Ewan Morrison: 'Most big-breasted women I've known say their bosoms are, in fact, no fun'

BOOBS are getting bigger. I kid you not. I could barely get my shopping done this week for being attacked by cleavage. At every corner huge chests were knocking me to the ground. I swear it's not just the spring testosterone talking.

I was in the poultry aisle, and there was a woman, prodding away at chicken breasts, her own the size of Christmas turkeys. I escaped to the fruit and veg aisle, only to walk straight into two living watermelons. I almost screamed: "My God, ladies! Will you put them away!"

Is it the final demise of feminism? Millions of alienated women queuing up to get mega-Jordan implants, or stuffing silicone bags, known as 'chicken fillets', into their new Katie Price-branded bras? Is it all just fake or are birds really getting bigger?

For want of a pair of my own to measure I decided on some research. The facts are shocking. It's not boob jobs that are to blame (only 10,000 in the UK last year). Surveys show that British jugs really are growing generation by generation. The average bra size is now 36C, up from 34B a decade ago. Marks & Spencer has just increased its range by three sizes to a J. And newer labels like Lejaby now go up to a mesmerising double J.

While this is good news for those of us who take a close and personal interest in such things, it must be bad news for the owners themselves.

Most big-breasted women I've known say their bosoms are, in fact, no fun. They complain of backache, nipple insensitivity, stretch marks, unwanted attention from leering pervs and the perpetual fear of the droop.

The growth, some scientists claim, is partly due to the general global slide into obesity. The real demon, though, seems to be environmental oestrogen pollution. It's everywhere, but especially in the water system courtesy of decades of the contraceptive pill and HRT.

Then there are these scary things called xeno-oestrogens – chemicals that are found in everything from lipstick to tampons and spermicides. Other synthetic oestrogens are in the food chain. Battery chickens are pumped full of the stuff to give them – you guessed it – bigger breasts.

Who cares, I thought to myself. Why not just lie back and enjoy it all? Since scientists say we're getting bigger in all things – brain size, height, longer life expectancy – maybe I'll even gain an inch or two of manhood in my lifetime.

But fate is cruel. Studies in Germany have just revealed that penises are shrinking, with the average loss of half a centimetre in the past five years. Environmental oestrogen is again to blame. As the average chap is between 13cm and 15cm, if this yearly shrinkage continues, and the sperm count continues going down, then the end of the world could be closer than we think.

Where are we heading? Oestrogen consumption could go exponential, as women's breasts become so large they are unable to move, and men fall into a constant state of arousal over so many reclining females, who they are nonetheless technically unable to satisfy. Suicide figures will rise as birth rates fall and chaps shrink.

Thinking about all this has destroyed my libido this week. Every time I see a bosom bouncing past, I think of battery chickens and of how the end is nigh. I shall be avoiding the poultry aisle from now on.