And remember, ladies, when a male bedlamite pushes his phone camera under an occupied bathroom stall in order to livestream to his admirers a woman who is unhappy about a male bedlamite’s presence in a ladies’ toilets – and when said bedlamite’s phone is kicked away and he then claims victimhood, specifically injury to his penis, which he mentions quite a lot – this is totally normal and nothing to worry about. It’s just how things are now.

Apparently, it’s outdated and oppressive for a young woman to be walked down the aisle at her wedding by her father. And so she can insult him and embarrass him by taking away that role. But of course it’s not outdated or oppressive for that same father to be expected to pay all of the bills for the wedding at which he’s being so pointedly sidelined and insulted.

Providing the sperm. A joyous and maternal turn of phrase. Also of note, the idea of wanting a baby, but with only a third or a quarter of the responsibility. A kind of low-commitment parenting. Bodes well.

Readers are invited to ponder the appeal, for any gentleman with fatherhood in mind, of effectively becoming a sperm donor who is also expected to perform household chores, for many years, and to pay child maintenance. In a sexless relationship with random lesbians who may find him barely tolerable, a necessary complication. But this, it seems, is “the ideal parenting setup.”

The NatWest bank, we learn, “allows staff to identify as men and women on different days. The bank offers double-sided lanyards to non-binary employees so they can alternate between personas when they please.” This is part of an “LGBT-friendly diversity measure,” endorsed by Stonewall, the cutting edge of corrected thought. And employees who aren’t sure who or what they are at any given time must be encouraged to enact their “masculine and feminine” personas according to mood and medication. Hence the double-sided lanyards, obviously. 

This goes on for quite a while, longer than seems strictly necessary. Droplets on chins, alluring eyebrows, lemon wedges being squeezed. Yes, the situation was “hot and vulnerable,” and “profoundly intimate,” with the object of intrigue covering her face, leaving her breathless and gasping. She was “performing the act for the first time” – and in public, no less.

Should readers need a moment to steady themselves, I quite understand.

“My memory of that first time,” writes Ms Maratha, “echoes that special frisson of noticing your femininity.” You see, “Something about the discovery of the oyster’s flesh, the patience needed to harvest it from its shell, and the fortitude required to enjoy it, feels intrinsically feminine.” We’re told, by an obliging editor, that Ms Maratha’s “love of oysters grew alongside her queer identity.” And that, “For her, the act of eating an oyster uniquely and intimately expresses her queerness.”