IMAGINE if men in workplaces around the land were inconspicuously passing around a top shelf magazine.
There would be outrage, followed by disciplinary tribunals, all sorts.
The women’s libbers would be up in arms, railing against this blatant sexism and exploitation of women.
Yet flip the situation on its head and the whole thing is celebrated.
It seems that every single woman in the country is currently getting hot under the collar over the literary sensation of the century - the tale of a manipulative billionaire with a sadistic streak- Fifty Shades of Grey.
I’ve read excerpts, and the thing is pure filth, every bit as sordid and seedy as the glossy magazines lonely men flick through in their bedsits.
I’ve not seen the ladies in Standard Towers looking so hot and bothered since those Diet Coke ads of the 1990s.
I’d never even heard of it until a few weeks ago, but now everywhere I go people are talking about it, and I’m sick to the back teeth of it.
I even overheard a chat about this ‘mummy porn’ in WHSmiths this week. It seems wives and girlfriends across Gainsborough are now spending all their spare time with this Christian Grey fella.
The star of what is apparently the fastest selling paperback of all time.
A copy is being passed around among the women at the Standard office like a funny cigarette at Woodstock.
All these woman seem ever so proud of their rude book, behaving like it’s the next wave of women’s lib or something.
They will be out burning their bras in the market place next.
The ironic thing is that from the sounds of it the whole story is about a rich man who has total control a woman.
As it should be then. He’s even got a lady cleaner.