Why our society is heading for meltdown
No.37: The lack of massively disappointing porn
As soon as I hit my 18th birthday, I took the train up to London and bought a R18 certificate video from one of those shops in King's Cross. Worse, it was an Electric Blue shop, that stocked, in the main, only Electric Blue's terrible quality over-edited smut.
I spent the best part of an hour scouring the shelves trying to balance value for money, the perceived filth quotient and enormous breasts in an attempt to purchase my dream grumble flick.
It was called, and not a word of a lie, "Bra-Busters", and was no stronger than Carry on Camping, mainly because the UK film censor, the BBFC had all traces of naked flangery edited out, because, at that time, they were afraid to glance down in case they noticed their own genitals.
It featured some woman frotting herself against a leather rhinoceros.
Bras remained resolutely intact.
These days, it's anything goes just as long as it's anything legal between consenting adults and/or farmyard animals. In fact, my recent discovery of a Grumble DVD entitled "Grannys Cumming" in a skip at Weymouth Rubbish Tip featured many of the original stars of my previous smutty disappointment. They haven't aged well.
This phenomenon is nothing new. My old dad's a professor of medicine, and his monthly deliveries of The Lancet and the British Medical Journal were the nearest thing I ever got to grumble mags when I was thirteen. And boy, were they ever a disappointment.
It also, and hardly surprisingly, made me the sick, sick puppy I am today.
Crap, useless porn is well overdue for a comeback, before it's too late.