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I was having a flick through the papers yesterday in the middle of benching 250 pounds one-handed, and came across the article by Samantha Brick in the Daily Mail.

It struck a bit of a chord. People hate her because she is beautiful, and well, she probably registers as Christmas and Birthday come at once for many readers. In good nick, and no need to worry about kids. There’s a bit of the Sally Bercows about her but without the maintenance. If she got the Mazda, you suspect, she’d be happy with that, and would probably wait a decent length of time before badgering you for the Porsche. In one’s own feverish imagination, of course.

Plus, of course, she appears to have the villain in a biker movie for a husband. The natural born winner in you asks the question: Surely she can do better than that? Like me, for example.

You see, I am awesome. I find it triggers an uncontrollable jealousy in people. Only the other day as I trailed my finger over the dread wax finish on my blood red (with black trimming) Ferrari I was thinking about this, in fact. It was a Dinky toy, but hey – aspirations, people, aspirations.

Haters will be hating, as the common parlance has it. As I flex my manly muscles and give out a masculine roar in the middle of the office, you’d be surprised at some of the looks I get. Admiration for the most part, but there are the odd jealous people stored here and there.

Only the other day I was given a disciplinary notice by my bosses for volunteering to give one of the girls in the office a back rub! I mean there must be some really mardy buggers about these days, I tell you. Reminds me of the time I was fired from my job as a labourer during the school holidays for hooting and clutching myself like an ape at every woman walking below the scaffolding who passed muster – and letting the ones that didn’t know exactly why.

Samantha Brick is spot on – why should she have to put up with people’s simple jealousy just because she’s gurning about how great her life is in a national newspaper? It’s attitudes like this which hold us back as a country. Separating the can-dos and the winners from the snarks, snipes and losers. Think me, in my aviator shades, my too-tight jeans, my over-long hair at the back and my suit jacket; what’s your reaction? Gut deep jealousy? Yeah, I knew it.

What this woman’s life – having rail tickets bought for her by admiring, Brut-splashing gentlemen like me – is like is almost irrelevant, but the reaction to the piece across the world must have had the Daily Mail rubbing its handies in glee. The one thing you can count on these days is that humiliation sells, especially across the internet. Put up the twits, get the hits. I can only hope that Ms Brick has earned well out of this piece, and will continue to do so. Hopefully at the minute she’s sipping the finest champagne, from a lovely scalloped bath in a fancy dan hotel, inviting us all to eat cake. I hope it’s worth it.

She does have a point though, about how society treats confident, aspirational women. Not that Samantha Brick is one of these things, exactly, but she does raise the question. Of course, if a man is great and awesome – like me, don’t forget, as I slide off my brown leather jacket, displaying my too-tight t-shirt and kiss my guns – it barely causes any commentary whatsoever. Simon Cowell can swan around being as awesome as me, but we tend to accept these things because it’s a man. Someone like Samantha Brick comes along, all we’re interested in is what she looks like. And she may be spot on about jealousy among other women. She might be telling the absolute truth.

Pause for thought. But only for a second. I’ve got stomach crunches and chest beating to do.      

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