Melissa, you’re back in the Guardian’s Backbencher again. A regular in the Guardian, imagine that! This won’t do your reputation any good at all!

They are getting a little arch, I must say.

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Johnson’s difficulty in keeping himself zipped up, which apparently should be described as “compulsive sexual activity”, has had the sexological experts in a froth of public concern. Having affairs was “about not relating to someone properly”, announced a Jungian analyst in the Sunday papers. “It feeds a constant desire to repeat the exercise in the futile hope of finding fulfilment. It can lead to severe depression. In order to treat Boris, we would probably need years of therapy. It is a serious disorder pointing to deeper problems.”

A few people – a few hundred thousand people, probably – might have shifted uneasily as they read those words over breakfast, and wondered whether the fact that in their own lives they might have enjoyed the occasional higher educational supplement away from home pointed the way to depression and years of therapy.

He ends:

But the bets and bangs of Boris and Wayne [Rooney], as reported over the past few days, are hardly the most serious of sins, and both of them have the talent and strength to move beyond them. It is society’s wider addiction, represented by a culture which reveres sex and money, yet loves to gloat over the misfortunes of public figures who are in trouble as a result of them, that is very much more serious. It takes the form of prurient pleasure and holier-than-thou moralising in the media. As with the Jungian’s verdict on infidelity, it involves forever repeating the experience in the hope of finding fulfilment. It is a serious disorder pointing to deeper problems.

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Idlex – good mention of Boriswatch in the article you pointed out. It is ironic that satisfaction seems to elude the satyrs.

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If this were not to give the impression of his being able, and willing, to do an imitation of the fictitious hybrid man/goat creature, why else?
Some time agonow I wrote a few lines protecting ones rights to battle the ooncoming tide of the years . To me it fits this bit perfectly.

It wouldn’t be at all surprising;
If; ageing now; you’d lost your bottle
Just look at your crepe bandage skin;
Your neck hangs loose, like turkey wattle.

Don’t you like your current image,
Now you see how you have changed?
You should see a plastic surgeon;
If you’d like it rearranged.

You don’t like the wrinkled dishcloth
hanging there, where once was face?
But you’re still the self-same person:
Growing old is no disgrace.

Getting old should make one happy,
Your general health is up to par,
Don’t think of the alternative:
Thank the Lord you’ve got this far

The cover of the book you’re reading,
Matters not; it’s what’s within,
Old fiddles play the sweetest music:
Said Stradivarius with a grin.

But, since this verse is academic:
And your prowess has been proved;
Reputation’s all that matters;
The Party waits, it won’t be moved.

There’s one thing of real importance:
Your faculties are all in place
Silly wrinkles; they don’t matter;
We need someone to save the race.

If I’ve inadvertantly posted this a second time , I apologise for the oversight.

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