Bloody hell. Who are these muppets who ask these daft questions.
The muppets in question don't exist. Any more – spoiler alert – than Kermit does.
I don't read the
Guardian, but there's a chick called Suzi Godson who's been writing a sex advice column in the
Times on Saturday since Jesus was a boy. (In fact, Wikipedia tells me, since 2004.)
Does anyone honestly think there are people so sad and desperate and bored that they write to newspaper sex counsellors for advice? And, more particularly, that there are enough of them for their unique and peculiar questions to fill, in Suzi's case, 19 x 52 = 988 columns?
At the bottom of each of the fragrant Suzi's pieces is the rubric: "Send your queries to weekendsex@the times.co.uk"
I keep meaning to write to her and say, "My query is as follows. How many of the questions are sent in by genuine readers and how many are dreamt up by you and your chums when you've been hitting the prosecco? My guess is that the proportion is around 5% genuine to 95% in-house piss-heads. Am I about right?"
But I never get round to it.