Did you stay up last night for the Oscars? I didn’t but let me guess: was it a carnival of sanctimony in honour of #MeToo? Did the winner for best sound mixing tearfully raise his statuette for all women who have ever had an unwanted hand on their knee? Were there starlets in black satin slashed to the navel wearing solidarity pouts? Perhaps the red carpet was graced by a burning effigy of Harvey Weinstein’s lawyer, Benjamin Brafman.

Over the weekend Mr Brafman took a pin to this bubble of self-righteousness by speaking out about the casting couch. “If a woman decides that she needs to have sex with a Hollywood producer in order to advance her career . . . that’s not rape. You