So, please, indulge me as I hitherto invent a new genre of literary criticism and thrust it upon your unwitting and uninterested eyes. I call it a "pre-review review". I hear your teeth grind as you call me a "wally" and slap the back of your own neck in the hope you'll hit that "off-button" sweet-spot. Why not simply call it a "preview", like a sensible person?
When toddler starts playing with seat and inevitably hits himself in the mouth, stifle his roar with a packet of chocolate sweets. Ignore dagger looks from sibling who keeps saying "Mum, mum - why did he get sweets?" and can no longer follow the film because all she can think about is sweets and unfairness.
Students by and large support the idea of a university being a place for the free exchange of ideas, and generally have a low opinion of the wackier preoccupations of their elected representatives. But this regrettable affair is a reminder of the shallow commitment that many students have to free expression.
It is no surprise then, that in order to avoid becoming obsessed with ticking clocks, women of this age find other things to focus on as a way of detracting from the glaring reality of a potential life full of cats and over 50's bridge nights. Something else to think about, as it were, aside from weddings, children, regular sex, or the lack there of any of the above.
When the Huffington Post asked me, a 37-year-old married father of two, if I wanted to enter a cooking competition to win a trip to Hong Kong with a 25-year-old girl I'd never met, it was a real no-brainer. I'm confident that in no way would my wife go ballistic if I jogged off to the other side of the world leaving her with two pre-school kids to look after, so I signed up on the spot.