I feel like a student of Descartes, struggling with the duality of the mind and body. Or like a 17th century reader of John Locke, trying to understand his proposed separation of church from state. For a survey has shown that most British women would rather sleep with Dec than Ant.
Yes, asked to choose one of the telly presenting pair called Ant and Dec, they appeared far more ready to rumble with the latter than with the former. Well over 70 per cent of them, in fact, one woman apparently imagining Mr Declan Donnelly, 37, to be "like a tiger in the bedroom".
This is a deeply disturbing idea. And here's why. Firstly, are these women quite sure they picked the right one? This is how you know which is which – Ant and Dec always stand in order. Alphabetical order, in fact.
So as you look at them, Ant is on the left and Dec is on the right, which means Ant is the taller darker one, and Dec the shorter, stouter one, with the permanently pleased expression of a man who has just caught a moderately sized trout.
While Ant is the wilder card – his limbs rove, his eyelashes sparkle, and he looks, overall, like the sort of man who could drive a couple of extra laps round the B&Q car park just for the sheer hell of it.
And yet it is Dec who has been called the tiger – a wild beast in bed! I mean come on, a cuddly koala or a ruffed lemur at best. But not a stripy Bengal bad boy. She must have meant the other one.
Secondly, how can you even think about separating them anyway? You don't want to imagine one of Statler and Waldorf, those grumps who watch the Muppets from a box in the audience, going to heckle on their own. You'd fear one of them had carked it in the night. And, much as I love Joanna Lumley, I struggled for a long time to see Jennifer Saunders doubled up with her in Ab Fab, because she wasn't Dawn French. As for the thought of having sex with either Morecambe or Wise – it's not something I wish to dwell on for longer than is professionally necessary.
Divorce is a hard reality that we must deal with in our real lives, whether we want to or not. But telly – telly! These couples should stay married for life. To each other. Please.
When the double act originated, the second guy would stand in a different part of the venue and repeat the first guy's jokes. This was back when music hall comedy venues were so big and full of chatter, that half the room wouldn't be able to hear the person on stage. But when somebody invented microphones, the two performers were united and the true double act began. Now, they need each other. They can't be cast apart.
Anyway, my third and final problem is that Ant and Dec are not sexual beings. I know this because I tried it on with them once, and failed, which proves my case for ever. Don't tell me that Ant has been married for 15 years. Don't remind me that Dec is rumoured to be dating one of the Pussycat Dolls. (As if!) No. I can't hear you.
If they were sexual beings at all, they would have responded that time they walked into an east London bar and saw me playing pool, sticking my bum out a little more than necessary as I clocked the celebrity incomers and shot that cue along. They did cast a glance in my direction, but not for long.
(Perhaps they wondered who was that woman falling on to the pool table, half cut and about to pot the black with her elbow. It's hard to know for sure.)
But neither of them took me home. Tigers – my arse. Pussycat Dolls – I won't hear of it. These men are simply a pair of pussycats.