Last night I watched 5 episodes of Sex and the City.

I rarely watch television but I have felt utterly exhausted of late, so I planned one evening of enforced inactivity.

So which character was I ? Like Desperate Housewives you always relate to one character. Granted, there were similarities with Carrie. I rarely where the same outfit twice. Most of the clothes (except the dreadful tutu) I would wear. I get the shoe thing and I get the writing.

So I am Baths equivalent to Carrie Bradshaw.

Or at least I thought I was, until I went to Sainsburys. Next to me at the checkout was a member of Bath Rugby. A strange combination of man, incredible hulk and machine, I was mesmerised by the enormity of his physical stature. I checked his shopping out. The tinned soup lowered the appeal but he regained it with the fresh rocket.

Then I saw his bottom. I can honestly say I have never, ever seen a bottom with muscle like it. It was like a kitchen diner. So toned and defined I could have read a paper on it. I couldn't take my eyes of it. Suddenly he was far more attractive and the tinned soup simply fodder for a fuel machine.

I had the not unpleasant experience recently of placing my hands upon a very well toned example. Granted, there was some 'A woman has her hands on my arse' type tensing going on, but even allowing for that; it was a kineasthetically charming moment. I have a very good kineasthetic memory and it definitely a recollection I will be happy to replay at any point.

Life would be simply peachy if I should stumble upon a pert bottom, muscular anatomy, sharp mind, sharp humoured individual that likes shopping, log fires and inappropriate adventures in saunas (so I am allowed one errant thought). Unlikely I fear.

Then I realised, I am turning into Samantha

Oh dear.