At the foot of the hill where I live, there are some telephone boxes filled with cards advertising the services of scantilly clad ladies. Most are professionally produced, featuring the girls in a variety of erotic poses, accompanied by descriptions of the kind of wares on offer, although my favourite just had “I Like My Job” scrawled on a plain bit of white card alongside the phone number. I’ve always wanted an excuse to take some of the cards home, and now I do, with the discovery of Prostitute Trading Trumps. Is it my turn to shuffle? More sex here.