The Worm That Turned

Fellow Brits of a certain age will remember that national treasure of a comedy duo, The Two Ronnies. Perhaps some of my overseas friends will be familiar with them too - I'm not sure how well their TV show would have exported, given that much of the humour specifically poked fun at British manners, language and regional accents ("Fork 'andles?").

Anyway, for a while one of the programme's regular features was a daft but fun little mini-serial called The Worm That Turned. This was set well into the future - or as we now call it, next year(!) - in an England ruled entirely by women. Here the men have feminine names and are forced to wear dresses, and order is maintained by an all-female police force uniformed in improbably skimpy black vinyl. No, I'm not making this up.

Although it was played for laughs, you can probably imagine the effect that this show-within-a-show had on a very young, highly impressionable and already seriously kinked Underling - especially when (at about 4:40 in the clip I linked) the late, great Diana Dors actually ordered Ronnie Corbett to report for a state-sponsored spanking. Or at least the hint of one.

Now of course the writers of The Worm That Turned knew that part of its appeal was in catering to a certain kind of male fantasy. And although the fetish wear wouldn't have meant much to me - even then, my dream disciplinarians were everyday aunts, older sisters, teachers and nurses - it was startling to have my odd little obsessions acknowledged by a mainstream comedy show. I'd have been watching with my parents, feigning nonchalance but half expecting a big flashing arrow to appear above my head reading 'WARNING! UNHEALTHY FASCINATION!'

"Undy," my mum would have said - she never used my full name except when I was in trouble - isn't it past your bedtime?" And for once I'd probably have agreed with her, grateful to be alone with my confusing thoughts about Ms Dors, and replaying in my head those few moments of prime-time TV that still resonate to this day.

The bottom line on all of this is that I have a little illustrated fantasy, more than thirty years in gestation, to share with you shortly. It's a bit stronger than would have got past the UK TV censors in 1980, but its zero- tolerance policewomen are without question descended from those running around in The Two Ronnies - not to mention my fevered imagination - during my formative years.