The worst sex-based arts scene I’ve ever seen happened in a cabaret show.
It was held in one of those grimy-chic suburbs where every roadside skip has a coffee bar hidden inside it. Everyone in the crowd was doing the aloof, furious, look-at-me-don’t-look-at-me scowl.
We were mid-way through, and the next act came on stage dressed in what looked like a giant pink rubber glove. The sort that your Mum would don to scrub a casserole dish.