One of my English students was dismayed when I said the Beauty Contest was neither televised in Britain nor likely to warrant a brief newspaper story. Ecuador’s moment in the sun would pass unheeded. When she regained her composure, she defended the competition with the wild-eyed devotion of a religious proselytiser.

‘It’s not just about their beauty – it’s about their intelligence, their personality. Yes, now it is very different.’ Her words were less convincing than her passion. She had high hopes for Ms Ecuador, but the country’s respectable past performances didn’t rival the success of its larger neighbours, Colombia and Venezuela. The mere mention of Venezuela provoked a venomous response.
‘They cheat! They cheat!’ she yelled.

‘How do they cheat?’ I wondered aloud, ‘Wonderbras?’
‘They have schools where they take young girls to train them to win competitions! They are not real women – they are fakes and cheats!’

She didn’t like them. I tried to distract her with phrasal verbs, but she simmered over this injustice to the end of the lesson.