But when, for example, Mother Lol-taire (or PurpleFish as I was briefly back in the day) stumbles upon her 13 year old's computer history one day, gets over absolutely no-one's initial shock and does her reading and realises the site is run by a man who is not in the very first flush of youth, sees the writing community for Queer and Questioning Youth is plastered in sleazy ads, and jumps to melodramatic, Death in Venicey conclusions about what sort of set up this Jeff fellow is runnng here.

Or baby-Lol-taire- or PurpleFish as I was when I was just a baby- cautiously clicks on the webpage (finally having got up the courage) on a Thursday evening when Mother Lol-taire, is at choir practise and as a mere naif at the filthy content in the margins knots up her stomach and scares her away from her only little bit of refuge in the uncharted territory of sexual confusion that dead-ends straight into the closet.

And this is just what might happen in leafy Surrey to people who know people who read the Guardian and people who know people who have gay friends.

I can show any type of advertising I want. I choose not to.

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"Sell your cleverness and buy bewilderment." - Rumi

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