How would you feel about living above a sex shop? Today as I was going past the triple X video and accessory store, a discreet little place that used to sell aquariums, I noticed there was an ad in the window for a two-room flat upstairs. Actually, if you're sitting in the diner across the street you can get some idea of the lie of the land up there: it appears to be all new, panelled, clean and drab. Bit of a rabbit's warren, but well-lit. I suspect there's indoor-outdoor carpet everywhere.

Of course, all kinds of people go to the sex shop, or at least all kinds of horndogs do. Men, women, couples. I saw two who looked like Ozzie and Harriet coming out once. “Anal Mania, you juggins, didn't we already get that?” “Erm—no, it's Anal Mania 2, m'dear,” he says, pausing to light his pipe.

Maybe it would be all right to live there. A bit odd inviting people over, though. You'd have to tell them that you live on top of a big pile of porn, and they might think you had something to do with it. You'd probably want to decorate the place with an eye to establishing your non-porn credentials, but everything in your apartment would start to look like a bizarre offshoot of pornography, even the print of the dogs playing poker. In fact, completely innocent things would start to look like some sort of arch allusion to something.

If you ordered some furniture and the people delivered it, they would probably turn up at your door and say: “Here's the couch you ordered—for your big house o' porn!” Your neighbours would then shun you, etc.

On the other hand, it might be a really good idea and your life would improve immeasurably, if you had the right attitude.

Labels: Civilization