I had half a mind to write about the cabinet reshuffle but decided against on two counts. One; that I’m not really all that interested. Two; neither are you. Finally, everybody else has talked about nothing else for the last twenty-four hours on every form of media known to UKind. (Yes, I know that’s three reasons, but there’s British education in a nutshell.) Instead I’m going to talk about perverts. Are you sitting comfortably? Let’s see if I can’t change all that for you.
On the car radio yesterday I heard Jeremy Vine discussing the phenomenon of US-style, child beauty pageants coming to a fucked-up chav town near you any day soon. Surely nobody, this side of sanity could imagine for one minute that dressing up your three-year-old as a twenty-buck-a-trick hooker and sticking her on a stage will end in anything but disaster? Did we learn nothing from Bonny Langford?
Not surprisingly it was the girls’ pimps – their mothers – who were the ringleaders of this sinister flesh-trafficking industry. Also it will come as no surprise to hear that the greatest detractors were those voicing concerns of predatory male interest. Paedophiles get such a bad press, don’t they?
Who decides who’s a pervert? What’s the cut-off point? A fifteen-year-old girl can easily look twenty, so is ‘not legal’ the same as unnatural? Given that a thirteen-year-old is perfectly (and demonstrably) capable of becoming pregnant, it would seem natural, in the literal sense that they are ready for procreation. How low can you go before stretching a point becomes altogether unnatural? Is it a relative thing? (And when I say ‘relative’ the evidence usually points to a tradition of keeping it in the family.)
At what point on the scale of admiration does a leg man become a foot fetishist? Beyond which boundary does binding become bondage? How safe is your safe word? Where does one man’s auto-asphyxiation lead to a two-man, two-hand stranglehold? And it’s not just the men; according to E. L. James there’s fifty shades of fetish going down out there, as it were.
Until 1967, male homosexual acts were illegal in England and Wales and it took until 1980 for such enlightenment to reach Caledonia. Even heterosexual titillation was still seen as sordid and it took a new century and the Internet to reveal the full gamut of sexual predilection (or depravity, depending on your tastes) open to humanity. You can not only do it today, you are encouraged to flaunt it - dress-down-Friday becomes cross-dress everyday.
Not everybody suits a Tutu - ask Tony Blair!
The world is agog, nay, Google-eyed at the sheer number of deviations in delight and nothing appears to be out of bounds… except the kiddy thing.
But there’s good news for pageant organisers. Not everybody is against the bump and grind baby parade circuit. The police heartily welcome the circus coming to town and they encourage the widespread advertising of show times – it takes their mind off the grim prospect of a Prescott police commissioner and it’s so much easier to catch the paedos when you know where they all are.
Mind how you go now.
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