It doesn’t matter what I do...
... In fact, I do nothing at all.
Nevertheless, my post entitled The blog in which I eulogise Peter Ustinov consistently attracts more hits per day than any other blog. Other blogs have had more hits, but none has been more consistently read on a day-to-day basis.
I’m rather sorry, then, that I didn’t spend more time on this particular blog actually eulogising the great man.
I did mention that Peter Ustinov was the first man I ever fell in love with when I was nine or ten years old. I made it a habit, ever after, and, I think, to my credit, to judge every love by the love I felt for the man himself. I wasn’t much attracted by looks... I was always attracted by intellect and attitude. I was always attracted by the cleverest, funniest boy. I tell every girl that will listen that the boy they should be interested in is the cleverest, funniest boy on the playground with the biggest penis. Aged nine, I doubt that I had very much interest in Peter Ustinov’s penis... and thank heaven for that.
I stand by my declaration, however. I stand by it; I repeat it, and I absolutely mean it. Girls, when you’re looking for a man, you want the best combination you can achieve of the cleverest, funniest boy with the biggest penis, and if all that comes in combination with a huge appetite for life and all that offers then you might just be in for a very interesting ride.
I do feel that I rather let Peter Ustinov down in the post that I named for him, though.
I suggested in that post that I would eulogise him, but, in the end, there was little room to talk about the man, because my mind was on other, at the time, more important things.
Time and tide have proven me very, very wrong on that front.
The fact that more people view that post every day than any other proves to me that there is a genuine interest in Peter Ustinov, and my interest in him was genuine, too... aged nine. Frankly, it was no less genuine when I was aged 19 or 29, and it is no less genuine now... except for the fact that the man is dead, so I won’t get to talk to him, or find out, in any very personal way, what he was really like, or whether his penis lived up to his persona.
Honestly... I kid you not girls... When I say that what you need to concentrate on is looking for the cleverest, funniest man with the biggest penis, I’m not actually kidding... Really!
Enough! Enough of all that.
Let’s get down to brass tacks and talk about Peter Ustinov.
I do so love a polymath.
I do so love a man with an education.
I do so love a raconteur.
There is nothing more intoxicating than a man who can tell a damned good story.
There is nothing sexier than a man who can make me laugh.
Is that just me? I seriously doubt it.
Peter Ustinov was a king among men... I was tempted to say that Peter Ustinov was a god among men, and I’m tempted still. If a man can be a god, and that’s my only question, then Peter Ustinov most certainly was one.
I don’t know what is so constricting, so limiting about the times we live in, but they seem to preclude the emergence of another Peter Ustinov.
Bill Gates doesn’t have the ‘nads, the humour, the sex appeal, the breadth and depth of thinking.
Peter Ustinov was of his time and for his time, and I’m very happy that, as young as I was, I somehow managed to see something of that, however narrow my comprehension of it might have been.
When I was nine or ten years old, I fell in love with Peter Ustinov. He was my first love, and I am more grateful for that than I can adequately express.
To watch Peter Ustinov talking about tv and other things in 1965 follow this link. Trust me, it's a treat.
This is longer, and I'm not a fan of Parkinson, but if you can get past him, it's a wonderful way to spend an hour.
The best bred mongrel in Europe: Mr Peter Ustinov: