2004-10-21 - 11:34 p.m.

I’m not a fan of pornography. Along with eggs, The White Stripes, paying rent and exercising, the appeal of porn has always eluded me. While it’s always nice to see a pretty lady without her clothes, I’ve no desire to see some donkey-dicked lothario gouging into her. It spoils the moment. This is partly because it reminds me that I’m not getting any and also because the aesthetics of intercourse are fairly mundane and repetitive. Where’s the imagination, the fun, the potent power of suggestion? Erect, veiny, uncircumcised members remain one of the most grotesque sights you’ll see despite the best efforts of HR Geiger. The porno birds are all pretty ropey too, what Martin Amis might call “corny phantasms of man-pleasing artifice”. So, what does that leave for the prudish perv to glaze a knuckle over? We need relief too, damnit! Once again, late night television saves the day.

Somewhere in the early 200s of the dial lurks Sky Digital’s best kept secret(s). After the geekoid computer game channels have gone to bed, the fun begins for those too young, skint or drunk to watch real porn. Over the choppy waters of after-hours viewing sounds the siren song of the ladies from Babecast. Essentially, a televised phone sex-line, Babecast (along with close relation Babestation) offers all the fun of the fair without robbing you of your money or innocence. It’s a work of absolute genius. The beautifully simple concept is this: 2 scantily clad, perma-horny, rather out of it birds recline on a sofa and read out text messages from grunting, lonely, totally out of it lads. In boxes to the left of the main picture, 3 more writhing lovelies talk on the phone to those with more cash and less shame than their furiously fingering brethren. With an autistic lack of imagination, the sweaty palmed viewers text in their simple, yet honest demands:

(Scousedave)HI ladeez lookin goreus tnight – cud u shake ur tits and moan Oh Dave 4 times. Dave from liverpool xxx
(anon) show ur tits pls
(Irishguy) Heavenly would you tak your shoe off and giv me a close up of your sexy feet please!
(anon) Please could you tell me I have a tiny willy and tell me u will stand on my balls with your high heels from Steve in Essex
(Footlover) Please stand on a balloon with your bare feet from Rich in Surrey xx
(anon) BUM WRESTLE! BUM WRESTLE! BUM WRESTLE!
(Stupot69) Babe in red thong – bend ova and say Oh Stuart 7 times from Stu in Wales thank you so much you are so fit luv ya loads!

Yeah, there’s a lot of foot-fetishists out there. The girls don’t like it if you’re not registered. “I’d love to lick Kat’s nipples but you HAVEN’T registered Mr anonymous! Guys, to register your nickname just text the word ‘reg’ then your nickname to 0901…” Otherwise, the starlets are happy to indulge every request to show off their turgid titties to those too dim to realise that the chances of their bras staying on is about the same as John Hughes making another good film. A fool and his money etc. I have fond memories of the wag who texted in to suggest the babes wear a “16th century French farm hands’” costume - unfortunately, he had to make do with a rubber nurse’s dress. The best thing about Babecast is that it’s on for ages and it’s free. This means that there’s only so much the ladies can show, so it manages to retain a certain charm. Whenever anything pops out that shouldn’t, it’s met with much coquettish giggling from the girls and, no doubt, an icy stare from the producer come cameraman. The budget doesn’t stretch to ear-pieces so you can usually hear the Svengali wearily trying to make sure the ladies to stick to the script. This is a great time to be a schoolboy.

At weekends, there’s an extra incentive to watch until the end of the show - a pole-dance, shower scene or full-on, nudey-orgy is promised – if there’s enough texts. Naturally. As the evening draws to a close, the babes take their positions off camera (i.e.- bugger off home) in preparation for the sexual nirvana supposedly about to be unleashed. This leaves one lone lady to shill her pert little rear off in a last ditch attempt to milk the bed-bound before the plug is pulled. You can usually hear the producer feeding her lines as time ticks away. “Guys, we need more texts if you want to see one of our gorgeous babes get in the shower for you… I can see Freya is getting ready to go in the shower now… keep texting in guys… Sorry, we’ve got a technical fault… We’re trying to….” Fade to black. Denied! The tension is almost unbearable as on the rare occasion that they don’t pull the old bait and switch scam, the shower/pole scene is actually well worth seeing. The girls perform their party-pieces without the air of ironic detachment or outright boredom they maintain during the lions’ share of the show. For a fleeting few nanoseconds you might, like Tom Waits, find yourself getting harder than Chinese algebra.

It’s cheap. It’s sometimes cheerful. It’s always there if you need it. Heck, some of the girls are actually pretty damn foxy. Babecast, I salute you. Long may you continue to rob the soon to be blind.

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