Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson: a fine bromance Is it really so hard to believe that two chaps can share a hearth, a hob and an interest in homicide without wanting to grapple like the cowboys in Brokeback Mountain? For with the new series of Sherlock comes fresh and tedious speculation that Holmes and Watson are more than just good friends. Yet it's clear to any perspicacious observer that the two men are simply enjoying what our American friends might call "a bromance" - or the beautiful relationship that can exist between two heterosexual men who find each other's company far more intoxicating than that of any woman's. The problem with the Stateside incarnation is that everyone is so neurotic about demonstrating their rampant heterosexuality they have to salivate over women in the manner of teen delinquents. I have long been convinced that the only reason Captain Kirk is portrayed as a Casanova is to deflect insinuations about his relationship with Spock. Happily, the most splendid exemplars of male bonding in the English canon are far too dignified to behave in such a faux-macho manner. Doctor Who need not chase skirt with the Brigadier and you wouldn't find George Bernard Shaw's Professor Higgins and Colonel Pickering ogling the housemaids. The British bromance finds its origins in the camaraderie of boarding school, Oxbridge, military service, the Houses of Parliament and gentlemen's clubs. It is all about loyalty, companionship and risking your life for one another should occasion demand it. The likes of Patrick O'Brian's Captain Jack Aubrey and Dr Stephen Maturin show their affection with firearms, for it is only on the brink of death that emotion may be expressed. When Dr Watson is shot in The Adventure of the Three Garridebs he writes, "It was worth a wound; it was worth many wounds; to know the depth of loyalty and love which lay behind that cold mask." Of course it was; would any chick show that depth? The Great British brand of bromance is also, of course, about seeing even less of womankind than you would in a monk's cell. Strangely, these restrictions don't seem to put the native women off one jot. We see a man who doesn't flirt as life's greatest challenge. Only in Britain could the resolutely non-smouldering Merlin, Doctor Who, and Sherlock Holmes become national sex symbols. The spectre of sexual ambiguity shouldn't hover over the newly announced Elton John biopic. Although, bafflingly, the singer has declared that hunk Justin Timberlake would be his "number one choice" to play the Rocket Man himself. I find it touching that Elton feels young Justin will convince as Reg Dwight. Thank goodness global superstars can be as deluded about self-casting as everyone else I know. Whenever dinner party conversation turns to the topic of, "Who would play you in the movie of your life?," metrosexual men will plump for Clint Eastwood, while chunky matrons will pick Nicole Kidman. We all believe our inner persona is more glamorous than our outer, so I was thrilled the other day when a young man came up to me and said, "Has anyone ever told you that you look like Kate Winslet?" "No," I said, "But I have been told that I look like Emma Thompson." "Oh, yes," he said, "That's who I meant." Handsome woman though Thompson is, I aged 16 years in a second and went from bombshell to North London luvvie. Now who's going to tell Elton that he should engage Philip Seymour Hoffman? A new report states that climate change may endanger cocoa supplies, meaning chocolate becomes the sole preserve of the rich in future decades. A conspiracy theorist may suspect that this is the Greens" most cunning ruse yet. What other rumour would panic millions of women into cutting carbon emissions?