You know when you were young and you were watching some racy BBC2 drama (probably involving men in corduroy trousers and a cheese fondue ) with your mum and dad and brothers  – and suddenly, out of nowhere, the actors started breathing heavily and putting their hands up each other’s jumpers? You know, and then  your parents suddenly started clearing their throats and saying things like ‘bloody hell mother, what’s this tripe?’ or ‘anyone for Colditz?’ Embarrassing, wasn’t it? Sex was way off the family radar. The dog had plenty – so much so that he often came home with a swollen member which my dad would deal with, pretty perfunctorily, I have to say, with an ice cube. I don’t have a knob and I’m not good at chemistry but I can imagine a hot knob would be preferable to a cold knob.  Anyway, my point is this. As kids, we believed sex was for us, not for them – the old people.  The thought of my parents in any sort of sexual milieu was decidedly repulsive. Which brings me to my point. Am I too old for it? Anyway, I am just off to a jive class with the boys upstairs so I’ll be pondering this and many other deep issues while being whipped through outspread legs!