I got a big LOL from my elder daughter by text this week. This could only mean one thing: the joke was on me. Attached was a photo of a Top Trumps card with my picture on it. I suppose I should have swelled with pride about featuring in a pack of something called Weird Crushes: British Hunks. Given my scores, though, this wasn’t possible. Here they are in full: for sex appeal, three; one each for charisma and style; a respectable six for likability; and a two for fame.
“What are these marks out of? Not 10, surely?”
“Afraid so,” she replied.
It has been a long time since I played Top Trumps, but I do recall there was generally some joke card you wouldn’t want, like a rusty old biplane in a packet of fast jets. It turns out I am that biplane.
I suppose I can settle for a likability rating of 6/10, and I’m grudgingly satisfied with a 3/10 for sex appeal. For fame, 2/10 is a bit of a worry because the card refers to four programmes I don’t do any more. Even at my peak I was only at 2/10! Where on earth am I now?
As for 1/10 for style: I put my hands up, I’m a disaster in that department. I’ve taken immediate action to try to rectify matters, though. Judging my daily wearing of jeans to be a key factor, I’ve been out and bought six new pairs of trousers. They were all from Gap’s outlet store in Salford and came in at only £12.99 each. Well, it’s a start.
On my 1/10 for charisma, I have at least one crumb of comfort to keep myself going. When I suggested to my daughter that I may be worth more than that she said: “Yeah, I suppose.” My heart bursts with pride.
