It seemed I had – at last – achieved my lifetime goal.  I was the passenger in a sweet, vintage car and it was the 1970s.  Arthur Lowe was taking me to the shops in Catford, having proposed to me earlier on that day.  He lifted up my hand and licked the inside of my wrist.  I thought, “That wasn’t too awful”.

Later I settled down to watch the Penis Olympics on TV.  Broadcasting live from a remote south American jungle, two competing villages were wearing their distinctive red or blue wooden  ‘gourd’ uniforms and displaying their muscly lower halves.  When the whistle went, each villager sat down with an opponent and the competitors began to discuss whose penis was best.  A winner emerged from each bout by mutual agreement.  The Reds won!