Britain faces a new crisis as a result of the so-called ‘ladette’ culture. For, according to a study of men in their 40s and 50s, the nation’s teenage girls are all such grotty, pie-scoffing munters that they are no longer fit for masturbatory fantasy. Many marriages could suffer as a result.
Lead author Dr John Pemberton of the University of Leeds warned: ‘As their sexual vigour diminishes and that of their wives peaks, men in their fifties have long got through the ordeal of conjugal relations by conjuring up an image of a lovely young girl they saw recently. This is becoming increasingly difficult to do.’
The fact that any half-decent 18-year-old would not have touched such men with a bargepole was not a problem, added Pemberton; in fact it was a bonus. ‘Knowing that half of the skanks out there would probably blow him for her taxi fare home is the most off-putting thing of all,’ he said.
Some men are already blaming their failed marriage on the state of Britain’s young women. Robert Downs, a 53-year-old engineer from Birkenhead, attributes his wife’s departure to an increasing impotence caused by the sight of hordes of dyed-blonde ratbags in fake tans swilling alcopops on the streets.
‘I was out late one Friday night in Liverpool last year,’ he said. ‘Oh it was horrible - the orange make-up, the studs through every facial feature, the lurid pink dresses a fraction of an inch below the fallopian tubes … Can you really imagine any one of them in a netball skirt? Unfortunately for me, I can.’
Pemberton, himself 56, concedes that the government has no power to sustain suitable objects of lechery for older men. However, with the recession biting deep into their ability to pay for such traditional displacement activities as sports cars and model railways, he believes that imaginative solutions are needed.
‘We’re in the EU, aren’t we?’ he said. ‘Surely it would be cost-effective to hire a few thousand presentable young ladies from, say, Spain and pay them to walk around our cities in those black skirts with a slit in the front and flimsy white cotton blouses that go see-through in the sunlight and … er, will you excuse me for a minute? I think my wife is calling.’