JAN MOIR: We're ALL 'hot wired' for hotties

JAN MOIR: Boris Becker may act like a randy uncle, but we’re ALL ‘hot wired’ for hotties

Oh I say. Boris Becker is in trouble for something he said at Wimbledon.

Not for the technical gravitas he brings to his tennis commentary, but for remarking on the appearance of a woman spectator, whom he found attractive.

Be fair! After all, Boris wasn’t bundling the poor girl into a broom cupboard in his traditional game, set and love match manoeuvre, no strings attached, baby.

Baron Van Slam was just passing the time, thinking aloud, no harm meant — but now angry maidens claim he was committing a Sexist Crime of the most Heinous Sort.

The pundit had spotted player Marton Fucsovics’ partner in the stands as the Hungarian ace took on defending champ Novak Djokovic on Centre Court.

Boris Becker is in trouble for for remarking on the appearance of a woman spectator at Wimbledon

As comely Anett Boszormenyi flashed up on the screen, Becker remarked: ‘They do say they have the most beautiful women in Hungary. I wouldn’t know that, but she’s certainly very pretty.’

His fellow pundit John Inverdale offered a gag. ‘That’s quite a good name for the partner of a tennis player, it’s always good to have a partner called Anett,’ he joked. To be honest I thought that was quite funny, but not as funny as if Anett started going out a bloke called Rod and they opened a fishing tackle shop.

However, as tennis gags go, it was almost up there with wondering why love means nothing to top players and at what time Sean Connery used to go to bed during the Wimbledon tournament —about ten-ish, apparently.

Yes, I know, stop it. I can certainly see the problem with Boris and John panting on like two randy uncles at a wedding, ranking the bridesmaids over that third glass of port.

Marton Fucsovics’ partner was seen in the stands as the Hungarian ace took on defending champ Novak Djokovic on Centre Court

Take a cold shower, grandpas! Behave your bad selves. Perhaps it would have been more circumspect if they had not mentioned Anett at all, but let us not be hypocrites here. For we are all, are we not, keenly interested in attractive members of the human race — even if just for innocent observational and perusal purposes? I could study Angelina Jolie’s icy beauty for hours. Daniel Craig as James Bond, ditto.

For more than 50 years my mother has always said admiringly ‘look at the legs on that dame’ if any woman with shapely lower limbs appears on television. And by shapely I mean closer to a plank of wood than a tree trunk, which counts as enviable and well-formed among the women in our family. The thing is, the human race is hot-wired to notice the hotties, on red alert for the Beautiful People in our midst. We think about them, we comment upon them, we register their appearance either in an internal monologue or, like poor Boris, during an unguarded public moment. It can happen to anyone.

Over the past ten years or so, every time Roger Federer has appeared on our office television screens during Wimbledon, someone screams loudly and excitedly about his utter gorgeousness and that someone is often me, but usually it is my Mail colleague Andrew Pierce.

JAN MOIR: Over the past ten years or so, every time Roger Federer has appeared on our office television screens during Wimbledon, someone screams loudly and excitedly about his utter gorgeousness

Yet isn’t it possible to genuinely appreciate and admire Roger’s supreme tennis skills, his technical ability, his longevity, his unruffled temperament, his grit, his determination and the distilled beauty of his perfect forehand while at the same time valuing the flawless shape of his engrossing calves or his lovely, cappuccino perma-tan?

Cherishing one is not necessarily detrimental to the other. That is my theory, made without even a whisper of condescension or a murmur of unconscious sexism. For while much is written about the male gaze and not all of it complimentary, we have to admit there is a female gaze, too. One that is equally keen and searching as it sweeps the fields of life, forever sorting the weeds from the prize blooms, the wheat heat from the chap chaff.

Yesterday morning I was outraged by columnist Janice Turner writing in the Times newspaper that the Danish actor Mads Mikkelsen was ‘the most beautiful man in the world’. She’s got a point but in a certain light, his older brother Lars, also an actor, is even cuter.

I have written before about the French television series Spiral, in which lawyer Pierre Clément (Grégory Fitoussi) is easily the most handsome man ever to prosecute a crime. If Pierre walked into any crowded room anywhere in the world, wearing his swirling lawyer’s cape and with his briefs in his hand, I suspect that every woman present — and quite a few men — would either fall silent or fall into a Victorian swoon and have to be revived by tincture of mugwort and a spell in a sanatorium.

No one could fail to notice Pierre’s outrageous suavity, especially if he were sporting his usual noble but troubled expression, one that suggests he is going to mete out harsh justice to every miscreant in Paris, or die in the attempt.

Where was I? Of course, Inverdale was previously slammed for saying French tennis star Marion Bartoli was not a ‘looker’ and would ‘never be a [Maria] Sharapova’. Terribly clumsily expressed but it seemed clear that he was alluding to sponsorship, marketability and earning prowess ability, rather than anything else.

A fair if brutal point. Yet to make even the most innocent comment about the appearance of others is now a complete social minefield, leaving one open to all sorts of accusations about intent, significance and consequence. And the rules seem to be harsher for men than they are for women, which is the real sexist crime here.

I don’t think Boris Becker is going to win the medal of honour from the International Para-Feminist Society any time soon, but I am willing to give the old dog a pardon on this dodgy compliment to a random babe in the crowd, if you are, too.

New balls, please!

When Alvaro Morata stepped up to take his penalty for Spain, something in his doomed expression suggested the agony of what was to come. Despite scoring an earlier goal for his country, he missed his spot kick — dropping from hero to zero in the minds of fanatical Spanish football fans.

I hope Alvaro takes solace in his beautiful wife and family. Cameras caught his tiny twin sons rushing to meet him at Sardinia airport when he flew home after the match — two scrumptious armfuls of baby boy!

‘Football can be very hard,’ the striker posted on Instagram.

Indeed so. And while it might not seem like it right now, some things are more beautiful and precious than winning every game. And whatever happens, he will always be a hero to his little boys.

Andie goes grey on the red carpet 

At the age of 63, we saw that Andie MacDowell has embraced her grey hair over lockdown and looked fabulous in her Atelier Versace gown

The Cannes Film Festival returned, complete with movie stars looking like movie stars and top models looking radiant.

Former Victoria’s Secret Angel Candice Swanepoel turned up in the kind of eye-popping flesh-coloured, plunge-front catsuit that even an exhibitionist ice skater might think twice about, while French model Didi Stone Olomidé wore a marvellous corset and train combo that was very — how can I put it? —Wonder Woman Bridal.

In addition, there was the cheering sight of high heels galore, Helen Mirren in emeralds and Eva Herzigová defying gravity in a ruffled top, teamed with the most enviable pair of Alberta Ferretti black sequin trousers.

At the age of 63, we saw that Andie MacDowell has embraced her grey hair over lockdown and looked fabulous in her Atelier Versace gown — except for one thing.

Whoever did darling Andie’s ghastly ghost-of-Barbara-Cartland make-up deserves to be thrashed with a blusher brush.

The good, the bad and the even worse?

It’s all part of the joy of the red carpet. How wonderful to see it unfurled once more.

Queen of the cobbles

Hard to say which sight was the more cheering — Boris wearing an England shirt in the royal box at Wembley, or The Queen plodding down the Coronation Street cobbles in her trusty buckled shoes.

On balance the Queen wins, like she always does. For despite everything, including the recent death of her husband and the ongoing psychodrama with the Duke and Duchess of Sussex, she sails on with the job regardless; the eternal dutiful pragmatist, bolstered by common sense and sufferance, unbowed by both the best and the worst of it all.

A member of the Coronation Street cast explained to HM that they liked to balance the show’s plotline troubles ‘with some niceness’.

‘Well I think life is a trouble,’ replied the smiling Queen.

Too right, Ma’am.

How to blend it like Winslet…  

Kate Winslet has announced she uses two different shades of foundation to achieve that flawless dewy look we know so well

Let’s get down to some serious news. Kate Winslet has announced she uses two different shades of foundation to achieve that flawless dewy look we know so well.

‘In the middle of my cycle everything fires up a little bit,’ she said — and I am wondering why Kate doesn’t just get a new bike and, oh, wait — I see what she means . . . ‘so I mix a couple of tones’.

Coincidentally, this sudden and lavish double use of expensive lotions coincides with the announcement that Kate is L’Oréal Paris’s new spokesperson.

Wear six coats of mascara, she’ll be urging next. Why stop at one lipstick when three will be better. Or maybe not.

I’d like to be cynical, but I’d rather know exactly how to blend it like Winslet. What is her secret?

Never mind lobsters, what about cows? 

While the pandemic continues to tear though the nation, the Government is concerning itself with another pressing matter — the emotional happiness of shellfish.

One can see animal campaigner Carrie’s fragrant involvement in a new proposed ban on boiling lobsters alive, as part of a plan to strengthen the welfare rights of crustaceans.

Fiddling with crab claws while the barbecue burns? DEFRA has confirmed the Government has commissioned an independent external review of the available scientific evidence on sentience — the capacity to be aware of feelings and sensations — in both crabs and lobsters.

Why stop there? What about the inner lives of bivalves? Consider the oyster. Who among them does not squirm when its shell is prised open and its connective muscle severed before being sprayed with lemon juice or — shriek —the torture of tabasco? It’s quite easy to kill lobsters humanely before boiling — and I imagine that most people including myself do so — but who is going to police this cooking process?

Who is going to stand guard by the nation’s saucepans and grills, ears cocked for screaming lobsters?

It is all such a nonsense. If Carrie and her chums are serious about animal welfare, why don’t they do something about halal meat?

The Islamic method of killing an animal for meat involves using a surgically sharp instrument to cut the animal’s throat, windpipe and the blood vessels around its neck while it is still alive. The blood is then allowed to drain from the body. Previous European law required all animals to be stunned before they were slaughtered, but granted exemptions on religious grounds.

According to the RSPCA, 58 per cent of halal meat is stunned before slaughter but the Jewish method, known as Shechita, cannot involve pre-slaughter stunning at all.

For those who worry about these kind of things, isn’t this the bigger issue than lobster welfare?

And now is the time to stop this widespread practice with new laws of our own to protect cows and sheep.

Millions of animals are killed in this way every year.

Why doesn’t Carrie get her teeth into this, instead of nit-picking over the rights of lobsters? Answers on a postcard please.

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