Come back, doggers, all is forgiven

Bring back the men having sex in the undergrowth. This was the thought that occurred to me and my friend simultaneously in a magical joint epiphany as we rode out over the misty heathland the other day. Wistfully, we beheld the sandy tracks of Ockham and Wisley from atop our mounts as we suddenly realised what was missing.

They used to frequent this heathland most religiously and many is the time I’ve whinged about them, including once in a family newspaper where I posed for pictures with the spaniel Cydney, looking disgusted.

My harrumphing face made it clear: I don’t approve of married men pulling off the A3 in their saloon cars and getting it on with each other at a local beauty spot on the way home to wifey.

Matters were not helped when I found out this particular common land had been designated a ‘public sex environment’ by the authorities as part of strenuous efforts not to confront the issue, but rather to rubber stamp it with official approval and thus remove any need to police it.

This was why, when I called 999 to say I had happened upon three men in flagrante while walking my dog, the police operator said: ‘And?’ Because a decision had been taken way up high that this was a valid sexual preference and anyone who complained about it was being prejudiced.

The official seal of approval worked its magic and with the green light given to all that they were good to go, what started off as cottaging expanded into dogging, and before long a man who looked like a serial killer was banging the driver’s window of my car at 6 p.m. one summer evening shouting: ‘Is this the place for sex?’ And as he grinned at me like he wanted to slice me into quite a few pieces, I dialled 999 and the police operator said: ‘And?’

I fought this attitude.