Read this this morning - Dominic Lawson in Independent, on Michael Winner's lionising of O.J. Simpson.
If anyone doubts Dittany's statements re rapists not being as stigmatised as you might expect, have a look at this:
'The interesting thing about this account is that Winner did not seem to share the original trial jury's dismissal of the DNA evidence of OJ Simpson's own blood at the scene of the murder of his ex-wife, Nicole Brown Simpson, and her friend Ronald Goldman; nor that of the even more compelling DNA analysis of Simpson's socks, which found traces of his ex-wife's blood in them ? fresh blood, that is, not ancient relics of the many beatings which he had inflicted on her over the years, and for which he had been repeatedly cautioned. No, Winner thought his old chum was "a double murderer" ? but still worth showing off all over town.
He was not to be disappointed; "Girls endlessly came to the table to pass him their telephone numbers... We went round to the Belvedere restaurant in Holland Park... and a rather posh friend of Andrew Lloyd Webber's came over to our table. When I introduced him to OJ, he practically curtsied." On reading this, I practically vomited. I didn't feel much less nauseated by Winner's follow up, in which he describes how, four years ago (after Simpson had been found "liable" for the two murders by the civil courts), the one-time American football star turned up at his home in London: "I said to my fiancée Geraldine, 'That's OJ ? if he's got a knife, throw yourself in front of me.'"
I suspect that's what Ronald Goldman tried to do to save Nicole Simpson's life; but it hadn't stopped the immensely strong former sportsman from stabbing her so many times through the throat that she was all but decapitated ... anyway, which fashionable restaurant shall we grace with our presence tonight, OJ, you naughty man?'