I will leave you, if I may, with a few pensees: firstly, I have discovered a divine new drink. It is called a Red Lion (Grand Marnier, Gin, orange juice, lemon juice, serve with ice and orange peel) and one is not enough. Secondly, there was a radio programme about Clement Attlee this week; did you hear it? It absolutely brought into relief all my hatred for Mr and Mrs Jacqui Smith who, it now transpires, also claimed 22p for a biro and 18p for a shower-cap. This is on top of the 88p bath-plug, you will remember. Can you imagine Mr Attlee doing anything so cheese-paring? And as for expecting the State to pay for his porn! Really, the whole thing is beyond reason.
Just two more things: the fine weather is with us in the Thames Valley. Any women thinking of baring their legs should get Fake Bake (House of Fraser, Reading, have a well-run concession, just next to the Benefit counter) or pay a visit to Tan-fastic of Pangbourne. I saw many vile sights this morning, including potato-juice thighs and various varicose; and the young women are just as lackadaisical as Those Who Should Know Better. Skirts CAN be too short. Just because someone is 19, it doesn't necessarily follow that their arse-cheeks should be en valeur. I looked around to see men recoiling in horror, but there weren't any. Au contraire, they were transfixed. This is a sharp lesson for those of us who believe that the savage breast hides a noble heart. It doesn't. Finally, I saw a horrifying car-bumper sticker in the Waitrose car park, of all places. It said: Here's to the Kisses I've Snatched and Vice Versa. Appalling. And in WAITROSE, too! Can you imagine the loathsome standard they must suffer in the Lidl car park, for example, or Aldi. Whatever happened to We Have Seen The Lions Of Longleat? Or I Slow Down For Horses? Why do we not see Running In Please Pass any more (home-made, usually written on the lid of a shoebox)? We live in vulgar times. That is the long and short of it.
The "Red Lion" Fait-il rugir de plaisir ?
ReplyDeleteIl y a tellement de tendresse sous un corsage ;)
Il y a comme on dit le ton et la manière, il est vrai que la vulgarité "une infirmité de l’âme ",ne fait pas avancer l'humanité !La vulgarité n’est plus, comme autrefois, la marque infamante du vulgum pecus,de la masse et du bas peuple.Elle menace directement la dignité, et partant, en un sens, la liberté.
Affectueusement
But is kissing a snatch good enough anyway, Mrs Pouncer? You may as well boast that you've sniffed a great wine.
ReplyDeleteI bought a new car recently. My dad kept on about running it in but, apparently, you dont have to any more...
ReplyDeleteIm with you on some of the strange fashion statements the first sighting of the British sun brings. I suspect that the see-through white trousers will be out imminently.
I wonder if the sweetness of the Grand Marnier pervades?
ReplyDeleteCome back soon:)
Bananas speaks the truth. Although I suppose it depends in what style you choose to kiss the snatch that counts.
ReplyDeleteYou'll know you've hit bottom when you find yourself agreeing with Simon Heffer. To avoid that, substitute vodka for gin as an anti-Telegraph prophylactic.
ReplyDeleteRadios are so new-fangled, don't you think?
Some of us still call it "the wireless", if you please. When we're not winding our gramophones.
ReplyDeleteI stopped asking "what would Clement Attlee have done in these circumstances" ten years ago - it just got too depressing. Hell's teeth: could you imagine Mary Wilson doing a supermarket sweep and keeping the contents? Gah.
ReplyDeleteWe've seen the prices at the zoo.
The husband and I are venturing south this weekend for a wedding, with picnic on Box Hill, and have been requested to bring along our wind-up gramophone - I kid you not!
ReplyDeleteLizzie: you're not taking his drums and your banjolele?
ReplyDelete(-:
Skirts CAN be too short. Just because someone is 19, it doesn't necessarily follow that their arse-cheeks should be en valeur..
ReplyDeleteExactement Mrs Pouncer. Young lambs should not truss themselves up as mutton. And men are quite stupid and think with their dicks.
Vx
Mrs P - I have seen linen trousers at work, sported by a gentleman who should no better, being a servant of the peepul. I fear the fall of Rome may be upon us.
ReplyDeleteWe live in vulgar times. That is the long and short of it.truer words have never been spoken, sugar! xoxo
ReplyDeleteI like to imagine that I look dashing, in a Cecil Parker sort of way, in my linens.
ReplyDeleteKevin, old books create the most disgusting dust; don't your linens get grubby?
ReplyDeleteAs for skirts: no, they can't be too short. All the wobbly horrors in the world are more than balanced by one perfect bottom. As I suspect our hostess knows and possesses. Sorry, but there it is.
PS. I'm not sorry at all.
Inky: the patina of really old books pretty much matches the tones of ecru linen.
ReplyDeleteReally short skirts allow a lad no illusions. There's a lot to be said for a pert little bottom in a pencil skirt. Especially if the bottom is owned by a lady.
Disappointing. Very. Cannot an Englishwoman in her prime go on a two-day bender in Rottingdean without having her sumptuous pensees manhandled in the basest way by savages who seem insistent on lubing up for some hurried but consensual anal sex? The whole thing is beyond reason.
ReplyDeleteMr Gorilla Bananas, I do not bracket you with the unseemly crew mentioned above. I cannot comment with any authority on snatch-kissing, but sommeliers of every kidney sniff away at grand cuvees and pronounce themselves satisfied. And they never swallow.
Hello, Mrs Cake, how nice! Yes Running In is apparently a thing of the past, although no-one knows why, and cares less. White linen trousers, however, are ever with us. They are favoured by the ill-favoured (large thighed thong-wearers with deepset cellulite and cloven frontals) although, again, no-one knows why. (BTW I have been meaning to email you for several days and will do so this morning; hope that's ok. Cx)
Hello Pat, and yes, it does. Like that old Cointreau ad. Whatever happened to Cointreau? And Parfait Amour? And Pony - The Drink With The Kick?
ReplyDeleteObvs, Emerson, I would MUCH rather field your enquiry in private hemhem, but here, in the public arena, I have to say whatever stylee you choose. Bill Hicks is PARTICULARLY good on this; a great champion of the nosebag technique.
Inky, you are a fucker. But I laike you.
Auty, of course you have a wireless! I simply couldn't imagine you with anything less. And do you spin your dial ceaselessly from Hilversum to Moscow to Athlone and Omsk, ending at Droitwich? I see you enisled in lamplight, possibly listening to Ray's A Laugh or Does the Team Think. You have the vowels of MacDonald Hobley and the necktie of A. Stuart Hibberd. I could eat you up, truly I could.
ReplyDeleteMadame D, the Philistines ARE at the gates of the city; there is no two ways about it. This man in linen: did his bottom look like two eggs tied in a handkerchief?
Kevin, Mrs Mary Wilson wouldn't have had time for supermarket sweeps or online upholstery shopping. She was far too busy sabotaging Mrs Marcia, or writing poetry. Do you remember her masterpiece After The Bomb Has Fallen:
ReplyDeleteAfter the bomb has fallen
After the last something something
When the earth is a something something
Something something the sky.
Lizzums, sweet to see you. Now, Box Hill. Which do you mean? The sumptuous and important B.H. in Surrey (the Home Counties) or the meagre and niggardly B.H. overlooking the Quarryman's Arms in Wiltshire (the West Country; Mummerset)? I like the thought of your wind-up g'phone, however. Do you have the 78s to go with it, and the dear little tin of needles? Sandy Powell and Gert and Daisy, and a full-throated rendition of Pa Said No would go down well.
Savannah, the level of vulgarity in our cities and sizable towns is pitiful. Nobody makes the EFFORT any longer. People treat one another with casual disdain, and we still have ludicrous licensing laws in some counties. I am roundly abused for smoking in the street by all-comers who, incidentally, stand knee-high in dog excrement and discarded nacho-napkins.
Vermie darling, but how wunderbar! You are right: Taxi for Miss Mutton! is a cry oft-heard on the streets of Henley and Marlow, home of Miss Debbie McGee and Kate O'Mara. But, I digress. Men DO think with their dicks, and it was ever thus. I have seen it with my own myopic eyes: a thought alights and all hell breaks loose. Some men made a career of this, but Variety is dead, sadly.
Crabbers, mon brave. C'est affaire de bonne langue: tout est dans sa bonte!
ReplyDeleteKevin, obviously, I would LIKE to visualise you in ecru linen, but reality intrudes. You are dressed for the weather, possibly Scotchguarded, or Vulcanised, to a T. In a Littlewoods carrier bag (Macclesfield 1973; underpants for Dad and a slice of Gala Pie) you keep a Pacamac. Shoes by Buck Brothers of Lytham St Annes.
Tsk. Photographs exist of me in my ecru linens (and foldable Panama Hat, silk tie and sensible shoes), but I daresn't trust you with them. I'm not having your blood pressure tablets on me conscience.
ReplyDeleteInky, I was in the Park Bar, Argyle Street, this weekend, and I thought of you. I thought of you even harder when a harlot came in with a skirt that would've been described (not by me) as a pussy pelmet. Some viler minds have referred to a c**t curtain, or even a vag valance. Anyhoo, the point is that the girl was puddingy, podgy thighs, cheapo tights with a ghastly gusset, nothingy shoes, base hair, eyebrows, etc. You know the type of thing. But did this deter the men? It did not. It is most disappointing. As you rightly point out, I have the toches for anything, literally anything you care to mention or buy for me (you have my size and preferences, presumably) but even I would not demean myself by baring a carefully-calculated expanse of ass cheek in the Park Bar. Noblesse oblige, as I never tire of saying.
ReplyDeleteKevin, the eight-by-tens of me in a variety of poses in pencil skirts by Temperley, DSquared and Erdem are available by subscription only. Email me for details; have payment method ready.
I've been caught like this before Clarissa. The last time I answered your advertisement in the personal columns of "Harold Hare Comics, incorporating International Rubber News" I received, under plain wrapper, a selection of art studies of Stafford Cripps in his gaiters.
ReplyDeleteClarissa, I would have been deterred, I assure you. If it ain't trim, I ain't lookin'. In fact, I have admired more than one bottom that turned out to belong to a boy; no harm done, but OMG the gayness.
ReplyDeleteVulgar times call for vulgar measures, ergo short skirts.
ReplyDeleteI love them!
ReplyDeleteHorn broken watch for finger/I brake for my hallucinations/Keep honking I'm reloading/ That's irrelevant, and irrelevant never forgets/Don't believe everything you think/ Avoid alliterations always/Time is what keeps everything from happening at once/What if the hokey pokey is really what it's all about?Future archeologists, if there are any, will judge our culture by these public displays of disaffection. Won't they be amazed at how funny we were on the road to hell that was paved with good intentions.
Oh yes Mrs P. My husband has an uneccessarily large collection of 78s, and not one but two tins of needles. Photos of said wedding...on the real Box Hill in Surrey will follow. Despite the fact that we weren't talking that day, I have to admit his 78s did add a lovely atmosphere to the picnic...or maybe it was just the enormous quantities of champagne i'd knocked back by that stage.
ReplyDeleteRe car stickers in Lidl: 'I Go Down On Horses and vice versa' and 'We've Had It Large In Leamington Spa'
ReplyDeleteI still have to reserch Aldi... but the car park at Sainsbury's was awash with cock rings...
Sx
"What sort of pornography would Clement Atlee use" is a question that has been troubling me ever since I first read this post.
ReplyDeleteWhat bothers me most about Mr Jacqui Smith's pay-per-view was that it was apparently a film entitled 'Raw Meat 3'.
ReplyDeleteHow could one possibly follow the plot without having seen 'Raw Meat' and 'Raw Meat 2'?
Yes, Kevin, but you get what you pay for, and that postal order hadn't been crossed Payee Only. And YOU can probably tell Gadj what sort of pornography Mr Attlee would've used, because I believe you have had sight of the dossier. Gadjo, needless to say, there are sections on Stafford Clits, Aneurin Beaver and Beatrice Webbing. It's all quite tame. Sir Herbert Morrison would probably be a better subject.
ReplyDeleteInky, do you like bottoms more than other bits? You don't have to tell me, but I'd really like to know. Just asking.
Kyknoord, hello! Well, yes, but as we're establishing here, it very much depends on the WEARER. I am of a certain age; the age where on or over the knee is recommended. In fact, some body fascists say it is non-negotiable. However, I laugh in the face of such cruelty. If I flash my neon pink back-lace boypant at all-comers on the stairs at the Angel on the Bridge, Henley, then it is their fault for not having made a reservation like civilised people, and having to queue like plebs*.
Scarlet, your horse car-sticker made me feel quite unnerved. Who was displaying such an appalling article? Was it Princess Zara Philips? I sincerely hope not. Things have come to a nice pass when even the royals needs must be vulgar. Can you imagine Anneli Drummond-Hay or Pat Smythe having such a beastly aphorism on display?
*Last Sunday
Gyppo, we have covered this savage news on my previous post. I also reveal that, according to my source (my good friend on the Sp*ct*t*r) the other movie was Anal Boutique. Imaginez-vous!
ReplyDeleteMr Coppens, in this country we say Hokey COKEY, and it has been proven, beyond all reasonable doubt, that it IS what it's all about. However, some baser minds have contacted me privately with other examples, as follows: I'd be pleased to meat you/It would be easy for me to make it hard for you/Sit on a happy face/How much calcium in a kiss? Enough for a small bone/Cuck my sock/If You See Kay../Plumbers like a tight seal/Let a painter gloss your interior.
ReplyDeleteThis correspondence is now closed.
Lizzie, yes I'm sure your husband's 78s did the trick. Mr Coppens probably has a bumper-sticker reference for this, btw. I am sorry you weren't on speakers. Dare we ask the cause? Was it the old husband-wife navigating around Surrey vibe? Or were you simply pissed?
And Scarlet, I HAVE had it large in Leamington Spa. What an astonishing coincidence!