Yet Barbara Kay is not one of the *winners*.
It's a shame, really. She should receive a life-long achievement award for bad sex writing in non-fiction.
Her arid, hectoring, astringent prose - which projects her deeply gynophobic fear and loathing of juicy, passionate, joyful women and the men who love them that way - is the very opposite of sex.
Rarely have I read such unbalanced and scolding screeds. Though misery loves company, I can't even imagine men who are drawn to Babs' particular brand of verbal abuse.
On the other hand, if one were contemplating entering a convent or a monastery, her turgid little pieces would certainly make life-long chastity and sexual abstinence appealing.