THE man, a smartly-dressed father-of-three, could barely control his temper. “Glasgow was a clean place before you came along,” he shouted. “This is pure filth. We are not a nation of deformed men.” An elderly woman nearby yelled, “You should be horse-whipped!” The object of their contempt was a man who had just opened a purple-painted boutique near St George’s Cross in Glasgow. The shop was called Ann Boleyn. Nothing to do with Henry VIII’s second wife, Anne; instead, the birds and the bees decorating the exterior hinted at earthier concerns. This was a sex-shop, and many were not amused. Protesters marched, angry banners held aloft. The shop was picketed by people determined to remain until the shop was closed. Glasgow Presbytery of the Church of Scotland said it condemned all forms of sex exploitation. The shop was very busy that first day, though. A teenage couple were interested by the goods on display, but the man thought the prices were too steep. The shop’s co-owner, asked if he agreed he was indeed a depraved corruptor of the young, laughed and said: “Do I look like a depraved corruptor? After all, we are only giving a service that is common in England and all over the Continent.” At 5.30pm. however, police entered the premises, took customers’ names, removed, in six large polythene sacks, items they deemed to be obscene, then charged the shop’s co-owners with selling obscene goods.