You may have thought, with the crimes against humanity that went on in France this week, people would have a few pretty important things on their minds. Alas not. People have been obsessing about a cleavage.

I fully admit to never having heard of Rita Ora. I assume she’s some poptart. She has now shown up as a judge on The Voice. I also admit to never having seen this television show, and before a few days ago not even heard of it.

Anyway, Ms Ora flipped some switches, and over 400 people objected to her appearance. Why? She wore a jacket that exposed her cleavage. I’ll be honest, when I saw the pictures, it was a very nice cleavage. But wearing a white tuxedo that exposes the space between your breasts is not a reason for national outcry on the BBC, is it? I’ve seen more exposure on a hot day in the small market town in which I live.

I’ve written before about puritan attitudes to female flesh. It’s sometimes a bit like being back in the Dark Ages. Wake up folks. Women have breasts. They therefore also have cleavages. It’s not bloody rocket science. Ms Ora did not do a Janet Jackson and expose her nipple. I suspect the outcry about that event was largely racially motivated, but let that slide. My heroine here simply appeared on television sporting a cleavage.

I repeat. I have no idea who she is. But she did very little to provoke people. My guess? All the complaints, apparently from mothers shielding their children’s eyes in their aprons to avoid them being taken into the legions of Lucifer, were from women. Jealous women. Jealous because Ms Ora has a nice cleavage.

Ms Ora was rather decorous. The venom spitting critics were ill mannered.

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