I remember one wet evening in an Amsterdam hotel room enjoying a drink or two with a television crew. It was the end of a hard day. One of us was idly switching between the dozen or so TV channels on offer. Suddenly the screen was filled with writhing limbs and gynaecological detail. Orgasmic moans filled the room. We had hit upon a porno channel at a time, not very long ago, when nothing like it would be seen on British screens, even in a hotel.

There were a range of possible reactions available to us, boggle-eyed astonishment, wet lipped fascination, contempt and derision, embarrassment, or moral outrage. What combination of these feelings were felt by my colleagues for the first couple of dumbstruck minutes I have no idea, but ...

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