What tabloids were like in the 80s: an embarrassed dad explains

MY teenage son has asked if red-top newspapers really behaved like that in the 1980s when I was a boy delivering them. He’s not going to f**king believe this: 

Yes, they used to count down to a 16-year-old exposing her breasts

It just… wasn’t uncommon. Gave the working man on the bus something to look forward to. Look, Samantha Fox was 16 when she became a Page 3 girl and she was nationally famous. The age of consent was 16 and, well, that’s as far as our thinking went. In my defence I was 13 at the time, so as far as I was concerned I had a thing for older women.

Yes, there was endless speculation about the sex lives of teenagers

The girls mentioned above obviously and various others, like the ‘Wild Child’ phenomenon. Who were they? They were these girls aged about 13 or so who went out in nightclubs stripping and getting drunk and having sex with older men. One of them married a Rolling Stone. We assumed it was all of their own volition. I now realise wrongly.

Yes, ‘poofs’ was considered appropriate to use in a headline

What does it mean? Gay people, but don’t assume that such a light, fluffy word it wasn’t used in a vicious, hateful way. It absolutely was. It was regularly demanded that ‘poofs’ be sacked from any job, evicted from any housing and deported, especially if they were thought to be carrying ‘the gay plague’. Look, I’m just telling you what happened.

There were regular stories about sex vicars

What’s a sex vicar? Well, a vicar who has sex when he’s not supposed to, ie outside of a loving marriage to a mumsy woman. Instead he’s in a Soho peepshow, or having sex with a man in a toilet, or running off with the 16-year-old daughter of a parishioner, or disgracing himself in some other way. They were sort of celebrated. For shagging.

The problem page was a short photo story about sex

Every problem page features numerous made-up letters about sex and a photo story, running throughout a whole week, about a couple’s sexual problems. It was never just ‘my husband’s not interested’. It was always ‘my husband’s shagging the teenager next door and I’m having a lesbian affair with the vicar’s wife’. Not sure what the advice was.

Whole categories of society were scum

Poofs obviously, miners, all football fans, anyone who dared to be on strike including the printers of the tabloids themselves, students, lefties, layabouts, foreigners, foreigners over here, Russkies, Trots, every day there was a new category of people to hate. So pretty much like social media today, but a bit more undisguised and vitriolic.

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I am so delighted to be the new James Bond. By Phoebe Waller-Bridge

GOSH, this is just such amazing news, isn’t it? I’m the new James Bond! Me, the posh Fleabag woman! And I’ve got some brilliant ideas for the script!

But first let me say what an honour this is. I’ve never watched a Bond film, or read the books, but I know Pierce Brosnan from Mamma Mia did it and if we can combine the humour of The Man with the Golden Gun with the invisible car in Die Another Day we’re onto a winner.

What will my Bond be like? Well, I feel she should be a messy, neurotic loser with no filter, so when I meet an attractive guy I’ll say something like: ‘You’re so hot I just sharted!’ Hang on, let me write that down.

Feminism should also be a big part, and the way to do that in films is to make women better at things than men in a smug way. Which is what my character did in the last Indiana Jones, which audiences loved. Even higher viewing figures than Fleabag!

One thing I will be keeping is the way Daniel Craig gave Bond a believable emotional core. I’d like to see Bond completely fail for once and get the sack. Then she’d get shitfaced and sit on the pavement crying as the credits roll. That would subvert our expectations of a Bond film.

I’ll also be breaking the fourth wall, which worked so well in Fleabag. I feel the laser scene in Goldfinger would be much improved if a female Bond turned to camera and said: ‘And you thought cystitis was bad!’

Why am I Bond? That’s easy – I’ve got a massive contract with Amazon, Bond’s been sold to Amazon, it makes perfect economic sense! ‘Maybe this will get her off her bloody arse,’ the head of movies said, and she was right!

And your final question? What will gender-swapped Bond will be called? It’s not easy renaming such an iconic character, but after intensive gin-in-tin brainstorming I cracked it: ‘The name’s Bond, Jane Bond.’ Can I have $250 million now?