Lewis Caroll's fat ankles and other thusings

Sorry, sorry, sorry, blog audience. Blaudience if you like. I have been away too long. So much has happened over Christmas and the New Year that I really don’t know where to start. Much like Cheryl Cole with the Times crossword methinks. But I’ll get to her (or rather her libido-ridden estranged husband) later. Ignore the nun on the phone for now as well. She’s a cautionary tale. All will become clear. Or clear er anyway.

I recently went to see the amazing Tim Burton’s Alice in Wonderland at the cinema and it got me to a’ thinking or a’ ‘thusing’ (thinking and musing) about Lewis Caroll’s great legacy to all humankind. No, not opium induced visions and an unhealthy preoccupation with little girls’ under-bloomers, but the portmanteau. You know the sort of thing – a humorous and pleasing fusion of words to create an entirely new splendiferous, frabtious, beamish marble of a word. All plosive and shiny and descriptive.

So… you take two words. Let’s say, well, ‘word’ and… ‘shit’. And you get…wit? Hmmm. But no, hang on, that can’t be right. Try another one. Something closer to home perhaps. What about ‘calf’ and ‘ankle’? This gives you the very pleasing ‘cankle’, to describe those granny spill-over ankles famously sported by the elderly, the pregnant, those of the elephant genus and, very regrettably, me.

I’m not of course suggesting that Lewis Carroll had fat ankles, although I think all the best people do. I’m simply saying that he was a man that knew a good word when he saw one. And if he didn’t, then fugger it, he just created his own. Fabulous! Frabulumous! Wondrill! Like your style Lew. I profeartily approve.

However, I’m not sure whether Lewis Carroll would have been so proud of his legacy if he’d seen some of the crass tabloid inferences that it has spawned of late. I’m talking of course about ‘sexting’ and all the faux moral outrage that seems to accompany it. People are such hypocrites about these things.

Vernon Kaye, Ashley Cole, Tiger Woods and the rest of the penis overruled telephonic idiots out there all pound away furiously on their mobile phones with their disloyal digits, and we’re all thrown into raptures of disapproval. HOW COULD HE? What a RAT!!! CHEAT, CHEAT, DIRTY CHEAT we cry.

Hang on a minute though. And I refer chiefly to the case of the hapless Vernon here (as the others clearly did not restrict their ardor to a smutty text or two), what has he ACTUALLY done? Is cyber-sex now akin to the real thing? If he’s sent some ill-advised ‘sexts’ to some pole-lubed slapper in Essex, is it really the same thing as getting down and dirty in person?

I put this scruples question to the floor at a recent dinner party and the response was rather surprising. Women (I think) are known for their more emotional take on life. But the consensus at dinner on Tuesday was reasonably unanimous. Flirting via a text or email (even if you are married/in a relationship/shagging the gardener) is absolutely A OK. It doesn’t count. It’s sexual monopoly. Not real life. It’s just a game.

Hmmm, curiouser and curiouser.

I doubt old Tess Dailey would agree with us here. Surely your husband sending smutty messages to some perma-tan silicon tart (especially when you have borne him children) is quite offensive and more than a little worrying. However, the fact remains that he hasn’t actually DONE anything and probably had no intention of doing so. Men are simple creatures when it comes to lusty matters I find, and I’m sure he just saw it as a bit of harmless titillation to make his day a bit more interesting.

Thankfully this sort of thing is not something I’ve ever had to put to the test. As with most of these modern-day portmanteaus (smirting – smoking and flirting, jazzercise - a particularly gruesome combination of jazz and exercise), I am utterly rubbish at all of them. Well, that’s not strictly true, I’m very good at eating brunch and I’m pretty adept at the chortle/snortle (chuckle and unattractive snort). Sexy – oh yes.

Speaking of which, when asked some time ago in a rather furtive text what I was wearing, I managed to spectacularly miss the point and replied ‘Tracksuit bottoms and a jumper, why’? I imagined he was about to take me on some unspecified activity which involved a certain dress code and was asking a practical question. He was imagining something quite different. Tatty tracksuit bottoms weren’t quite what he was looking for at that point. Oh well, you live and learn. Girls like me just aren’t cut out for that sort of chat. I may as well accept it. Even if I’d responded with ‘suspenders, rubber thigh boots and spurs, why?’ it would have just come across as weird and creepy and/or unhinged. I just can't seem to get it quite right.

Another excellent example of the ‘sext’ gone awry is when my friend’s mother bought herself a new mobile phone. As with all ladies of a certain age, she wasn’t all that proficient at text messages but she thought she’d send her son a little tester.

“Hello there! Love Nun XX”

My friend, not recognising the number and taking the typo to be a kinky alter-ego of some sort, texted back with… wait for it… this is really bad…

“Hi Nun! Fancy a fuck? XX”

Oh… holy… god… no.

To your OWN Mother!!! Bloody big double oops. I’m not sure how the conversation progressed from there but I assume ‘Mum’ managed to set him straight pretty quickly. He was probably a bit more cautious with his casual ‘sexting’ from that point on though.

But, and this is the main question, is ‘sexting’ really cheating though? Should it be met with the same moral outrage? My take is no, of course it shouldn’t. Everyone flirts via text. It’s hardly the same thing as booking into a motel for an hour is it? A little cheeky text never did anyone any harm. I bet Mr Carroll would have been a master at them, had he had access to a Nokia.

“Wanna see my slithy tove darlin’?”

No ta Lewis, thanks all the same. I’m practicing my ‘smirting’ in front of the bathroom mirror tonight whilst reciting The Jabberwocky backwards.