Are we the only nation in the world where nice, middle-class girls aspire to be concubines?

Do you think it might be possible to plot a link between the apparently vast pool of girls who dream of sleeping with Wayne Rooney for cash, and how rubbish The Vicar of Dibley was? I’m keen that we should. In general, in fact, I feel the rubbishness of The Vicar of Dibley should be considered the cause of as many world evils as we can throw at it. Disease, war, earthquakes, whatever we’ve got.

You know those teary-eyed socialists who loathe Tony Blair because they used to love him, but then he betrayed them over Iraq? I’m like that with Richard Curtis. When I was a teenager, the man was my god. He wrote Blackadder. And then, The Vicar of Bloody Dibley. Jesus Christ, what a thing to do.

But I digress, for this is not a column about Dawn French, and how totally amusing it isn’t that she’s both a vicar and a woman the size of a vicarage.