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Trans-rights activists based at prestigious Goldmiths, University of London, think that people who disagree with them should go to gulags. I guess that’s people like me. When challenged, the group’s Twitter account replied that a gulag was an ‘appropriate’ place to send ‘bigots’, and that such establishments were ‘non-violent’ and ‘compassionate’ places of re-education.

Today, the prison warders are nervous. They have increased their patrols and jangle their keys with particular menace. There’s talk of a planned prison breakout, but the governor is having none of it. Oh, it’s quiet enough to the untrained eye. The jail ticks along as it always has, the inmates go about their business, some working, others eating and drinking. Some have been imprisoned so long, they can’t imagine freedom. Indeed, they barely need their doors locking at night. But the guards are still anxious. In the past, large scale breakouts have occurred, and the governor was furious.

I finally got to meet him. As anticipated, he peed on my floor. When I good-humouredly tapped his bottom with a toy, he ran to my rear and nipped my own. As I played with him, his sharp little teeth found their way into my hands and sleeves. Who was my energetic house guest? Tom, my aunt and uncle’s new puppy. All that chasing around, sniffing every object and attempting to eat every floral pattern in the carpet soon exhausted him, and he fell asleep in my arms.

This blogger is not Archbishop Welby’s greatest fan. I try to admire the country’s most prominent Christian, but time and time again he gullibly provides large targets at which his detractors may take aim. If the Press pilloried him for the gospel of grace, I’d leap to his defence. It never does.