It was hard to beat Kay Burley's response ('I'm sure your mother is incredibly proud of you, Dylan. I know I would be') but this is a poem about the prank and how it felt symptomatic of a much wider issue.
I don't know about you but I would have paid Pricey's check (if the real Pricey would have shown up) for Channel 5 myself just to see her deal with the drama that ensued early on. Who cares whether the house calmed down after she arrived? We weren't watching for that.
I've not talked about this for years, so here goes. Here's my Great Taboo. I tried to kill myself when I was 19 or 20 - the event is so shrouded by silence I can't even remember exactly when it happened. I won't go into why I felt so crap about life, but I did. I now know that what I did was a cry for help, that I wanted to be found and thankfully I was.
I can't help but think that it must be hard for The Sun's readers to absorb credible stories about women, since the first image they are met with is boobs.
I will always support a woman's right to do what she wants with her body. Just please, don't do it and call it news. So excuse me if I don't stop being an opinionated woman. Sorry if I don't burn my Sociology Degree certificate (along with the bras, of course) because my feminism offends you.
As a woman, a journalist and a mum, I don't 'get' what the fuss is all about over page three. Comments about tomorrow's chip paper, poor little crack whores and sexual discrimination do not faze me. They do not convince most discerning consumers.
Defined by a storm in a D cup, this week The Sun newspaper's decision to 'hilariously' pretend it had listened to anti-Page 3 campaigners was offensively unfunny. Put to one side the endless debate and incorrect columns about Page 3's supposed demise, if the aim was to cynically generate a shed load of free PR for the declining red top then bravo, didn't they do well. Now the challenge they face is trying to convince the rest of us that we should keep reading.
Back when I signed the petition a couple of years ago, I imagined my goddaughter, who turned five last week, growing up, coming across The Sun one day and wondering why a mainstream newspaper would display a photo like that.
Regardless of how you politicise the debate over objectification what is obvious to most people is that Page 3 has served a purpose in popularising The Sun in the 70s and 80s, but is now of another time.
It's smug, it's nasty, it's a publicity triumph. It also reaffirms what campaigners have always said about Page 3: That The Sun's loyalty to Page 3 is a commitment to disempowering women under the guise of that age-old defence of sexism: "it's just harmless fun".
While we may have no power on the decision to kill off Page 3, public opinion is everything. There is arguably far greater power in influencing the mood around representations of women in media. And this has certainly happened.
It may surprise some people, but the future of topless models is not that important an issue for the paper at the moment. It is in the middle of a series of massive criminal trials. The majority of its senior staff are in the dock over alleged payments to public officials.
Taking the bare boobs out of The Sun is a momentous step in the right direction. But let's not dance in the street just yet (maybe just a few fireworks and a glass of bubbly?). We're not done people.
This is the problem with institutionalised sexism (or racism, or homophobia, or institutionalised anything) - it's insidious and works at an almost subconscious level. It takes an inherently wrong and damaging mentality and normalises it.
Men who wouldn't win a prize at Crufts feel entitled to judge the appearance of women and find them lacking, as if they've wilfully failed to conform to conventional standards of beauty out of spite. Men who might easily be mistaken for Dobby the House Elf, feel wronged when the office isn't staffed with eye candy of a standard they deem high enough.
Like a creepy uncle contemplating emigration, page three is unlikely to be missed. But the hydra-headed jubilation in some of the press is little more than an unseemly basking in a class-tinged tyranny of some people's taste over others, which distracts from an appreciation of painful economic inequality.