This morning I have to double-check the date. It is definitely 27th October, not 1st April. I have to pinch myself really, really hard to make myself believe what I am reading in today’s Telegraph.

A man in Scotland has been placed on the register of sex offenders, and charged with “a sexual breach of the peace”. Can you guess what he was doing?

According to the two “extremely shocked” cleaners who unlocked the door of his room in a hostel when he failed to open it, he was found “trying to have sex” (a coy euphemism for ‘fucking’) – with a bicycle.

Now excuse me, but exactly how does a person fuck a bicycle? I can think of several ways of using a bicycle for pleasure, but it simply does not have the necessary physical configuration to be fucked – unless the one in question had been custom-made.

So the poor fellow is enjoying a fantasy, in what should be the privacy of his room, doing nobody any harm, and bang! – in burst two uninvited domestic workers. Normal people might have quietly burst out again, locked the door behind them, had a quiet giggle, and gone about their business. But no: they feel they must report this sex-fiend to the hostel manager, who informs the police, who bring a complaint so that it goes to court and before you know it, just about the whole world knows that Hamish was banging himself against his bicycle.

So what? He’s having a few moments with his bike; maybe he loves it, or maybe he just feels like a shag and there’s nobody handy.

FFS, world, wake up!