Porn in the home - it's the nation's dirty secret

I suspect that for women - whatever their attitude towards Smith as a politician - something feels disloyal about harping on about her husband's use of pornography. Few women like the idea of their partner paying to view women performing sexual acts, whether in the privacy of their own homes or at a so-called lap-dancing club. But more than that, the sheer ubiquity of pornography in contemporary Britain makes it extremely unlikely that the male partners of any potential critics haven't also done a Timney. To get at Smith and her husband involves picking away at their own private sores.

It's become increasingly acceptable to be an apologist for porn in this country. Right and Left-wing libertarians make common cause with an entire slew of tawdry interest groups - from lads' mags to lingerie salespeople - to promote the idea that such material is only "adult entertainment". Of course, the group who are most interested in porn being consumed are those who seek to profit from it, and as the Timney case exposes, this includes all the providers of cable television - when it comes to porn, Richard Branson is no virgin, and nor is Rupert Murdoch.

Of course, there's nothing innocuous about pornography, and with a flick of a button you can access material in your own home that quite clearly involves the exploitation of vulnerable women - and men. I know this because like most men I've taken a look. I'm not proud of it, but nor do I believe in pretending to complacent ignorance. Let's face the facts: the commercial imperative has, in the past 20 years, swelled the trickle of top-shelf mags and dodgy VHS tapes into a raging torrent of grisly filth.

I don't believe that I'm a joyless puritan because I think this wrong. Pornography is definitely distinct from the erotic, and the criterion remains the same as it was at the time of the Chatterley trial: the erotic has an artistic merit that makes it something more than a mere stimulus, while the pornographic is nothing but that. The erotic involves men and women at an emotional level; the pornographic renders them nothing but purveyors and consumers of commodified sex.

Perhaps Jacqui Smith should use this humiliation as a spur with which to widen her campaign against the traffickers of women, to include one against "mainstream" pornographers? However, I doubt she's up for it: this is one vice that not only begins in the home but which has spread through the body politic.

I'm a convert to Mr Sheen

I have to say the acting genius of Michael Sheen has rather eluded me - until now, that is. His two outings as Tony Blair left me underwhelmed; true, he got the oleaginous feel of our late helmsman spot on, but since Blair was a consummate actor himself, it was doubtful than anyone could ever play the part of Prime Minister better than him. As for Frost/Nixon, I'm sorry, but I just couldn't go there - a two-hander of utter repugnance.

Still, having seen The Damned United I think I may have to. Sheen's performance as the late Brian Clough is the jewel in the crown of this superb film, which deftly marries the beautiful game to the ugly social history of the 1970s. Clough may have been a loud-mouthed - and increasingly inebriated - bighead, but one thing he wasn't was a fool. Let's hope Sheen isn't going for a third term as a Blair impersonator and sticks with the real winners.

Instant coffee with attitude

You've got to hand it to Starbucks for sheer nerve. The widely derided chain, home of the gobstopping ultra-frothy peach essence frappuccino, having expanded faster than an asset bubble is now in danger of popping, so what better time to launch a new instant coffee? Outside Shepherd's Bush Tube the other evening sachets of Starbucks Via Ready Brew were being dispensed by PR girls, while a burly chap sporting a large canister on his back squirted hot plashes of this ersatz java into paper cups, then handed them to the passing multitude. "It's better than filter coffee!" he cried.

I took a swig: it was way worse than even Mellow Bird's. "Do you really think this is better than filter coffee?" I asked the genial lummox. "No," he fired back, "I'm just paid to say that." Ah, the spirit of cockney cynicism!