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Of course, we should all be interested in what the Shadow Leader of the House of Commons was talking about, but what I want to know is: was she wearing a leopard skin bra?

We could almost see, after all, and Theresa May does like a bit of faux fur.
Theresa, who once warned the Tories they were in danger of being perceived as the nasty party, now looks as if she wants them to be the naughty party.

Her display of cleavage in the Commons on Wednesday looked like a direct challenge to the bold front sometimes displayed by the Home Secretary, Jacqui Smith.
You think I'm trivialising serious politicians? Well, someone is, but it's not me.
If these front bench women want to be taken seriously, they should dress for the job.
I don't expect my dentist to approach me with a drill and a plunging neckline.
I don't want to watch her cleavage heave as she explains just how easily she'll extract my diseased nerve.
Don't accuse me of sexism: I don't want my doctor to approach that ingrown toenail either if he's smiling in a come-hitherish way and wearing budgie-smuggler jeans.
Smith herself was rather shocked that anyone should tut-tut over the cleavage she displayed when she addressed the Commons on the terror threat a couple of months ago.
Surely we should be concentrating on the serious matter under discussion, she said.
You could see her point.
For this was not a Victoria Beckham twin peaks job or a "Nigella nearly boils over" business.
It was a rather middle aged, squeezed together line of amplitude, about three inches long — just a little less than the Theresa May decolletage.
A little desperate, if anything, and designed to draw the eye down from the face and slim the chins away.
Certainly not sexy unless you're a slightly warped, repressed and nanny-reared ex-public schoolboy.
(Yes, I know she stands facing the Tories in the Commons, but they're not all like that.)
Above all, it is 2007, 40 years since the dawn of feminism and surely women have the right to wear what the hell they like.
Yep, they certainly have.
But if they are in top jobs, responsible jobs, they can't expect us to like it or to trust them, because their minds are clearly elsewhere.
Clothes carry messages.
If they didn't, what would be the point of Kylie's hot pants, or Nigella's figure-hugging sweaters, or George Bush's cowboy boots and Richard Branson's tieless wardrobe?
They say sexy, voluptuous, action man and free-thinker.
What cleavage says is: "Don't look at my work or listen to what I say. Look at my bosom instead."
Sometimes this is fine, as is the male equivalent — TV historian Michael Wood's long legs and tight jeans in his younger days added agreat deal to the interest of Troy and Alexander the Great.
And rugby would be nothing like as interesting if they all wore sacks.
The same can be said of an evening dress or an unbuttoned blouse on a day off.
But not for work, at least not the sort of work most of us do.
If you emphasise your sexuality too much you will be dismissed as a bit of fluff, simple as that.
How can women complain at not being taken seriously if they resort to exposing their breasts?
Men are wired to notice them; they're bound to be a distraction from work.
Their eyes will inevitably be drawn down from your eyes and your words.
Do you want to succeed at work, be valued enough to get that rise or better job?
Then stop acting like nothing but a piece of eye candy.
Vulnerability isn't worth a pay rise.
Grow up, said some columnists who were shocked at the criticism of Jacqui Smith.
It's true someone needs to grow up, and I think it's Theresa, Jacqui and the rest of them.
It's disingenuous to pretend, as the Home Secretary did, that you get up in the morning and put on a low top without thinking about it.
"Funnily enough the main thing on my mind when I got up was not: 'Is my top too low-cut or not?'" she said.
This sounds admirably feminist, but — if you think for half a minute — it's nonsense.
Goodness me, she's Home Secretary.
She must be able to cope with more than one thing on her mind at any one time.
And women who aren't thinking about what they're wearing don't get dressy tops and jackets off the hanger.
They get a jumper and skirt off the back of the chair.
She'd hardly do that, so there's something sartorial going on in the Smith brain cells before breakfast.
Any professional woman knows that what she wears matters.
That's why the Queen doesn't wear powder blue for Remembrance Day.
That's why reception teachers don't get down on the story carpet with the little ones in a sharp suit and secondary teachers don't face those raging teenage hormones in transparent shirts and miniskirts.
May and Smith want to look commanding and businesslike, hence the nice jackets and the trousers.
They also want to look caring and feminine.
But being caring doesn't have to mean looking ready to wet-nurse the nation at the drop of a bra strap, any more than being attractive has to mean going for the plunge.
They both look as if they're having a mid-life crisis.
Most women MPs are happy with good tailoring, colours that stand out from the male grey of the front benches and some high heels (leopard skin if you like, Theresa) that lend height and make you feel good.
Right now the Shadow Leader of the Commons looks more of a yummy grandmummy with a comfy bosom to weep upon.
It's not misogynistic to suggest that cleavage should be kept for those you have a wish to cleave to, it's fine for the dinner date but not good for the boardroom.
It works both ways.
Be honest — what were you thinking about when Colin Firth got all wet in Pride And Prejudice? The prose style of Jane Austen?
May and Smith could do worse than buy a few of those blouses with pussycat bows that are in the shops now.
A bit too Maggie? Well, what's wrong with that.