Penis not shown. But then, it doesn’t really need to be. Image: Lma/Bauer Griffin.

Being a cynic of some repute, I had a feeling that this brave new world of post-Olympic British optimism wouldn’t last. The feelings of togetherness and joy we experienced as a nation – borne from the realisation that we were capable of doing something on the global stage without making complete tits of ourselves – were only ever a veneer, an unexpected heat wave in our perpetual winter of self-loathing and narcissism. We were still there. Just waiting. Just breathing.

Little did we know that last Friday night, while we were still exploring the well-lit alleys and sunny streets of ‘optimistic’, events were afoot that would break that heatwave and douse us once again in the familiar chill of the endless bloody rain.

Royalty. Nudity. Naked Girls. Camera Phones. Drinking. It’s like a perfect storm of British scandal.

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