Ladies! Do you despair of ever finding a comfortable bra that does its job properly? A bra that lifts, and has comfortable straps, and doesn’t form armrests under one’s armpits. A bra that bestows a bit of cleavage – well, when you’ve not much else to show off, a nice pair of uplifted pointy boobs would do wonders for sagging self-esteem, now, wouldn’t it. 

Today’s fashions are very odd indeed, don’t you think? Starting at the top, the female head of hair looks as if hours went into the washing and styling, then it was pushed backwards through a hedge. Men seem to favour the ‘hedgehog’ look like that sports-casting fellow on CNN.

Moving on down, showing one’s undies is a must. What our grandmothers would have said doesn’t bear thinking about. Why do so many people want to show off their bra straps and the tops of their knickers? Why do guys have to show us their Hanes elastic and their bum-cracks; and girls their weeny pot bellies and belly buttons? It’s definitely a case of let it all hang out, these days. 

Which begs the question. If it’s OK to show off our undies, why isn’t it OK to have a proper pair of boobs? Real boobs I mean, with nipples. Obviously this is unacceptable these days because all one can find on the bra racks is nasty flesh coloured, foam-lined, rounded things that look for all the world like breast implants. I am told that these are to be worn under tee shirts. Ah – so that nobody gets to know you might actually have nipples, I suppose. 

Put on a bra like that when you’re past your use-by date and you’ll see what I mean – instant middle aged spread! It’s bad enough being thought ‘past it’ without looking for all the world like the Queen. Somehow, very shortly after she gave birth to Charlie, her bosom relocated itself to about two inches above her waist – and it’s stayed there ever since. 

Wouldn’t it be fantastic to have a decent bra like the one that Howard Hughes designed for Jane Russell? Hughes knew a thing or two about boobs! But boobs do their own thing. They begin life very flat, but then either rapidly increase to torso-toppling proportions; or very gradually increase in size with age, to the disgust of women like me who started out with a perfectly decent handful-size 32B but ended up with an unmanageable 36C. 

We might get a tad droopy as we move inexorably towards our rotten-pension age, but propping up a couple of boobs does not require an engineering degree. We do not need an Isambard Kingdom Brunel here, just a manufacturer who appreciates a fine pair of pointy boobs – whatever their age. Or maybe only a fashion buyer able to understand that silver surfers deserve something better than a mere boob-bag.