I’ve never thought of myself as a rapist. I’m certainly no Lothario – at least I wasn’t back in my heyday. In fact, I was always a rather diffident suitor (for want of a better word).

But it seems I may well have been deluding myself.

You see, back in the day when I fancied some bird, as we called them then (the dinky-di ‘sheila’ having, regrettably, gone out of fashion in my late teen years), my first recourse was to the dimly lit restaurant where I would ply the object of my affection with Blue Nun riesling or some other such...