lanky" or  "lofty", and they all have broad shoulders and deep voices.

What humans do is, with the best will in the world, about as far away from the romantic notion as it is possible to be.

All that grunting, panting, sweating, squelching ..... and that's before you actually manage to start anything! And while we're on the topic, women's magazines have done more to emascualte the male of the species than an open day at a castration clinic.

Nowadays, women are told that basically if the man can't give you an orgasm from the other side of the room armed with nothing more than a box of perfumed tissues and an old copy of Cosmopolitan, he should be summarily ditched in favour of one who is more "in touch with himself". And he's probably got to be called Rupert or Timothy.

How I long for a return to the seventies, before women discovered that razors could shave more than their legs, and where the line "get your coat love, you've pulled" actually worked twice! Not for me, of course, but I heard of a guy who knew a guy .......

"You can't tell which way the train went by looking at the tracks"