ISUSPECT that a little more caution has descended on workplaces up and down the country in the wake of the Sky TV sexism saga. Those in the habit of making a cheeky comment or two may have found themselves biting their tongues.

It was the talking point of last week.

Should Andy Gray and Richard Keys have lost their jobs over their lewd behaviour towards colleague Charlotte Jackson, which followed unguarded comments about lineswoman Sian Massey?

Had it just been the old “she won’t know the offside rule” jibe, they might have got away with it.

I can imagine someone in The Northern Echo newsroom saying it, just as I can imagine female members of staff suggesting that men can’t multi-task or that they exaggerate colds into man-flu.

What I can’t imagine is a male member of my staff sticking a microphone down his trousers and asking a female colleague for help like Andy Gray did.

That was going too far and let’s not forget that Gray was being paid £1.7m a year to be a fair-minded, intelligent analyst.

I’d hate it if my newsroom was bereft of fun and banter, but there is a line to draw.

Andy Gray crossed it and Richard Keys followed.

A COUPLE of hours after the Andy Gray sacking story broke, I was at Leeming Motel in North Yorkshire, speaking at the annual dinner of the Brompton and District Agricultural Discussion Group.

As an early test of public opinion, I asked for a vote on whether Gray should have been given the boot.

Out of an audience of 50 or so people, only two thought Sky had over-reacted.

In farming circles at least, Andy Gray is considered a sexist pig.

OH how The Sun made me laugh with its editorial comment on Andy Gray.

“Judged by his own comments, Andy Gray cannot accept women as equals and sees them as sex objects to be belittled and patronised,”

it declared.

I couldn’t help wondering what Staci, in all her glory in the “News In Briefs” slot on Page 3, thought of it all.

IT would never be allowed in the these days of political correctness, of course, but in 1929 The Northern Echo famously launched a children’s club called the “Nig Nog Ring”.

In those days, the words Nig and Nog were the County Durham vernacular for boy and girl and they were presented as innocent little imps who lived in the land of the moon.

Within weeks, club members numbered 50,000.

It never ceases to amaze me how many former members are out there with their Nig Nog badges and happy memories.

Margaret Robson wrote to me from Leyland, in Lancashire, recalling how she became a Nig Nog while living in Dawdon, County Durham, as a ten-year-old in 1936.

“We had an African grey parrot and I decided to write an article to the club about Peggy the parrot and the antics she would get up to,” she wrote.

To her delight, the article was published under the splendid headline: “Dawdon Nig Nog’s parrot enjoys a joke”.

Margaret was sent a book, called Brownie Village, as a prize. She still treasures it, along with her Nig Nog badge from a far more innocent age.