Today I would like you to think about Cheryl Cole’s bottom.
That shouldn’t be a problem for the blokes out there, and it wouldn’t have been a problem for me either ... until last week.
For that Geordie songstress’s pert derriere – and her upper legs too – were revealed to the world to have been hideously and irretrievable defaced with a huge tattoo of a dark red rose garden.
The lurid photos that appeared in newspapers, magazines and on the internet had not been snatched by the paparazzi; she had obviously posed especially to display the newly-inked flesh to all and sundry.
Now I admit it’s no concern of mine how a lass who has made millions from her stunning good looks and less-then-moderate talent spends her easy-earned brass, but what sort of example has she set to impressionable young people?
There are already more than enough celebrities eager for self-defacement in the form of permanent graffiti on their skin.
Look at David Beckham on his latest TV adverts and you’ll see his arms have more blue than skin colour.
Then you get Harry Styles of One Direction with a butterfly on his belly. There’s Rihanna, more noticeable for her bump-grind-thrust stage movements than her voice, with 19 tattoos at the last count.
Multi-millionaire teen idol Justin Bieber gets in on the act with 20 or so since he turned 16.
Believe me, I’m not snobbish about tattoos, and I know plenty of people who have them, but this addiction to ink leaves me baffled.
It may be a generation thing. When I was growing up, the only people with tattoos seemed to be ex-sailors with mermaids and “Mum” on their arms or criminals with “Hate” or “ACAB” smudged on their knuckles and “Cut ----- here” across their throats.
I accept that tattooing is an art as old as civilisation itself and modern tattoos can be quite artistic. However, many are just gimmicky, honouring some celeb who will soon be forgotten, or making a streetwise statement that will soon lose its novelty, or at worst just cartoonish, amateurish and dire.
In the real world, how does all this stuff look to any potential employer, other than a tattoist who needs an assistant?
And what will that wonderful Chinese dragon on a slim young woman’s bare shoulders look like in another 30 or 40 years when the ink has faded and she’s fatter than a pig?