The rabid Right loves to swoon over its self-developed theory that leftists are subject to immorality and temptation. Bolt just about does his bolt here when he discovers that of the ‘top ten political sex scandals’ - chosen subjectively by an obscure feature writer - the only Americans featured are Democrats. He neglects to point out that all four British scandals mentioned involved conservatives.

In the interests of balance, I’ll help the Dutch one out by showing him that those on his side of the political fence are human too (though only just):

* Republican president Warren Harding, who was the JFK of the 1920s. He had a string of mistresses, some of whom were spirited in and out of the White House through an underground carpark. When one threatened to spill the beans on Harding, the Republican Party gave her a substantial bribe, a monthly endowment and a free overseas trip.

* Mark Foley, the Republican Congressman who railed against child pornography, yoof exploitation and indecency in public… while spending his spare time e-mailing and texting teenaged boys about teh sex. Foley was soon thrown out of Congress. I remember Fox News, the deceitful fuckers, captioning an interview with him as “Mark Foley (D)”.

* Unconfirmed but numerous and strikingly similar complaints against California’s Republican governor, Arnold Schwarzenegger. According to at least six women, Arnie’s got ‘those wandering hands’. No doubt he enjoys porn moofies too.

* Republican member of the House, Wayne Hays, who back in the free and fancy 70s hired a ’secretary’ who couldn’t type, file or use the switchboard. Her only job was to, well, you know… For this she was paid a full government salary.

* Jim West, a high profile Republican mayor in Washington state. West was fond of supporting homophobic legislation such as moves to ban gay teachers - and all the while he was out ramming the roads, so to speak, chatting up young male partners online and engaging in after-dark trysts.

* Speaker of the New Jersey assembly, Republican Chuck Haytaian, who engaged in the sexual harrasment of an employee. The state paid the victim a six-figure sum for damages, though not before Republican Party heavies applied some pressure on her to drop the matter.

* ‘Buz’ Lukens, a Republican Congressman who was slapped on the wrist with a wet tram ticket for “contributing to the deliquency of a minor”, after he repeatedly paid a 16-year-old girl for sex. There were reports the relationship dated back to when the girl was 13. He was later convicted of bribery, corruption and feeling up an elevator girl.

* In Australia, Liberal PM Harold Holt had a girl in each port and two in Portsea. His favourite was next-door neighbour Marjorie Gillespie, whom he took to Chevoit Beach on that fateful day when he ended up in [a Chinese sub][a great white shark][Chile] - circle whichever you prefer.

* John Gorton’s love of skirt was more deeply hidden but the subject of much whispering in Canberra. He appointed 22-year-old Ainsley Gotto as his principal private secretary; she had little experience other than as a cover girl. On another occasion Gorton inexplicably took an attractive cadet journalist - female and teenaged - to a function at the US Embassy that went into the very small hours. 

* Former Liberal Party of Australia leader Sir Billy Snedden, found dead and in flagrante in a hotel room, still wearing a condom containing the remnants of a recent liaison. The woman in question was not his wife but the ex-girlfriend of Snedden’s son, Drew.

* Snedden’s successor and later PM, Malcolm Fraser, who was famously pantsless in Memphis. (Fraser, like Menzies, was way too boring to be involved in anything salacious, so we can accept his account of being drugged and mugged.)

Does all this prove that Republicans and Liberals are depraved, perverted and easily corruptible? Of course not - it only shows that some people can be easily tempted. And since politics involves people, public interest and a prying media, there will always be a measure of scandal across all parties and points-of-view. Only an idiot would use it to suggest some kind of ideological deficiency or score a cheap political point.

I was listening to ABC Radio National on the wireless last week and some dude from some anti-religious group said “are you seriously trying to tell me that there will be 400,000 young people all in the one place, all having a good time, and none of them will get together?”

I turned to Craig, who was with me at the time, and we said in unison: “World Youth Fuckfest.”

Today Cardinal George Pell took time out from rallying against evil condom usage and evil non-marital sex to implore the “western world” (read: not the muzzies) to have more sex.

One blogger supports “George Peel” (sic) and his call for non-muzzies to start “rootin” (sic), and is now planning his last minute trip to Sydney. No need to pack the “dinger’s” (sic).

The Internet is a sublime creation: I learn something from it every day. Today I learned about octopus sex:

A man whose self-esteem is so low he identifies himself as a beast has admitted to downloading images showing sexual acts with an octopus.

Rodney Scott McLagan, 48, of South Arm, was caught with 31,000 images and video files involving sexual acts with children, dogs, ponies, snakes, tigers and an octopus.

What. The. Fuck. Octopuses?! How the hell do you screw one in the first place? Or do you let it do you, eight times over? What type of malevolent sicko engages in such an act?

Curiosity got the better of me and, shame of shame, I went a-Googling. And what do you know… there’s an entire Japanese sub-culture dedicated to sexual congress between humans and cephalopods. According to Wykypedya:

Tentacled creatures appeared in Japanese erotica long before animated pornography; among the most famous of the early instances (and perhaps the first) is a Hokusai woodcut called The Dream of the Fisherman’s Wife, depicting a woman sexually entwined with a pair of octopuses.

Most unnervingly, last night we had calamari for dinner. I just hope none of these freaks got their hands on it - or anything else - before it hit the frypan.

So there I am, rushing through Hyde Park after work to the train station this evening, when I suddenly stop, ears alert, eyes darting back and forth and scanning the dark bushes beside me. There had been a groan. I know it. I heard it. It sounded like an animal in pain. Oh no! I hate hurting animals, being the bleeding heart, tree-hugging lefty that I am.

Gingerly, I push past through the bush, breathing heavily now because I suddenly realise that I am being really stupid because I have no idea what to expect and what if the animal jumps at me ’cause it’s hurt and frightened and there’s no time for me to pull out my phone to call for help and what if my face is shredded apart by said unknown animal and why is it so dark in this part of Hyde Park goddammit?

Peering behind the big old fig tree, I soon find out. It wasn’t an animal. It was two animals. They weren’t in pain. They were screwing each other. Doggy style. They were, in fact, humans. Two well-dressed, business looking idiots who obviously decided they could not wait any longer. Or perhaps it was a fetish and it was something that got them off. I don’t know how else to explain it. But you know… whatever floats their boat. Or gets them off, if they don’t have a boat.

The woman looks up, startled, and I see my startled reflection in her face. The man looks up, barely comprehending that there was now a third party, a ménage à trois of sorts, if you like. I think he was at the end of his own version of Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Overture. You know, the climatic volley of cannon fire and chiming bells. If you get my drift.

“Oh!Iamsosorrypleasedocarryondon’tletmeinterruptyousorrysorrysorry!” I dribble in a hurry as I stumble backwards, out of the bushes. And fled. Fled to the train station, trying my hardest not to laugh, past the Federal Court, past NSW Parliament House, past the State Library, before heading down Martin Place to catch the train.

Eventually, I get home and the first thing I do? Blog it. Dear readers, should you ever take a walk through Sydney’s Hyde Park, stop for NOTHING.

Unless, of course, your particular fetish is voyeurism. In which case, welcome to Sydney.