Not so long ago, it was the girls that combed their new boyfriends apartments, looking for evidence of competition, namely, publications such as Playboy, Penthouse, Club International, and, in one dreadful case, Readers Wives.

But now, it seems, men are doing the detective work, routing through bedside tables and lingerie drawers in a blind, quivering panic. A male colleague arrived late to work the other morning, pale with shock. "She's got THREE", he moaned about his new girlfriend. "Various speeds and sizes, starting with larger than me. God, this is never going to work", he moaned.

He might be right. The recently released documentary (er, sorry, "mockumentary") "Rabbit Fever" explores a time not so far in the near future when men start to cotton on that a battery-operated device, called the Rampant Rabbit, is more powerful and pleasurable than they could ever hope to be. The bastards try to ban the bunny.

While quite tongue-in-cheek, the facts show the film is not far off. With over half the female population admitting to owning a Rabbit (the others clearly haven't upgraded from their old-fashioned buzzy) and rabbit sales at Ann Summers alone reaching 2.5 million last year, you gotta wonder how well our boys are doing in the bedroom.