SARAH VINE: Who will get pleasure from intercourse with somebody who finds him completely repulsive? The type of alpha male drawn into Epstein’s squalid internet

The noise of the Epstein scandal is drowning out all other political discourse which, if you believe the notion that he was a Russian asset sent to cause chaos and destabilise Western democracy, means that even from beyond the grave he has succeeded in his mission.

Across the airwaves, online and down the proverbial Dog and Duck, there is talk of little else. It is a giant dead cat whose rotting corpse is stinking up everything.

While the world rails and wails against the wickedness of it all, the Bermuda triangle of human rights that is Moscow, Beijing and Tehran rub their hands in glee, chink glasses and congratulate each other: job done.

Regardless of whether you believe this narrative, there is no denying the Epstein Files betray a real darkness at the heart of society. Outside forces may or may not have contributed, but this putrid stench comes unmistakably from within.

We in the West like to think we are morally and culturally superior to other cultures – but it turns out, we are not.

In fact, far too many of those at the top are no better than common pimps, driven by lust and greed. A prince of the realm, for heaven’s sake – it doesn’t get much higher than that.

This is what makes me – and I suspect others – so viscerally angry. It’s the betrayal, the shame of knowing that people we should be able to trust to uphold basic moral standards have behaved so grotesquely. It makes us feel as though our once civilised society is corrupt to the core.

After all, what difference is there between what Epstein and his cronies were getting up to on ‘paedophile island’ and what the Pakistani rape gangs in Rotherham and elsewhere did to poor white working-class girls over a period of years? Absolutely none.

We can hardly get on our high horse about the latter when the former have been exposed so unequivocally, can we?

In both cases the victims were threatened, silenced, had their reputations trashed and were blamed for their own suffering.

While the circumstances and identities of the perpetrators are very different, there are a number of clear common denominators, the most obvious of which is the toxic masculinity displayed and the total disregard for the victims. When we talk about toxic masculinity we tend to think of pathetic inadequates such as Sarah Everard’s killer, Wayne Couzens; or Steve Wright, the Suffolk strangler: weak, inconsequential men who stoked their sputtering egos by inflicting pain, humiliation and torture on women.

We think of paranoid incels and bombastic fools such as Andrew Tate, pumped up on steroids and self-belief. We think of the rejected suitor who slips some powder into his date’s cocktail in the hope of taking by stealth what he can’t obtain otherwise.

But the Epstein Files reveal a different type of toxic masculinity, one carefully orchestrated and organised, and practised by a group of people purely for sport.

In the case of the grooming gangs, the men were protected by religion, ignorance, prejudice and ‘cultural sensitivities’. In Epstein’s world, it was status, power, money and influence, aka the so-called masters of the universe.

Men like that don’t generally have a problem finding a partner. So why did all these alphas take part in Epstein’s sordid network of trafficked, vulnerable girls? What was there for them that was lacking in their otherwise charmed lives?

There can only be one answer to that: they got a kick out of it.

It was a game (let’s not forget that line from Andrew Mountbatten-Windsor to Epstein, ‘Play some more soon!’).

They enjoyed pressing their flagging flesh up against young, firm bodies, even if those bodies belonged to girls younger than their own children. They liked the feeling of power that came from forcing their victims to commit acts of depravity.

What kind of man takes pleasure from having sex with someone he knows must find him utterly repulsive? A sadist, that’s who. And someone who sees them purely as objects for his own entertainment. 

For women, this is not an unexpected truth; we’ve all had run-ins with this type.

But the ones for whom it’s just as hard, I think, are those men who don’t hate or want to humiliate women, who do love and respect the opposite sex. For them, this stuff is just as devastating because it’s a terrible brush to be tarred with.

It’s important to remind ourselves that perverts and misogynistic misfits are the exception, not the norm.

If there is a crisis of masculinity, that is it: the fact that those quiet, more gentle male voices are so often drowned out by the others. I wish there were more of them.

In the meantime, there is nothing else to be done but clear out the rot. Epstein’s tendrils stretched far and wide. My suspicion is that there are a few stones as yet to be unturned. Who knows what depraved creatures we may yet find squirming beneath?

I fear rumours of the death of the property market are exaggerated. Last month, after years of renting, I finally had an offer accepted on a three-bedroom property for me and the kids – only to receive a call telling me I had been gazumped! Moral of the story: never trust an estate agent. 

No medal for this opener

I miss the days when Olympic opening ceremonies were just athletes in poorly designed leisurewear grinning excitedly at the cameras and waving their country’s flag. Now we are forced to sit through the equivalent of a half-time Superbowl show before so much as a starting pistol is fired – another American export no one needs or wants. 

The opening of this year’s Winter Games was no exception: JD Vance and Mariah Carey (left) dressed as Big Bird, screeching like a banshee. I know the Italians switched sides during the war, but even they don’t deserve that. 

I have very little sympathy for Bitcoin ‘investors’ wailing about their assets’ falling value. I’ve listened to wannabe tech bros boasting about their fake money. Now we’re seeing it for what it really is: a Ponzi scheme for the get-rich-quick brigade. Let’s just hope it doesn’t bring all of us crashing down with it. 

If Labour are looking for a ‘clean skin’ to take over the reins if and when Sir Keir Starmer finally succumbs to his injuries, they would do well to steer clear of Ange ‘two homes’ Rayner.

A far better bet (literally: currently 20:1 at time of writing) would be the Armed Forces Minister Al Carns. Or – to give him his full honorary – Colonel Alistair Scott Carns, DSO, OBE, MC.

A former marine who survived four tours of Afghanistan, he’s just the sort of decisive man of action the nation needs right now. With a soft Aberdonian burr, a neat military bearing and an impressive line in hair-raising military ‘manecdotes’, you just know he’s the sort who would be kind to kittens while not hesitating to kill a man with his bare hands if the occasion demanded it. In other words, a hero. It’s a long time since we’ve had one of those.