On a wonderfully sunny, brisk November afternoon, I entered the hallowed halls of John Lewis to buy the first prerequisite for successful sofa cuddling: a damned good blanket. If sex toys such as dildos and butt plugs facilitate bonking for the bizarre of mind, then blankets should be sold as love toys at Ann Summers. Chlamydia and herpes don’t stand a chance as cuddlers shiver with delight — but not the cold — at Alan Sugar’s rants; hugging tight inside their blanket.
Cuddling is clean, too: no need for towels or wiping. And you can keep at it for as long as you like, whereas even the fittest shagger must call it a day when the heart can’t keep up any more. Perhaps the greatest advantage of cuddling is that it is compatible with simultaneous chocolate-eating. And whereas sex is, let’s face it, strictly for the sexy, cuddling is for everyone.