Does art turn porn into erotica, or just make it good smut?

Andreas Whittam Smith – great man that he is – has gone to look after the Church of England's financial interests and left behind the job of the nation's chief censor. He also leaves behind questions that are still asked about how we distinguish pornography from erotica.

"This Office Tart movie, it's got no artistic merit whatsoever, has it?" Andreas asked a group of pornographers. They agreed. "It's not meant for anything other than sheer titillation, is it?" I hope I'm not misrepresenting Andreas but I assume he uses that as a definition of what pornography is.

Is it impossible for pornography to have artistic merit? Could you not apply artistic talent and ability to sheer titillation, perhaps to make it even more titillating? Would that be good pornography or not pornography? I remember the chief censor debating at the Oxford Union 150 years ago, as it now seems. John Trevelyan was up against John Mortimer, the egg-shaped civil libertarian, and a man with such fleshy, saliva-producing lips as to have seemed damaged at birth. Mr Mortimer quickly slaughtered the censor, then gently butchered him. Trevelyan didn't feel a thing.

An undergraduate had interjected and been answered in a way that seemed deft at the time. Trevelyan had been talking about the difficulty of distinguishing erotica from pornography and someone shouted: "How do you tell the difference?" "You can't. That's how I make my living," John Trevelyan said, to affectionate laughter.

John Mortimer began by praising his opponent. Trevelyan's charm was without equal, he said. And that was the dangerous thing. When censors were brutal and stupid they were less dangerous because they were unpopular. It was the charming ones that presented the acceptable face of something odious. To that extent, Mortimer's praise continued, Mr Trevelyan was among the most dangerous censors Britain had ever had.

"Because remember," Mr Mortimer concluded, "that every book you read, every play and film you see, will be strained through the fine mesh of his inability to tell the difference between pornography and erotica. As he so [judicial pause] charmingly admitted just a moment ago." Andreas would have done better against Mr Mortimer, I think their instincts are more congruent. But the problem of pornography remains.

Perhaps linguistics can help (she does linguistics, but it's extra). Maybe pornography represents what whores do. That sounds a little circular (that's extra too). Continue. We can assume, can't we, that there is always an ulterior motive in sex with whores. And the motive is not love, desire or appetite. It's money. There's the rule of thumb (which is even more extra): the essence of pornography is sex for money, without desire or even appetite.

So that's what the market is waiting for: a film that takes us into the rag and bone shop of the human heart specifically in order to fire the desires or appetites of its audience; a film of continuous, various, filthy intimacy but failing, of its nature, to be tainted with any hint of the pornographic.

My 10-point plan for giving the Tories a hint of relevance

Oh, it's tough to be a Tory. Only the British instinct for the underdog has stopped the Conservative Party from disappearing altogether. Here are 10 suggestions that might help:

1) Hire two new people – an Alastair Campbell and an Ed Balls – with well-financed units reporting to them. These units will generate political facts and deliver them to an indolent or under-resourced media. The research unit will, for instance, run a Follow the Money squad of Whitehall experts and accountants to track Gordon Brown's billions in areas of health, education and transport. Several public-service whistle-blowers will also contribute to this effort. The research unit will cost £750,000 a year and will change the terms of the political debate.

2) Never be suckered into hiring a marketing whizz to "manage the Conservative brand". Nothing is more repellent to voters. Crew-cut idiots from a slick agency won't make you popular. The party is not, despite superficial similarities, a Pot Noodle (see inset). Changecomes from within, from your politicians and your policies.

3) Stop talking about the vulnerable. You hit the bell but it doesn't ring. You'll never be the compassionate party. If you want an adjective to guide you, try "clever". You don't have to be nasty; you can't be compassionate; you can be clever. Devise policies that benefit and empower the poor (free health insurance; private, portable pensions) but don't be tempted to boast about their effect. Let the media do that for you (pause for hollow laughter).

4) Stop worrying about Labour pinching your policies. You're probably not going to win the next general election (I think we're all agreed on that?). Does this mean you're going to spend another eight years saying nothing constructive?

5) Take the argument to the Government. For years, your every criticism of the public service has been met with one perfectly adequate response: "We want to put the money in and you want to take it out." There is an answer to this. What is it?

6) Surprise us. Step out of the trench warfare, the pounding makes dull viewing. Take advantage of the luxury of opposition and tell the truth. It may be the "new way of communicating" the Prime Minister is looking for.

7) Praise the Government for its Tory policies. The Private Finance Initiative. The creeping privatisation of the NHS. How better to shame Tony Blair in front of his backbench than by celebrating his Tory side?

8) Be more interested in the Government. Politicians are interested in power. The Government has the power. You don't. Stop agonising over your internal set-up and start driving open splits in the front bench.

9) Don't delude yourselves that David Davis would be a much better bet than Iain Thing.

10) Beg Ken Clarke to be shadow Chancellor. Deploy Michael Howard where he can claim a scalp. Give John Redwood a job. See what you can do with the new intake, particularly Messrs Johnson, Cameron and Osborne.

¿ When they put up my motoring insurance to £1,800 a year, I took decisive action. I sulked. I'm still sulking. Rather than get into an unwinnable argument about it, I just stopped buying motor insurance. And to be on the safe side, I stopped driving a car as well. It was a complete disconnection with the industry. It's made them look pretty silly, we can all agree on that. Now I bicycle around the place, and a little element of self-sufficiency has entered my life. It's nice. It feels good. I travel whether or not the Tube run.

It's a small example, but the same sort of thing is happening all over the Western world. A turning away from the great oligarchies, the great powers.

You can't beat them but in good times you can ignore them. The great disconnection is well under way, expressed in cynicism, sneering, refusal to join in, refusal to "connect". Hiding from canvassers. Lying to researchers. Politicians call it apathy but it's not. It's a sullen, resentful, low-level, civic rage.

Do we believe stock market analysts will give good, independent advice? Are company auditors telling us the truth? Do we believe results? Do we believe surveys? Do we believe journalists? How about scientists? Over a period of 25 years, that which is enjoyable becomes lethal before being declared essential. Voters are disconnecting even more deeply than consumers. We haven't stopped buying things but we've largely stopped voting.

Our leader has been making efforts to heal the disconnection. He is looking for "new ways to communicate". But what he actually wants is new opportunities for telling us he's doing the right thing. It's a little different, isn't it? And it turns out to be decisively different. When we realise the conversation he seeks is actually a lecture which he wants to conclude with our spontaneous applause, we slump into an even deeper sulk than before.