By Emma Buckley-Hough, who firmly believes toe-rings are the mark of a whore

MODERN technology is remarkable. Thanks to the wonders of the printing press, I’m able to share the details of my lifestyle with a much wider audience than the village. 

But as with any leap forwards though, it’s only a matter of time until perverts bend it towards their deviant sexual pleasures. Why can’t they do so in private while projecting a sanctimonious air, like normal people?

For example, I have recently been made aware of modern, free-wheeling spouses sending their wives lewd daguerreotypes of their genitals. These exhibitionist women then proudly display the images in the hidden folds of their mobile telephones.

I have never been so appalled while secretly poking around in Gilda next door’s device. Do these women not know that photographs are a trap conjured by the devil? That the souls of their husband’s members have been stolen forever?

The discovery, as ever, made me feel my usual tincture of despair and lust. Indecent photographs are obviously too risky for a God-fearing woman such as myself, but there must be safer alternatives like brass rubbing.

I discussed it with my husband, and for once he must have been listening to me. So imagine my surprise when a special delivery arrived for me the following day.

Drawn on vellum in his finest hand, there it was: an explicit sketch of my husband’s manliness. He’d added a few inches to its length and girth, but that’s just artistic license. I’m sure Michelangelo did the same with the statue of David.

But far from being aroused, I was annoyed. I had made no explicit request for an indecent sketch of his nether region and it was misguided to assume that I wished to receive one.

Thankfully, he explained later, I had been wrongheaded. It was not his Mr Perkins but a sketch of the Loch Ness monster, and it had been meant for a business partner, not myself. I felt lighter than a Suffragette after a hunger strike!

We made up and he took the offensive sketch away. Leaving me only to wonder what business partner would need such an item? Ah well. Men’s business, I suppose.