‘So, you’re a supporter of Julian Assange, then?’ said my friend the radio presenter as we were live on air.
Oh, dear. This was going nowhere good. It was far too early in the morning for me to get myself into an un-PC fix.
My friend the radio presenter has me on his breakfast show every now and again to review the papers and have a light-hearted chinwag about current affairs. Why, oh why, did we have to discuss the Assange thing?
‘Ehem, ha ha, I think supporter is a bit of a strong term. I wouldn’t say supporter, so much as…er, um…Look, all I said was he might not be guilty. We don’t know yet.’
The presenter fidgeted on the edge of his seat, his antennae twitching at the row that was about to erupt. ‘But are you not outraged, as a woman?’
Oh, no, the ‘as a woman’ thing. I’m useless at the ‘as a woman’ thing. In fact, I’m so useless at the ‘as a woman’ thing that I sometimes doubt whether I’m a proper woman at all.
What’s the matter with you, you silly moo, I thought. Why can’t you do the as a woman thing. Come on, this is your chance, do the as a woman thing…
But no matter how hard I tried to channel my inner Alanis Morissette, I just wasn’t feeling it. Idiotically, I kept thinking about how we really shouldn’t bay for someone’s blood before they are tried in a court of law and that maybe the principles of democracy are just as important as women’s rights.
Like a moron, I ploughed on with this logic. ‘I just think, innocent until proven guilty,’ I ventured.
‘But as a woman…’ the presenter tried again.
Comments
Join the debate for just £1 a month
Be part of the conversation with other Spectator readers by getting your first three months for £3.
UNLOCK ACCESS Just £1 a monthAlready a subscriber? Log in