fifty shades of what it's like to think like a man.

I'm sitting on the train and a woman on the table opposite me is reading fifty shades of grey. The unmistakable scent of oestrogen production mixed with that little bit of guilt is definitely in the air.

I'm not sure I understand how so many people have been drawn in by this book. It makes very little sense to me, sex and literature are like putting steak with ice cream, you like them both but you wouldn't ever put them together (unless you're seventy, and mental, and everybody understands that you're quirky beyond belief)

There are so many eligible bachelors out there, why not find one, fulfil the needs the book is trying and failing to offer and then read a Harry Potter when you're done?

Either that or save yourself four quid and have a cold shower.