Tarbuck Off

You might have heard about the President’s Club dinner recently – a charity event for men only where scenes of alleged sexual misconduct took place with the all female hostess staff.

I put in the word alleged because it feels like the right thing to do from a writing it point of view. It feels like something that should be done. But let’s face it, let’s be honest. It happened. There’s no two ways about it.

How do I know?

Because one of the instructions given to the guests on the night was to NOT harass the wait staff.

And as anyone who has ever been faced with a notice that clearly says not to push a button knows, you can’t follow instructions like that. You have to do the opposite.

That’s my tongue-in-cheek answer for how I know it happened. The other way I know is, well, it’s men isn’t it.

And men are shits.

We are.

And how do I know that? Let me tell you. You know that because men come up with shit like:-

“Why is there a Woman’s Hour on Radio 4? There’s no Men’s Hour.”

Or, in the case of the President’s Club dinner you have Jimmy bloody Tarbuck rocking up and saying “I didn’t see anything but hey Hen Parties are just as bad…”

As bad as what, Jimmy? You didn’t see anything. By your version of events Hen Parties are like a nun’s outing to a library.

But hey, well done for stepping up and defending the dinner as being a totally above board and non-feely occasion. Because you were totally there all night weren’t you, and saw everything?

What? You weren’t? You just turned up, gave a speech and pissed off home.

That’s like me watching the opening credits of Game Of Thrones and then saying no-one gets their kit off. You can’t comment on the entirety of something if you only turned up to the beginning bit. For you, I imagine, fireworks are just someone lighting something. There’s no oooh and aaaah with you. You go home before anything actually happens.

It’s fairly obvious something did happen. Many somethings in fact. Someone will come out at some point and say that it’s always been tradition for women to be manhandled at these events. That since the dawn of time when these parties were dreamt up by some privileged¬† white guy, women have been like a sexy version of fidget spinners. You just can’t stop playing with them.

That doesn’t make it right, though.