This morning I witnessed a violent rape. And I’m pretty sure she hadn’t been asking for it. I know this for a fact because I’ve seen the poor love being ravished on more than one occasion. Often by two males at once. Her loud vocal protests fall on deaf ears, (well, not mine) and if they are heeded, it is to encourage them to ignore her screams even more enthusiastically.

I was deep into the final pages of a murder mystery when I heard the first desperate cries for help. I felt duty bound as a fellow member of the sisterhood to leap to her defence and try to protect what was left of her honour. The second time it happened, I just turned the page. Remind me not to be reincarnated as a duck in the thrall of a couple of randy drakes, because such is your lot in life. By then, I’d rationalised that trying to impose contemporary standards on what was, after all, an instinctive urge to replicate and guarantee the longevity of one’s race or creed, was dubious at best and inevitably doomed to fail.

Obviously, I wouldn’t dream of condoning the forced rape of womankind in order perpetuate humanity. But you can’t ignore the physiological impetus of thousands of years of heterosexual shenanigans. We are hard-wired to do whatever it takes to colonise the planet. So the cause celebre du jour, political correctness, is completely at odds with natural selection and the survival of the species. But one has to ask; can this species survive political correctness?

Just last week in London, the British Defence Minister, Michael Fallon was pressured into resigning his position, (and career) as he had been spotted sexually harassing a female journalists kneecap, even though she actually found the incident quite amusing. Quelle horreur! Does that mean that fondling (or even just touching) a knee can now be considered illegitimate foreplay and a precursor to career death? Indeed, half the British government are currently in the doghouse over perceived sexual indiscretions. If the British government are leading by example, we should all be very scared.

Real sex crimes, in particular rape, should be prosecuted to the full extent of the law. But rampant, evangelical, political correctness should not be allowed to overwhelm the parameters of common sense when deciding what constitutes an unacceptable act. And apparently, that now includes having the temerity to put your hand on the knee of a member of the opposite sex.

Pity nonagenarian George Bush senior, who has fallen foul of the faux puritans who are persecuting him for sitting in a wheelchair while posing for photos with members of the opposite sex. As he put his arm around their waists, his hand brushed past their rear ends. Anyone would think he was wearing his dressing gown and clutching an Oscar, the amount of consternation it caused. But Harvey Weinstein he ain’t. And remember, despite 60 women begging to differ, the Hollywood heavyweight is innocent until proven otherwise.

Personally, If I were a man (and apparently I have every right to consider myself one), I’d be put off sex for life. Far too risky. Who only knows what the PC brigade will cook up next to put us off our collective strokes? A friend of mine the other day, a successful Hollywood film director, caught himself looking away from the sight of a pretty teenager walking down the street. He had instinctively stopped himself from being reproached by any witnesses to his completely innocent act. There was a time, not so long ago, when girls were talent scouted out and about. Naomi Campbell the supermodel is a case in point. Now the ambitious genetically blessed will have to hope and pray that the directors and casting agents haven’t all been intimidated into wearing figurative blinkers.

It’s almost enough to consider taking the veil. Not joining a nunnery, where the wicked flesh is still on view. Rather, donning the niqab, the all-encompassing Muslim robes that somewhat hinders even the most attractive women’s charms from unwelcome attention and would put the kibosh on any would be Lothario’s suspect ambitions, to even locate her knee, let alone fondle it.

Hopefully, compulsory enrobement (like the fall of western civilisation) is still some decades away. And it didn’t work for the nineteenth century Victorians, who fearing scandal and uncontrollable sexual urges, insisted that polite society firmly and completely cover not only all women’s legs but chair legs as well. When women’s pins are under wraps, one can only guess where men’s urges will migrate.

Perhaps very animated, inanimate objects, like the new breed of sex dolls currently in production are the sex-pests get out of jail free card? What delicious irony it would be if parliamentarians forswore the attractions of living, breathing women for females of the AI undead variety. The life-like appearance of these would-be women wouldn’t fool anyone, but they would make you look twice. And then once again. Some of these beauties have such sophisticated facial expressions that you actually empathise with them.

They’ll let you squeeze their knees without informing on you, too.

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