Melanie Morris: Rod, you're 66. It's time you stopped acting like a boy
Does Rod Stewart have no friends? No one who can have a quiet word in his ear, to tell him that instead of appearing as a 'Jack the Lad', he's moving into Hugh Hefner's creepy brigade?
I saw him on Sky News, bopping boyishly from some football terrace; leathery tan, frosted hair and bad boogie-woogie dad dancing. Whatever result was on the pitch obviously brought his perfect week to conclusion, as he's also just become a dad for the eighth time.
I don't have a problem with a 66-year-old rocker siring a dynasty. I reckon what Rod, or any other rich awl fella gets up to with his missus is his business, it's the idea that Stewart thinks himself a bit of a boyo that makes me want to gag.
Then again, I've never really been a member of Rod's tartan army. I have horrid and vivid memories back to the 1970s, when I saw a photograph of him in some teen mag, staring broodily into the camera, bare chested, with his hand plunged deeply into his tiny disco shorts. Eew.
He wasn't attractive then, and he isn't attractive now. And his songs were always just too full of the worst sort of innuendo. First Cut Is The Deepest ... Tonight's The Night ... Do Ya Think I'm Sexy ... Pur-lease!
I think he's still belting out these numbers with his trademark gravelly voice, strutting across the stage waving the microphone like a massive phallic symbol, thrusting around in his Eighties-style showbiz suits.
But there comes a time when to be renowned as 'a bit of a Playboy' starts to loose its allure -- ask Charlie Sheen, he's just gone over the tipping point.
Rod may not be as much of a hell-raiser, but he's built his image around walking on the wild side, usually accompanied by a pneumatic blonde (or three).
Like Bernie Ecclestone, Peter Stringfellow and Silvio Berlusconi, he's confusing 'young' with 'young at heart' but chaps, I have news for you all, it stopped being a good look about 20 years ago.
But that doesn't seem to put off these men. Nor countless others who are stuck in a time warp ... all diamond Rolexes and platinum credit cards.
There comes a time when cashing in your chips is a good idea, and I thought Rod had finally done this and quietly headed off to procreate one last time with his lingerie model missus, Penny Lancaster (yes, Rod, we know, you're living the dream).
But he keeps reappearing with 'comback' tours, and popping up in photographs wearing teensy tennis gear, shoulder level to his Amazonian wife.
I think, in his head, Rod thinks he's Liam Gallagher, or Bobby Gillespie, or Michael Flatley.
But, hello Rod, even these notorious boyos have put their crazier days behind them now.
It's time for a reality check, Rod.
Count your blessings, calm the jets, and put the leopard print thong (or whatever) in the attic. You have pots of cash, a successful back catalogue to live off, and a wife who's giving you babies.
Is that not enough?