I'm getting pretty tired of explaining to people why rape jokes aren't funny. Instead, I have begun asking the perpetrators of such jokes why they think the jokes are funny. Desperately, I seek humour in punchlines about holding a knife to a woman's throat, about binding her with rope, about "raping that bitch".
My heart went out for our two-time Olympic gold medal winning heroine Rebecca Adlington last night on ITV's I'm A Celebrity, Get Me Out Of Here. It was only last year that we hosted the greatest sporting event in the world and our Olympians were given their rightful place as national treasures in the press.
The Yes campaign has recognised, in that great tradition of enlightened Scottish thought, that you can't view political decisions in isolation of broader societal and cultural trends. Beyond the cold and narrow business of balancing budgets and ballot boxes lies a modern republic of letters: of Buzzfeed, Youtube clips and memes.
So for me, the strike is over: not for any particularly good reason, just because it has gone on a week, and it is time to pass the baton over to Frankie Boyle. I was not sure when I began how long I would go for, since I had never foregone food for 48 hours before. I am satisfied with a week - it is longer than I expected to last, though less time than I could have.