Is there nothing these puritans will not interfere with? asks VIRGINIA BLACKBURN
And so the march of puritanism goes on. The miserable shall inherit the earth, at the rate we're going. The latest to succumb to those who specialise in taking offence at the completely offence-less are, of all people, those behind the Great British Beer Festival. They have forbidden real ale enthusiasts from giving their beers sexist names such as dizzy Blonde, Slack Alice, Top Totty and The Village Bike.
There are some fruitier examples, too, that perhaps shouldn't be repeated here. But how depressing. How unnecessary. And how very un-British. The reason for this idiocy is that some survey of spoilsport women said they wouldn't buy beer if it was advertised in a sexist way (do grow up), leading the Campaign for Real Ale (Camra) to act. naughty names are banned. Well here's a thing: quite a lot of women, including me, wouldn't buy beer however it was advertised, because we can't stand the stuff. Give me a glass of champers any day.
But more than that these names, while silly-assish, are part of a larger tradition of British smut.
For a somewhat inhibited nation, we've always let off steam by indulging in a bit of sauciness.
A whole industry was built upon the back of risqué seaside postcards, a tradition more recently carried on in the chronicles of the antics of saucy Samantha in I'm Sorry I Haven't A Clue.
For them, as doesn't know, Samantha was an entirely fictional creation, of whom Humphrey Lyttelton used to come up with the most eye-watering double-entendres: "Before I nip out with Samantha for a time honoured blow on the seafront," was one of the more repeatable.
But these have been dropped in recent years, because despite the fact that Samantha does not actually exist, someone, somewhere, got offended.
These people must be a real bunch of laughs to be around.
The entire oeuvre of the Carry On films relied on double entendres, which in turn produced the single finest line in any film ever made – "Infamy! Infamy! They've all got it in for me!” although that was originally written for the wireless programme Take It From Here.
The likes of Sid James and Bernard Bresslaw managed to turn the word "cor" into a four-syllabled pronouncement.
Those films are now considered classics of their time.
The British have always been bawdy.
One of my favourite stories from the Second World War concerns an air raid shelter in London's East End, which was filled to bursting after the siren went off. "Any babies down there?" shouted the air raid warden.
"Give us a minute, guv, we've only just got here," shouted one wag in reply.
But the joyless don't like it and now they've come for the beer.
What a generation of latter-day Oliver Cromwells we've managed to breed.
Meghan Markle is not as woke as she’d like us to believe
Amid all the hoo-ha about the Duke and Duchess of Sussex's decision not to have more than two children, one fact seems to be overlooked.
Meghan Markle, as was, has just turned 38, an age at which it is unrealistic to be planning a large family.
Making a virtue out of a necessity, perhaps?