I recently discussed the topic of love and the many different types thereof on my weekly radio show. I was quite alarmed to discover that there are more than fifteen recognised forms of love. I see only one.
I'm that cliché- the middle aged divorcée and nothing could make me run further and screaming, than the thought of life-draining relationship. I think men are nice enough but I've 'been around the block' once or twice and understand that nothing is ever what it seems.
Everything quintessentially Sixties eccentric London is present and correct in The Look of Love, an absorbing biopic of Paul Raymond, the impressario, porn king and property magnate once dubbed 'the richest man in England'.