Sharon Griffiths: Why new rape rules could hurt more than help

Yet somewhere we seem to have turned ourselves into simpering little Victorian misses, incapable of looking after ourselves.

The latest example is the proposed laws on date rape. Now rape is a serious, life-shattering crime. Date rape can certainly be traumatic.

But...

Men accused of date rape could soon have to prove that they made efforts to ensure their sexual partners gave agreement.

How? Whipping out a contract at the restaurant table, between the second bottle of wine and the brandy? Back in the flat while making the coffee? In the bedroom before the lights are dimmed?

Rape victim and campaigner Jill Seward wants consent forms in condom packets, which has the virtue, I suppose, of being a real passion killer.

There is even talk of saying that a woman who has been drinking or taking drugs will be automatically assumed to be incapable of consenting to sex.

So if he starts buying you lemonade instead of Chardonnay, you'll know what to expect.

There are brutal men out there, Neanderthals who still think a meal and a few drinks entitles them to automatic sex however they want it. And that when a woman says no, she's only teasing.

There are also silly women. who think they can go into a man's flat, his bedroom and even his bed - and then still cry rape.

In between are nice men and sensible women, for whom the etiquette of sex and seduction is often a tricky, messy business with mistakes and misunderstandings. Trying to bring the law into it will only make it worse not better.

There are plenty of people who've woken up in the morning, looked at he person on the next pillow and groaned terribly. Put it down to experience.

The problem with the new proposals is that they treat all men as rapists and all women as idiots - silly creatures who need to be protected - as if we were still children or mentally defective. Is this what we really want?

Sex is for grown-ups. That means women too. And if we want to be treated like adults, the time has come to start acting accordingly - and take responsibility for our own sex lives.

IT'S such an exciting, glamorous life... I spent last Friday flat out in the Women's Health Unit at the Friarage Hospital, Northallerton (don't ask).

I was, as always, a hopeless patient, utterly pathetic. But the staff there were smashing, kind and common- sensible and totally wonderful (thank you everyone).

And what also added greatly to the quiet and civilised atmosphere on the ward was that there was NO TELEVISION!

Oh, what bliss. We were able to recuperate and doze and feel ill or get better in perfect peace. Conversations were at normal speaking volume instead of bellowed over the background of daytime TV. Health and temper and no doubt the healing process all gained immensely.

There is a place for television in hospital - in lounges and day rooms - but not, definitely not, in a room full of people feeling fragile and trying to sleep. How wonderful that someone has realised.

That advert for the Motor Show was quite funny in a way. Instead of using sex to promote cars, I thought it was making fun of men - especially as it went on to talk about cars as "boys' toys" which of course they are. Far more worrying was dancer Darcy Bussell in black leather flashing her bum to launch some car or other. Hope she was paid massive sums of dosh for that.

Meanwhile, half of all drivers are women. We buy nearly half of all new cars.

But have manufacturers and advertisers noticed? Hardly at all.

It would take more than a few clever adverts to get us trailing round a motor show.

There was something comical but equally noble at the sight of those silent protestors on the Isle of Lewis on Sunday. They were objecting to the first Sunday flight onto the island, Sundays in the Western Isles still being seriously special. How quaint, how old-fashioned.

And yet... Having grown up in rural Wales I know how serious Sundays could be. No booze, of course, no washing on the line, no card games, no scruffy comfortable clothes, no gaiety, song and dance or trips to the cinema.

It's a world and an attitude I left behind years ago but is so deeply ingrained that even though I often work on Sunday, go to the pub or do the washing, I still find it almost impossible to go shopping on Sunday.

So I can feel a small - exceedingly small - sense of kinship with those silent Wee Free protestors and their reproachful banners.

And strange, isn't it, how quick the politically correct are to accept attitudes and customs that are different from ours? - as long as standards are foreign and exotic and not just British and old-fashioned.

Still can't make up my mind about Estelle Morris's resignation. Was she very brave to admit she couldn't do it, or just plain feeble?

A man, of course, would have put the blame on the job rather than himself, and described the task as impossible rather than himself as inadequate.

But my sympathy faltered when Estelle said she wasn't enjoying the job any more.

Millions of people don't enjoy their jobs but have to get on with it, day in day out for a lot less money than Estelle had.

A decent job at a decent wage is a basic right . But enjoyment? That's a luxury - even for government ministers.

Loved the comment by Lady Longford, who has just died, aged 96. After a lifetime shared with Lord Longford she summed up their marriage by saying that she had never ever considered divorce. "But murder, often."

A lot of wives know just how she felt...