TRY this for impact size; Taylor Swift’s legs are a stairway to heaven, a work of art which should command bronze casting by a Michelangelo. Indeed, Rod Stewart’s Hot Legs could have been written with the popstar’s pins in mind.

Now chew on this; Margot Robbie is a human firecracker. Thandie Newton is hotter than Nevada in July. And Emily Blunt’s smile could make a bishop kick in a stained glass window.

Ah, now you’re yelling “But you can’t quote Raymond Chandler these days. It’s not politically correct to intimate the effect the female form has on the male libido. This form of commentary has to be consigned to the dark ages, the Sixties and Seventies. Quite simply, men can’t go around throwing out desirous thoughts on the female form.”

Or can they?

BBC broadcaster Mariella Frostrup opened up the debate wider than a pole dancer’s smile when she declared in this week’s Radio Times she fancies the pants of Poldark star Aidan Turner.

Frostrup made the point that scything, hairy-chested Turner had the ability to cut the legs right from under her when it came to sex appeal. “Admiring Turner should be an acceptable national pastime, as a thumbs-up for the glories of humanity and another for his engaging performance,” she argued.

“Certainly, his looks were what earned him the gig and that makes perfect sense to me.”

In her refreshing honesty, the 55 year-old goes on to talk of her adrenal glands pumping at the sight of “a shirtless, sea-soaked Aidan Turner emerging form the white capped waves of the Atlantic.”

And before the upset sisters out there could suggest she wipe herself down with a piece of alter cloth and smack herself hard on the head with a copy of the feminists handbook, the broadcaster went on to outline the hypocrisy of those who would trash a man were he so drooling over a Demelza. “As a woman, I can own a comment like that without too much fear of censure. But we live in confusing times and I’m the first to admit double standards.”

Frostrup adds we are losing not only our sense of humour “but our sense of proportion as we throw every act of perceived sexism into the #MeToo basket.”

She’s right. We don’t know what we can say. And we don’t know the lines to which we can’t even go near without fear of social opprobrium. Or worse. How, for example, do we view the recent example of Morgan Freeman? The man who has played God is a god in the Hollywood firmament but now he stands accused of subjecting women to sexual and verbal harassement. The evidence of 16 accusers is a strong indicator Freeman has a case to answer. But one of his accusers, a CNN reporter, alleges he said to her “You are ripe.” Is this commanding of a court case? And the problem with this level of accusation is it gets in the way of more serious attacks on women.

We have to worry about how we are now seeing life through the prism of 2018 “mainstream feminism”, as it’s described by “anti-feminist feminist Camille Paglia.

We are continually being told, for example, how awful film is when shot by sexist men. We are made to think of the long Male Gaze lens, which is claims depicts women as sexual objects. And we are made to think of obvious examples, of Monroe’s dress being wafted up in Seven Year Itch. or Andress’s long walk from the sea in Dr No. Yes, Indeed, Hitchcock’s apparent voyeuerism went too far.. But was it wrong to show scantily-dressed women in their perfect form in the right context? And few women complained at seeing Brando or Roger Moore barechested, or Daniel Craig’s Bond shot in his Speedos?

Let’s think hard about double standards; how many times has Dawn French appeared on Graham Norton talking of snogging younger actors, such as Brad Pitt or French kissing Bear Grylls? But what if Billy Connolly had spoken of a secret desire to snog Scarlett Johansson?

If Gok Wan said Taylor Swift had legs to die for would we bat an eyelid? But if it’s a heterosexual man of a certain years?

Perhaps we need to worry less about the line between aesthetic appreciation and objectification. Perhaps we should try to factor in we all fancy people. And so long as we don’t pressure or intimate them, it’s not wrong to say it.

Isn’t poetry, as Robin Williams’ teacher said in Dead Poets Society, all about “wooing women”?

Yes, we shouldn’t judge people simply by how close they are to the embodiment of physical perfection. Try to see the person within. But sometimes we can’t. Sometimes we think someone of the opposite sex is, well, sexy.

When it comes to declaring sexual desire, let’s allow men the same opportunity to describe, as a female journalist once did of Kevin Costner as “a sight for sore thighs” or whoop at the opposite sex as Loose Women do.

Camille Paglia argues “Women will never know who they are until they let men be men.” She’s right. And if Frostrup finds herself pumped by the likes of Aidan Turner or Daniel Craig, then all I can say is ‘Go girl.’