Bluetooth is a way of getting computer devices to talk with each other over small distances using a short range radio frequency.

Sounds complicated, but it really is simple to use.

Basically, you simply turn on the blutooth 'radio' on say your hand held device, be it a palm pilot, mobile phone or perhaps if you're particularly sad, your portable printer.

When another device in the area comes into range, a little icon pops up and with a simple click or tap of a stylus, the two devices are ready to 'talk' to each other.

It isn't like a mobile phone, where you need to know the number of the person that you want to talk to, it's more like CB radio, where you send out a handshake hoping that someone out there wants to talk to you:

'Breaker breaker ten four big daddy what's the I-1 oh on the shaky bear...'

Er, yes, right you get the idea.

But Bluethoothing as it is known has been hijacked by crazed, sex-mad people that commute long hours and, well,  own hand-held devices.

For they are using the bluetooth system to arrange casual sex.

These depraved individuals, often wear suits, glasses and spend an hour or two a day on long, boring commutes in and out of the city of London.

Here's how these sexo-anarchic fiends work:

When they are sure that nobody is looking, they casually turn on bluetooth and go 'fishing' for partners.

When they get a response, their pulse quickens, for who knows what is dangling at the end of the line?

They quickly establish a connection and begin flirting with one another.

They know they're on the same train, somewhere, but the question is where?

And who?

Is it that gorgeous blonde in the corner - oh no, she's reading cosmopolitan.

The gorgeous blond in the corner wonders briefly why a fat, small, pudgy, bald man with a sweaty forehead is looking hopefully at her before returning to her magazine and the article about wooden flooring.

Small sweaty bald man sets his sights a bit lower and elsewhere.

The tubby woman with badly applied make up knitting baby socks? I mean she'd do.

Perhaps the object of small bald sweaty mans desire is in the next carriage?

A few messages bounce back and fore and suddenly bingo! He's pulled, he's going to meet 'Jo' in the toilets at Brighton, where he'll have gratuitous, uncomplicated sex with a completer stranger - he can hardly wait, he mops his brow with his three day old crackly handkerchief.....

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

If you believe the popular press, then this subversive activity is rife on British commuter trains, with scores of sex mad people hooking up with one another for 'toothing', a euphamism for sex with complete strangers, usually in toilets.

Scores of young men and women are copulating as we speak in darkened alleyways, lavatory cubicles and under the seats behind you.

Overnight women have suddenly changed, undergone a metamorphosis unprecedented in evolutionary history and have at last become the sexual predators of every male fantasy, desperate for sex with random strangers.

And all because they own a handheld device with bluetooth installed on it.

Right.

Putting it crudely, if a woman really wants random sex with a stranger, all she has to do is walk into a bar and there will be at least a dozen men of all shapes and sizes that she can choose from.

Most men have this inbuilt and usually misplaced delusion about their own sexual attractiveness and are usually pitifully unaware of the stark reality. Mirrors don't work for men.

Owning a device with blutooth will immediately change his chances of 'scoring' of course.

This is the modern equivalent of buying sports cars to impress women, a 21st century replacement for the penis extension that was the E-type jag in the 1960s.

Now, even the most ordinary of middle-aged greying civil servants in their tatty old suits and mouldering leather cases can attain the previously unattainable nirvana of constant, guilt-free sex with strange women.

And all because they paid a hundred bucks for a gizmo.

Dream on.....

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

Elsewhere, as train stops at the next station, small bald sweaty man alights and nervously makes his way to the lavatory.

Trembling, he pushes open the door and sure enough there is Jo.

'Allo darling', Joe grunts in his deep bass voice, as small bald sweaty man realises too late, that the only people seeking random sex with stangers on commuter trains are, well, other men.

yechydda,