Sexual Four-Oh Play

I'm sure Ms Watson means well - or at least, means to make a lot of money - but this sort of patronising claptrap really gets my goat. The assumption that underlines every single word of this magnum opus is that a woman is incomplete in every way without a man. A man who is married. To you.

I have to share with you Ms Watson's "list". This list has on it five, absolutely immoveable, non-negotiable conditions:

- Must be kind. If you have heard him be vile about anyone, seen him be cruel to animals, children or boring hostesses, then this man is not kind.

- Must like women. You think this goes without saying. Of course every man you've ever been out with has loved women. But are you absolutely sure? Did they like it if you contradicted them in public? Were there many women they found attractive who were a) over 50, b) large, or c) noisy? Thought not.

- Must adore you.

- Must be smarter than you, or at least as smart. Smarter, probably, or you will keep looking for that Achilles heel.

- Must have bigger feet than you. Obviously. And must be hairier.

- Must be able to make you laugh in all situations, including when you get to the airport and discover he has no passport.

- You must fancy him unconditionally.

As the Facebook generation would say: WTF? There's more sage advice to come, however. Now you've established that a lovesick, hairy professor with clown feet and a good line in knock knock jokes is the man for you, the rest should be a breeze, shouldn't it? Er, no.

Personal grooming must be attended to. Every single hair below eyebrow level must be napalmed into submission. Seaweed wraps must be applied (not eaten). Hairless limbs must be spray-tanned. All of this is fairly pedestrian advice and rather assumes that a single woman hasn't got time for a spray tan as she's too busy knitting her pubic hair into a sporran. The wise words that follow the beauty routine guidelines were far from ordinary, however. "If you want sex, then you need to dress with sex in mind." Holy peephole bras, Batman, if that's the case then I'm buying shares in Ann Summers, pronto.

But no. The super successful sex kitten that is the author has a different look in mind. If we too wish to get our man, then we must choose from "a bias-cut floral dress and kitten-heel slingbacks, wrap dresses worn with cashmere cardigans, and pastel ballerina tops over slinky skirts". One can only gaze in awe at her ability to see into the minds of men. Why, at this very moment, chaps up and down the country are begging their wives: "Please take off that black satin babydoll negligee and matching crotchless knickers darling. Can't you slip into that gorgeous bias-cut floral dress, just for me? Aaaaaaaaaaaah. Not the kitten-heel slingbacks. I cannot resist........"

Here we are then, hairless, perma-tanned creatures in pastel ballerina tops, ready to go out into the world and nail our hirsute quantum physicists, yet unable to dispell the nagging feeling that there is something missing from our ensemble. What can it be? Ms Watson turns to international fashion icon Isabella Blow for that certain je ne sais quoi. "Once, a long time ago, the brilliant Isabella Blow told me I must wear a hat if I wanted to find the One. You have to stand out in a crowd. You have to let them see you," she said. "And men love a hat. They see the hat and they want to meet the girl."

Alas, Ms Blow does not reveal what kind of hat will clinch the deal. Perhaps any one that comes to hand will do. I personally have an old cycling helmet kicking around downstairs. I feel it will definitely make me stand out in a crowd, particularly at a drinks party.

A plague on Ms Watson and her asinine book. Nobody can really be this shallow. Or desperate.