The mysterious case of Mr Davies and the badgers

Ron, Ron, will you never learn? To be honest, I would have thought that this one was not enormously difficult, but some people seem quite incapable of grasping a simple point. In the mysterious case of Ron Davies and the badgers, it is almost impossible to feel any kind of sympathy for him. He has really scripted his own nightmare scenario, and acted his part without any hesitation, or prompting from the wings.

To recapitulate; Mr Davies used to be a member of Tony Blair's Cabinet, until one night he was robbed on Clapham Common. Now, everybody in the neighbourhood knows that one corner of Clapham Common is where the homosexuals go; I say everybody, but in fact most homosexuals know that in reality, it's where you go if you want to be hit very hard with a baseball bat. Mr Davies, you will remember, apparently knew neither of these things, and said that he had gone for a walk on the Common at night, had met a gentleman and accepted an invitation back for a light but nourishing supper, at which point he had been robbed.

The question of Cabinet security meant, of course, that he had to go, but the story was greeted with such general incredulity that he followed it up with two more comments, which, on the surface, bore no rational relation to the original explanation. First, he said that it had been "a moment of madness"; secondly, he said that he was in fact bisexual. All very amusing, and off he went to Wales.

This new story, I have to say, is even better. He was seen coming out of a copse by the side of a road, one morning, and it was suggested that he had spent time there in the company of a gentleman whom he didn't know, apart from in the Biblical sense. Mr Davies first said that he hadn't been there. Then, when it was made clear to him that there was no doubt that he had been there, he explained that he had actually gone to look for badgers.

The badgers were the brilliant, almost Dickensian touch of pure comedy; Mr Davies's attempt to pass himself off as a lover of badgerdom was doomed to failure, however. Apparently ignorant of the fact that they are nocturnal animals, he had ventured into the copse in broad daylight. Anyway, that's the tragic end to a distinguished career, the newspapers said; by which, of course, they meant the richly comic end to nothing very memorable.

Of course, one is grateful to Mr Davies for providing so much entertainment, and supplying us with a promising new euphemism for homosexual in the phrase "badger-botherer". It is sad and probably humiliating for his family, particularly for his wife, who has just had a baby, but that is not our concern, and Mr Davies must deal with that in his own way.

The screamingly obvious question, though, which he ought to ask himself is "Why were the newspapers pursuing me in this way?" And there is one very obvious answer. They were pursuing him, in part, because he is a public figure who, presented with a trouserless lorry driver and a bush, might not always uphold the dignity of his office. But frankly, I don't believe that on its own would be enough.

The simple and overwhelming reason that the papers pursued Mr Davies with such glee is, surely, that they wanted to hear his explanation. They knew, after the last time, that it would be wonderfully unconvincing; they know that there is nothing more interesting than a series of ludicrous claims, falling apart even as they are uttered; and with his story about the badgers, Mr Davies has more than fulfilled their wildest expectations.

The moral of the story is "Never apologise, never explain." Some time ago, a married Tory MEP, Tom Spencer, was found having a dirty weekend in Amsterdam with an American gay porn star. When confronted with this, he immediately said "Yes, and it was great fun." His wife – splendid woman – said that she knew, and didn't see why anyone else should care if she didn't. Result: no story. That is a basic, obvious truth.

If you are frank and open about your life, then you aren't going to be blackmailed or exposed; if, on the other hand, you are secretive and ashamed, it is fair to say that you make yourself a target. And, worse than that, you will behave in secretive, shameful ways.

Personally, I couldn't be bothered to apologise for or conceal the fact that I'm homosexual. Nor do I wish to have sex other than in bed, with my boyfriend. If your desire for men is fulfilled, in practice, by encounters in urban parks and public lavatories, then you ought to consider the possibility that your life has gone wrong.

On your deathbed, which fact are you more likely to regret; that you could not keep your sexual preferences secret, or that you never fell in love, never had a long, happy relationship?

I can't help feeling that the two things, embarrassment and shame about yourself, and undignified sexual habits of anonymity and secrecy, are connected. An existence of shame and secrecy will damage lives in horrible ways; a regime that permits sex with strangers but excludes the possibility of love will shrink your heart and your desires.

And, worst of all, you may very well find yourself talking a lot of complete rubbish about badgers.

p.hensher@independent.co.uk