You know, I never liked Sex and the City when it was on TV. Much as I might have appreciated the craft that went into it, it always left me cold. Maybe it’s because it’s a show written by gay men and marketed to a certain kind of aspirational women that it doesn’t tick my boxes. Or maybe it was just the shoe thing.
So I fully intended to ignore the new SATC movie. And I might even have succeeded, had it not been for your friend and mine, George Galloway. After last year’s Kylie’s arse affair, you would think George would have been careful about veering into this kind of territory. But no, he seems determined to make rods for his own back. Not surprisingly, this happened once again in George’s Daily Record column, wherein the great man shares his opinions with a loyal army of Glaswegian barflies. And so George opined thusly:
Journalists sometimes ask which of them would do it for me.
The honest answer is all four of them, but it’s too dangerous to admit that.
There’s the sweet one – great marriage material.
The lawyerly red-head – sexy and motherly. Or the voracious man-eating vamp, ankles behind her ears.
But if I had to choose just one, it would have to be the eponymous Carrie Bradshaw.
She’s not the prettiest, the sexiest or the cleverest. But she would be, quite simply, the most fun.
Why is it that this sort of thing makes me cringe? I think it’s because, while you can’t censor people’s more lascivious thoughts, you don’t really need to go into print with them. Or if you do, it’s easier to justify if you have a point you want to make, or if you can do it with a bit of wit and style. I’ll confess to laughing my head off when that old sexist reprobate, the late Alan Clark, waxed lyrical about Dawn Primarolo having the best arse in Parliament. Of course, it helped that Clark was a funny man, and Primarolo has a well-earned reputation as a humourless puritan.
But George. Dear help us.
Again, this isn’t the worst thing that appears in the tabloids, far from it. The Sun employs a showbiz writer, the satirically named Gordon Smart, who is prone to write columns about his fantasies about gangbanging all five members of Girls Aloud, and even sharing with his readers the exact order he’d like to fuck them in. But Gordon Smart is just a pillock. He isn’t the leader of a progressive movement. George carries the weight of higher expectations, in exactly the way that Gordon doesn’t.
And of course, this sort of thing earns George endless amounts of stick. It’s only a partial defence that much of the criticism is in bad faith. For instance, some of it comes from people who dislike George for his better points, and will seize on any stick to beat a dog. Not to mention vast amounts of hot air from an organisation (which shall remain nameless) which a mere year ago would have defended to the death any word coming out of George’s mouth, and whose own record on gender politics is so appalling as to make George Galloway look like Gloria Steinem.
Actually, George is on rather better form when putting up a defence of himself in today’s column:
FAR-LEFT fanatics in the blogosphere, where it appears this column is widely read, have been going bananas all week about my column last week on Sex and the City, the new movie packing cinemas with working class audiences, mainly women.
This collection of Toytown “revolutionaries”, most of whom have never seen an angry foreman in their lives, and who think Swarfega is a Balearic island, scream sexism whenever anyone discusses, er, sex…
Today’s deluded leftists have morphed into Leninist Wee Frees, staunchly against sex standing up in case it should lead to dancing – which of course would put the proletariat off the revolution.
In principle, there’s something to that. But I do wish George would reflect a little before he feels the urge to start phwoaring in print. I merely put this forward as a suggestion.