Listen up, mates. If you’re not yet familiar with columnist Julie Burchill, let me perform a proper introduction merely by stating that she is a fucking goddess. She’s also pretty much got one of my three dream jobs in life, and Burchill now takes on the idiotic double standard that has people chirping that Kate Moss looks “old” at 35, but Jack Nicholson is still somehow doable at age 72. While I’d already enjoyed a few private chuckles with this latest column, my gay boyfriend sent over a “Mountainous moobs? Superannuated slag? Hilarious!” message, so I knew this one had to be shared with all of our lovelies:

[W]e still behave as if holding onto youthful good looks is more important for women than it is for men; in the course of this, some surreal double standards can be seen on almost any day in the pages of the middle-market tabloids. For instance, for years now, every time I see a new photo of Jack Nicholson romping on a yacht with a brace of beauties young enough to be his fourth and fifth wives, I’ve had a genuine moment of confusion when I’ve wondered whether he intends to screw them or suckle them, so mountainous are his moobs.

However, until very recently — Nicholson is 72 now — the very same papers that pick fault with Demi’s knees, Kate’s crow’s-feet and Madonna’s arms have celebrated this superannuated slag as a bona fide love hunk. Maxim magazine named him one of the Top 10 Living Legends of Sex, even though, disgustingly, he stood by his friend Roman Polanski after his arrest, charged with the rape and sodomy of a drugged 13-year-old child — wow, that’s really sexy. Almost as sexy as the £s;20,000, out-of-court settlement that the Joker paid a prostitute, Christine Sheehan, in 1997. Apparently, she had the cheek to ask for payment after allowing the Living Legend of Sex to have his nasty way with her, after which he lost his rag and banged her head on the floor several times.

“He’s still got it!” slobber female columnists over this ugly scumbag. Excuse me, but all he’s got that’s in any way attractive is money — a lot of it — and some slags with dollar signs in their eyes, be they on the yacht or in the press, are prepared to overlook the beatings and the baps because of it.

Has Kate Moss ever attacked a prostitute or supported a paedophile? If she had, I’m sure we’d have heard about it. Nevertheless, every new wrinkle on her beautiful face is invested with a sinister subtext that Nicholson’s repulsive tits have somehow managed to escape. Moss is a paying-the-price ager, you see, whose perfectly normal ageing process has been totemised by the monstrous hordes of professional worrywarts and sob sisters into a dire warning to all young women about what will happen to your all-important looks if you have too much fun — usually accompanied by a photograph of Miss Moss 10 years ago, and a why-oh-why? headline along the lines of “Oh, Kate. What happened?” Uh, 10 years is what happened, stupid, and if Kate had spent the past decade knitting cakes and baking socks, she still wouldn’t look the way she did when she was 25. Hold the front page, Daily Hell hacks: none of us does, not even you.

At least we have some justice here in that Kate Moss, who has actually been on an upward swing since dumping dodgy Pete Doherty, would never bang the likes of Jack Nicholson. The girl looks better than most of us ever will and has finally found a good one in Jamie Hince.