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me.)”
    “Ah.”
    “Talkative, aren’t you? Anyway, and I’m telling you this as one Bactrian to another, that that’s the point, isn’t it? And I can see you already agree with me.”
    “ Er, I suppose…”
    “Anyway, Dromedary, (and again, I’m telling you this as one Bactrian to another) let’s talk about issues. Real issues. Important issues. Are you married, Dromedary?”
    “I was never fortunate enough to…”
    “I thought not. I can tell by the way you walk. You’re tense. Like a coiled spring. That’s natural. Oh, don’t mind me! I’m a Bactrian. And you know us camels are well known for their fatty deposits – in this case, in the head! A hah!”
    “Yes. Hah! [ Cough ] …Ahem.”
    “Well, I say a gentleman has certain needs… the instincts and impulses that make him a man. [ Belch ] Since we don’t have to hunt mammoths anymore, I find that my natural desire for physical exertion often goes unsatisfied. I say a man needs to exert himself at least five times a day! And I’ll say that again. And I’ll also say that at least one of those times should be with company. But that’s the problem, see. It’s so difficult to get yourself a night of torrid passion these days. You blink and the next thing you know, there’s a picture of your todger in the tabloids. Usually superimposed onto a measuring stick. If you do find a nice place, where the girls are clean and discreet, then spending your wad costs one as well. I’m telling you, our climate’s too miserable for kerb crawling. What can one do?”
    “I know what I do. And I know how ashamed of myself I feel afterwards.”
    “…And sometimes you fall in love with them, these fallen angels, these daughters of the night. They’re so brazen and so earthy and so real, and it breaks your heart when your hour’s up and they shove you out the bathroom window and throw your trousers out after. There was this one girl but… oh, that was another world, another time…”
    “What are women like?”
    “Well, they’re soft and warm… and as soon as they’re vertical they’re causing trouble. Hah! But seriously, my dear chap, you mean you’ve never?”
    “No. I’m fifty and I’ve never done it with anyone. Or anything. Women? Well, I never seem to meet any. I think they’re intimidated by my, er, gruff exterior.”
    “ Well! It comes to something when a sturdy fellow such as yourself can’t get a woman!”
    “They do tend to run away from me.”
    “And that’s my point, I suppose. I’m a decent, God-fearing, taxpaying man, (if it’s got an ‘ing’ on the end of it and it’s legal, I’m a man and I do it!) and I deserve a little comfort in my life. Don’t we all? Doesn’t everyone?! Someone who doesn’t demand an expensive love nest and, most importantly …isn’t going to run to the newspapers to tell them about what I happen to think is perfectly reasonable bedwear. And why should underwear be gender-specific? You tell me. Please!
    “You’ve got the money now. You’ve got, well let’s just say, if you’re anything like me… urges. Do yourself a favour, man. Plough that money into research and reap the rewards of your own sexual repression.
    “Are you suggesting I make a robot? A robot woman?”
    “Well, let’s face it, man – you’re fifty and you’ve never said boo to a barmaid. The only way you’re going to make female friends is with a plastic kit and an instruction manual. So go on! Give mankind something to be proud of! Give the feminists something to complain about! Why not? They’re bored now they’ve got equality!”
    And, by appealing directly to his twisted libido, Dromedary’s path is set. He launches his funds into an animatronics emporium producing furry costumes and inane robot animals for film and television and to encourage children to take part in various government initiatives. But kid-friendly crap’s just the start and deep in the basement a more lascivious form of entertainment takes