Perversions

Newsnight devoted almost its entire run-time last Thursday to broadcast a discussion about Prince Harry's naked bod, which I'll get onto later. And so, besides watching Max Clifford in sandals and Bermuda shorts face off against Vanessa Feltz no less, we were introduced to former feminist-twitter-Nazi turned transcendent-matriarch-goddess, Louise Mensch discussing the finer points of Ken Clarke waffling on about proper and improper rape. I almost fell off my beanbag when, coming to his defense, Mensch used the term "mis-speak" as though that were perfectly acceptable. Not only that but it also went completely unchecked by the presenter. One can't help but feel that were Mensch to have used that sort of language a month or two ago when she was still a minister Kirsty Wark would have made her eat her cheeks.

Which reminds me, I was hit with another kind of lingual perversion last week when my mate Thom and I attempted entry into the VIP campsite at V Festival; the organizers wanted a compulsory donation of twenty rubs for charity. Now, call me a square, but a "compulsory donation" not only sounded like an oxymoron but it also felt a bit red, so we gave the girl on the desk an earful of jip and she wound up giving us purple wristbands instead of silver, which worked all the same. The only problem of course arose at the end of the night when we wanted to bring a couple of totties wearing those licious high-waisted shorts back to our tent. They however were not VIP while we were so the only damp we got was from the morning dew.