NAOMI’S OUT ON A LIMB

Paris fashion week beckons, and I expect I’ll be runway fodder at one or two defilée– another of those mystified-looking men being jostled by sharp-elbowed female reporters and bewildered by the various exotics that follow the circus. And for what? For clothes, just clothes. I’ve done a fair few shows in my time, and never noticed any great departures from what can be daily seen on the street. But why would I? Why would any straight man? We’re not really interested in what women wear, except for what it reveals or covers.

So what do we chaps do when the models are strutting up and down the catwalk? Well, I know what I do - and from my recent observations in London, I can report that I’m no exception. We study the models’ anatomies. Or to be more precise - since the girls are fairly scrawny up top and tend to have faces as blank as Gordon Brown’s cheques – we ogle their legs. And the results, I’m afraid, are disappointing.

Take the Issa show in Somerset House last week. Lovely frocks, I’m sure, but the pins beneath them left much to be desired. A dash of instant tan wouldn’t have gone amiss (particularly since they were modelling such colourful confections) and might have concealed a multitude of sins. Leaving aside the bruises, pimples - and one set of track marks, I reckon - I’ve never seen so many scuffed and scabbed knees. It makes you wonder if these girls spend all their spare time scrubbing the front steps. Or, more likely, falling out of nightclubs.

At least Naomi Campbell’s limbs made the grade. As did the rest of her. You couldn’t help but notice that, in her fortieth year, Naomi’s not as skinny as she once was. But she’s all the more woman for it. The high point of the evening for me was watching her return walk, after her final appearance in swimwear. As her buttocks bounced cheekily beneath the confines of her costume, I thanked God for the fuller figure. Bring ‘em on, I say - only drawing the line at the démodeé Beth Ditto.