Eye Candy

27 November 2000
Jamie's not a perv - it's a spiritual thing. Honest.

The library, a couple of weeks ago. I was sifting through the dross in the New Book Collection (maximum loan one week, no renewals), wondering which of the famous-since-Tuesday celebrities' autobiographies to borrow, when I suddenly lost interest in The Jane McDonald Story. Surprisingly. A brief glimpse of blond locks was all it took to divert my attention away from the ship-dwelling diva and onwards to Paperback Fiction, where I was presented with the welcome sight of the only attractive female in the library. Or more pertinently, judging from my experiences so far that day, the only attractive female in Woking Town Centre. Sparkling entertainment my arse.

[I say attractive. Promising would be more accurate, since all I could make out was a nice arse in black trousers and long blond hair. But welcome enough, in a den of librarians and their kin.]

Naturally enough, paperbacks suddenly seemed exactly the kind of book I was looking for. (They're lighter to carry, after all, and they have quotes from reviews on the back so you know what's good and what isn't. Much more useful than 'praise for X's last novel'; what's to say the next one's going to be anything like as good? Stephen Fry's books have got worse and worse. No, give me a trusty paperback any day. They fit in your pockets, too. If you've got big pockets. And I have. Look.) So, time to browse. Peruse the shelves and the Sheila, as our friends in Oceania might say. Maybe she'd reach down for some Kurt Vonnegut (unlikely I know) while I was in an advantageous peering position.

What is going through the male mind in this situation, you might ask? Is he hoping to strike up a conversation with this woman? Hoping for a sexual relationship? Marriage? Offspring? A mausoleum for two? I wish I could give a more precise answer than 'well, I'm not sure really'. But I'm not. The nearest I could get to the truth would be, we just want to get a better look.

It's quite an abstract thing I suppose. And I don't know if I'm speaking for the unfairer sex in general, or just myself, but it's really quite a common occurrence. I'll happily take a quick detour, or stand on the right rather than walk up the escalator, for a few precious moments' appreciation. Walking down a crowded street, or through a busy station, there's something inherently satisfying about the pendulum swing of a ponytail accompanied by the tick-tock of the buttocks, left then right. A quick toss of the hair as the mobile is placed by the ear, chestnut waves soaring and coming to rest, and a fleeting, tentative shot of a cheek, lips, lashes. Then, of course, she stops, opens her mouth, and my reverie is shattered on the unforgiving rocks of imperfection.

You see, up to the point where reality sets in, the potential is limitless. Your imagination fills in the gaps. But as soon as you overtake them and cast a glance over your shoulder, Eurydice is dragged back to the Hades of your mind. Women generally look a lot more attractive from the back. Funny, really, given the amount of time, money and mirror-gazing invested in their frontal and facial appearance, but that's the way it is. Sometimes it's better just to keep walking, keep the fragile beauty alive. (And as for hearing some of them speak...)

But then again, which would you rather? If you never looked back, your world would be full of beautiful, unattainable women you know you'd never see again, and memories of faceless, denim-clad figures would haunt your dreams. Maybe it's better to suffer the momentary disappointment of a face which certainly doesn't belong on a body like that, than to live in a world where everyone is beautiful but none of them are yours.

So if you happen to be walking down a street and feel a pair of eyes on your back, don't worry and don't get angry. It's not rude; it's not lechery. At least I'm not harassing you, bothering you in a bar, or approaching you down a dark alley wearing nothing but a grubby raincoat. There are worse things than a little gentle ornithology. Hey, look at it this way, you could even be brightening up my day!

[Oh yes, the girl in the library. She only reached down as far as Danielle Steele, but it was good enough for me. Not the greatest looker, but I finally got hold of Girlfriend in a Coma and One Fine Day in the Middle of the Night. So I went home happy. Which is the main thing]