Fender benders

WHAT would Mary Whitehouse make of My Car Is My Lover? I reckon that, were she still alive to do so, she'd do the TV equivalent of an emergency stop and press the off button on her remote control.

How ironic that a quirk of scheduling offers us Filth: The Mary Whitehouse Story on the same night as a documentary about men who have sex with cars.

Ed hugs and kisses his lover, a VW Beetle called Vanilla. It may be true love but doesn't stop him having a quickie with the film crew's vehicle in the middle of the night and later leaving what he calls his "love seed" over Todd's bodywork.

A car swap meet is a dream come true. He can barely contain his physical lust as he observes hundreds of cars in one place, say the film-makers. It's like watching a cross between a teenage boy and a dirty old man.

Todd is the motorised lover of 20-year-old Jordan, who's never had sex with a woman, but after seeing an orange Porsche says he'd love to "take it home and rape it silly".

Ed, caressing Vanilla's bonnet, says he's more romantic although apparently not very faithful, sowing his love seed across car parks nationwide.

Back in the 1960s, Mrs Whitehouse was horrified on seeing a discussion on pre-marital sex on BBC TV at teatime. It spurred this Christian mother into action. Her concern was that everyone was trying to be "with it"

in the Swinging Sixties and showing little concern for influences on the young.

So she campaigned to get smut off the box.

It was her attempt to turn back the tide of filth, violence and degradation, not to mention the smoking, drinking and openmouthed kissing that filled TV screens (allegedly) in those permissive days.

She launched the Clean Up National Television campaign, although changed the name after her husband pointed out that, initially speaking, it was inappropriate.

I don't know if that's true but, generally speaking Amanda Coe's Filth-y script plays fair by Mrs Whitehouse. It could simply have ridiculed her views and, goodness knows, some of her actions invited mockery. How did she expect to be taken seriously when she complained of the use of the word knickers in a song lyric, or that puppets Pinky and Perky were "constantly unkind to the point of callousness to the adults"?

Those concerned with freedom of speech opposed her as she gave up teaching to become self-appointed guardian of the nation's morals. To some she was a saviour, to others an interfering old busybody.

A bespectacled Julie Walters, looking remarkably like Mrs Whitehouse, manages to make her vaguely sympathetic no matter how misguided you may feel her views were.

THESE days she'd drown in the tide of filth filling our screens. Strangelove exposes a side of sexual relations that most of us can't even imagine.

The programme discovers Brit George, whose first four-wheeled lover was an Austin Metro, so he could claim to be the world's first Metrosexual. But as he won't appear in the film, the makers head to the US to organise a meeting between car lovers Ed and Jordan.

They live thousands of miles apart but share a passion for snogging cars. These fender benders like nothing more than the feel of a nice chassis, a clean wing mirror and a tailpipe.

Ed is car mad. Or possibly just mad. He rescued Vanilla from the Jehovah's Witnesses many years ago and they've been together ever since.

"Every inch of her body has a certain sense of beauty. I enjoy holding her, being part of her," he says, licking her bonnet. "I get carried away, I must admit, but she's my lover and I don't see anything wrong with that."

Some may feel he needs carrying away by men in the white coats and locked up to save innocent motor cars from unwanted assault.

Even celebrities aren't safe from Edward's clutches. He claims he once made love to Airwolf, the helicopter from the 1980s TV series.

Age doesn't deter him either. As he eyes up a 1919 Ford Model T, I fear for the old lady's honour.