The mattress mambo in a telly studio – no pressure there then

Clive Smith says he would not like to arm wrestle athlete Caster Semenya 		Picture: Martin Rickett/PA Wire

CLIVE SMITH: English pigs? Don’t bite the hand that feeds you

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Well the title was rather titillating dear, shame the show was sooo dullsville.

So did any of you watch Channel 4’s Sex Box?

What a load of old tripe.

I don’t know what depths Channel 4 will plummet to in its zealous crusade to teach us all how to have good sex.

I was determined not to watch Sex Box on Monday evening, but I possess a mercurial inquisitiveness and hey, long in the tooth as I am folks, I might learn something.

Though when I’m going to practise it, I’m not sure. Maybe in the next life?

Anyway, briefly, because I don’t want to bore the pants off you. How apt.

In the studio was an enormous soundproof box.

When the light was red, each of the three couples – two straight, one gay, went into the box to have a bit of mattress mambo.

The lights turned amber, out came the suitably tousled grinning couple to rapturous applause from the audience.

I was gobsmacked.

And then they sat with a panel of ‘sexperts’ to discuss their ‘ in the box’ frolicking.

Well, I’m no pearl clutcher darlings.

Ooo let me tell you about ‘pearl clutching’.

I found it online this week but it’s not that new an expression, versions of it have been around for years.

Anyway, if someone says you’re pearl clutching, it appears they’re telling you that you are prudish, very uptight, and not very open-minded.

Fancy that eh?

Some of the young women I’ve spoken too over the years have a list for Mr Right – tall, dark, handsome, good body, good job, and sizzles between the sheets.

And the fellas are just as bad, they’re looking for Miss Right.

But life’s just not like that – it’s the imperfections in people that makes them so fascinating and lovable.

Blimey, in my courting days in the 1960s, you’d nip up to the Starlight Room 
(Portsdown Hill ) for a bit of slap ‘n tickle.

If the bloke was a good snogger and had a job, you married him.

I feel sorry for this generation, such pressure for 
sexual prowess and technique.

Me? I’m off for a bar of choccy love.