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But then, I work from home, so I have privacy, an active imagination and, sometimes, time on my hands. For context, I should say that I also think about death a lot.It was different when I last worked in an office, surrounded mostly by smart, attractive young women. A friend told me this would happen in my 40s, and I laughed at him.

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The comedian Billy Crystal, at 67, jokes that he still looks at 25-year-old women, only they’re out of focus, and by the time he gets his glasses on, they’ve gone.

But increasingly I like looking at attractive people, of either gender and any age, in a way that I didn’t in my 20s, when I only had eyes for possible conquests, or my 30s, when my eyes were half-shut with that other kind of sleep deprivation, caused not by nights of passion but attending the needs of our second-born child, who didn’t sleep for more than a hour at a time for his first five years.

I like to think I’ve evolved an aesthetic appreciation of sexual attractiveness, and sometimes have to stop myself running up to comely strangers and imploring them to enjoy their bodies while they are slim and supple.

I spent most of my late teens and 20s in long relationships, and in between invented romantically tortured excuses not to have sex with girls: one likened me to the chaste heroine of an 18th-century novel.

The children are pretty much grown up now, which in theory liberates me and my beloved wife of 22 years to engage in all the sex we missed back then, as long as the bedroom door is locked to prevent a hulking brute stomping in to ask where his football boots are.

Why you would need them at quarter to 11 at night is one of the burning existential questions of my life.

When I was a few days away from turning 60 I remember thinking: goodbye sex, it was nice knowing you! And partly policy: I never pursue young women (anyone under 45). Also, the older you get the more experienced you become. But the gloomy reality is that for me it would be more of a family saloon, its rightful place just under the speed limit in the middle lane of the motorway, with 53,000 miles on the clock and most of the excitement disappearing in the rear-view mirror.

I had reached that age when you look in the mirror and see a stranger’s face. Since splitting with my long-term girlfriend, I’ve been single for two years. And besides, in my experience older women are better in bed; they have a natural beauty and unselfconscious sensuality. I’m more relaxed, more confident and more knowledgable about how to make a woman happy in the bedroom than ever. As I edge towards my mid-50s, my libido, like my pulse, is still there, all right.

Our libidos chase the excitement — sadly, you have to sort the mess out afterwards. ’ as you wake up in bed with a start in the middle of Channel 4’s Sunday Brunch.

Women in their 30s, despite having seen this on a reasonably regular basis, still look confused at your time-keeping. Overly sexy music videos become repellent as do the saucy wardrobe choices of reality TV stars.

When there’s no hair left to cut, I’m sure I’ll be past bothering. Plenty of that still sloshing around the old loins, thank you very much.

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