Tuesday, March 31, 2009

Inter-Village Orgy League Match Tactics

Of course a cona… a conos… a conni… a person interested in the finer points of orgy tactics such as your erstwhile self will be familiar with most plays utilised in Inter-Village orgies, especially the deployment of the devices during set plays like penalties, offside and the free fondle in the opposition’s box.

One of the trademarks of Little Frigging’s success in the Inter-Village Orgy league this year has been our use of the Surprise Oiled-Weasel, inserted around the opposition’s rear. This has often thrown the opposing team into chaos, thus breaking down their defence and allowing our forwards to score with impunity. However, opposing teams are now becoming wise to this. After all, only last week Titten-Growper’s centre-rear fondler, Cindy Transept, managed to send the oiled-weasels completely the wrong way, thus leaving Strom Thighhammer in a very exposed position as the Titten-Growper defence bore down on him, devices at the ready.

Luckily, though, the Little Frigging centre-midfield open groper Margie Mingefinger managed to slip through on the blindside of the Titten-Growper defence, as they went all out for the over-exposed Thighhammer, thus enabling her to score a touch-up and gain a free fondle in the goalkeeper’s box with a semi-intrigued chicken just as the referee was blown for full time.

Final score:

Little Frigging in the Wold: 27 points (one touch-up, 7 goals and a bewildering mallard duck)

Titten-Growper: 17 points (two touch-ups, one penalty fondle and one own-weasel.)

Monday, March 30, 2009

The Care Of Recently-Hatched Lawyers

No doubt, when summer arrives your first early spring batches of Lawyer eggs will soon hatch out into tadpoles - if you are lucky. Then you will need to start to search for a swamp fetid enough for them to grow into maturity, or - at least - as close to maturity as lawyers ever get.

To some - if not most - lawyers are not the prettiest species to breed, not matching, for example, the grace and elegance of a herd of hairstylists as they sweep majestically across some foreign sun-kissed beach in search of bars and discos.

However, I, for one, feel that lawyers are not totally without charm. For example, the lawyer tadpoles in their swamp as they make their first fumbling attempts at litigation are often a joy to behold, and their first attempts to grasp a writ in their not-yet fully-formed claws can often be quite comical.

You should bear in mind, however, that lawyers can be capricious, if not venal, beasts, especially during the awkward adolescent stages where the young males, in particular, will often attempt to sue each other. Often this is no more that a swift exchange of writs, but - occasionally - you should be prepared to step in to separate them before the severe injunctions begin to fly around, as this can often prove extremely injurious, and occasionally even fatal, especially if the stiff legal documents do manage to penetrate the still-unformed hide* of the adolescent lawyer.

*Of course, once they reach maturity the hide of the lawyer is so thick as to be almost impenetrable.

Saturday, March 28, 2009

The Majestic Herds of Hairstylists

It is not often, these days - outside the more popular and notorious Mediterranean holiday resorts - to see an entire massive herd of hairstylists as they sweep majestically across the beaches in searching of drinking establishments.

Of course, there was a time when the majestic herds would range far and wide across the wide-open plains and prairies around some of our more established British cities. But with increasing suburban spread, such times are long gone now. The only wild hairstylists one sees these days are the small packs that haunt our entertainment districts after dark. They are easily recognisable by their habit of wearing clothing entirely unsuitable for the prevailing weather conditions and their loud raucous mating cries as they stumble from one entertainment emporium to the next.

Often, though, it is possible to follow the spoor of one of these packs; the odd dropped chip wrapper, burger box, emptied vodka bottle, or discarded make-up materials, in order to track them down to the special clubs where their pre-mating displays and dances take place.

Often, hairstylist-watching enthusiasts (called 'strokers') will have built their carefully camouflaged hides in the back alleys behind these clubs. A place where the 'strokers' can secrete themselves as they observe the hairstylists and their hastily-chosen 'studs' go about their mating rituals.

Later, at the 'strokers' meeting clubs they will swap anecdotes, photographs and even films recorded in these hides, of the hairstylists indulging in their mating habits in order to build up as full a picture as possible of the habits and lifestyles of these still poorly-understood creatures.

Friday, March 27, 2009

Perverts of Myth and Legend

Now as I was young and easy under the apple boughs About the lilting house and happy as the grass was green, The night above* the woods was haunted by the wailing of the bestial accordions as we sat around the smouldering of the latest Estate Agent unfortunate enough to stumble into the outskirts of Little Frigging. As we sat around the fire, the old ones began to tell the tales. Tales of brave and noble ancestors of legend who would bravely venture out to explore the very edges of perversion and the outer fringes of the erotic arts. Such great heroes such as Splurt Manlitool who was – as legend had it – capable of effortlessly satisfying every maiden in a village, whilst in-between each dalliance licking each of his eyebrows in turn.

Then there were the many adventures of a young princess and her many romantic nights with rugby players and brave soldiers and her sad and tragic early death when her coach turned back into a pumpkin right in the middle of a Parisian underpass.

Then there is the – no doubt over familiar to you – story of Sindrella and the glass sexual aid given to her by her Fairy Godmother on the night Sinner (as she was known) was about to meet her Handsome Prince for the balling of a lifetime. We all know what happen that night. We also know what happened the morning after when the young prince discovered the love of his life was also known as Snow White, because that was often the way she ended up after spending a quiet evening in with the seven dwarves she lived with in a small cottage in the forest.

However, with the aid of a special technique taught to her by her Fairy Godmother one evening, Sinner was able to win back her Prince and live happily ever after. Although, for many years later - it is rumoured - she was unable to read the label on a jar of three-fruit marmalade in the near vicinity of an Airedale terrier without giggling.

*Dylan Thomas – Fern Hill

Thursday, March 26, 2009

More Savoury Matters

Marmosets in the wainscoting can be quite an awkward thing to have to deal with, but – fortunately – it is not often a problem that besets rural folk to the extent it seems to plague city dwellers.

No, out here in the wild untamed lands far beyond any supermarket car park, where city dwellers fear to tread* we have far more dangerous infestations, but leaving Grand Uncle Stagnant to one side for a moment, less us move on to more savoury matters.

We have spoken** in the past of the use of fresh cream Cakes as an integral aid to a fully developed use of the perverted arts, but, Ah - I hear you say – what about the use of savoury items such as Cornish Pasties, Steak and Kidney pie, even the humble sausage roll?

All, of course, have their place in the true pervert’s repertoire, but – of course – with the proviso concerning the temperature of the items themselves and any accompanying sauce and/or gravy. A steaming hot chicken and sweet corn pie to the nether regions is not something that can be easily overlooked, even during the penalty shoot-out that often – these days – ends the latter rounds of the Inter-Village Orgy cup. As for hot tomato soup in the erogenous zones – this should be avoided at all costs.

So, by all means, experiment with these more savoury matters, but please exercise due caution and diligence. Remember it could be your dangly bits that end up in the steaming hot curry sauce.

*And not without due cause, I’ll have to admit. It can take a lifetime of practice to stride confidently across a field recently occupied by a large herd of cattle without hearing that discouraging squelch every third or fourth step.

** Well, I have spoken and you have listened with the rapt attention – eyes closed, mouth open, the gentle snoring - that denotes the truly attentive, hard-working, student.

Wednesday, March 25, 2009

Badger Procurement Mechanism Taxation

The Chief Turbo-Weasel And/Or Donkey-Powered Indifferent Badger Procurement Mechanism Taxation Evaluation Management Inspector is a bit of a mouthful*, so we just tend to call him Rupert. Although, that is not his real name.

Anyway, he is due here later today to make his annual assessment. He will want to see the books, of course. Although, these days he does prefer to watch the DVDs, especially those taken at the village hall orgies and at all the other special village events involving nudity, fetish gear, extreme unguents, lotions, battery-operated devices and well-lubricated small furry animals. All of which are - of course - now taxed at 15.2345987%, as they are all products the government class as of an interesting and rudely intimate nature and primarily of use for the achievement of sexual satisfaction**.

Now, though, getting back to the reason why the Chief Turbo-Weasel And/Or Donkey-Powered Indifferent Badger Procurement Mechanism Taxation Evaluation Management Inspector is poised to call on us, is because we have just procured Little-Frigging-In-The-Wold's first ever Donkey-Powered Indifferent Badger Procurement Mechanism. Consequently, we need to have its taxation level suitably adjusted before the start of the Indifferent Badger Procurement season.

Right up to (and including) last season we met the entire village's Indifferent Badger Procurement needs through the ages-old traditional method.

For the handful of you who are not familiar with the traditional method, here is a brief outline:

1. First, take your nubile young lady to a secluded clearing in the woods.

2. Get her to remove all her clothing and then, and only then, adopt various provocative stances.

3. Meanwhile, while taking a firm grasp on your sack with one hand, and your Indifferent Badger Procurement divining rod firmly in your other hand, find some bushes at the edge of the clearing where you can secrete yourself whilst keeping a close watch on your now-undressed nubile young lady as she adopts her various provocative poses.

4. When you feel your - firmly-grasped - rod begin to twitch then you know there is an indifferent badger in the vicinity.

5. Once the badger becomes aware of the nubile young lady, he will - of course - venture closer.

6. Once the badger gets close enough, he will realise that the young lady is adopting various provocative poses whilst in a state of undress. This will immediately curtail his indifference as he sits down to write a letter of complaint to the relevant authorities, pausing only to take as many photographs as he feels necessary both for purposes of evidence, and for his own personal private collection.

7. By this point, your rod should have finished twitching and you should no longer feel the need to secrete yourself. Now is the time to grasp your sack firmly in both hands and to rush towards the still-engrossed badger.

Now, of course, the Donkey-Powered Indifferent Badger Procurement Mechanism makes all this unnecessary. You merely have to set the machine in motion at the edge of the clearing, while you sit back with your nubile young lady to discuss the finer points of Kierkegaard's philosophy or whether the decline of the Roman Empire was, in fact, inevitable or any other points of common interest, as the machine does its work.

Yes, something of the romance of the past has been lost. But neither you or I, or even Miss Entanglements at the Old Post Office can stand in the way of progress.

*Or so Maureen attests, rather wistfully.

**Only exempting when such devices and/or materials are used on government business by a member of the aforesaid government and/or his or her civil servants***.

***This is known as the 'Prescott amendment', made after a personal request by the former deputy prime minister and one of his civil servants.

Tuesday, March 24, 2009

Sexual Deviant of the Year 2009

But, you may well ask - and you have more than every right to, I hasten to add - what about the Village Sexual Deviant of the Year contest for this year, then?

Well, I'm glad you mentioned it. Even though Maureen herself has been a runner-up for three out of the last five years with her outfit of red leather tabard, day-glo wellies, roll of sellotape and extensive assortment of fresh cream cakes, the winner's rosette has usually been taken - except for 2007, of course - by Mrs Labia Entanglements, our very own Head Postmistress.

Last year she won wearing her now-infamous sherry-trifle bra and matching open-crotch lemon meringue panties, elbow-length heavy duty gardening gloves, stiletto-heeled purple fisherman's waders and - inevitably - her trademark silver and blue woollen balaclava. Not forgetting - of course - the text book on double-entry bookkeeping in her right hand and - as a finishing touch - the dog lead in her left hand on the other end of which was Grand Old Uncle Stagnant, naked except for a half-pound bag of toffees, his ancient panama hat and - obviously - his studded leather dog collar.

This year, though, it is rumoured that Mrs Entanglements will face strong competition from a relative newcomer to the village. Having only been in the village for twenty-three years from the age of two, she is yet fully to settle in as a bona-fide local, but young Miss Lesley Mufflapper, the head Librarian, along with her new live-in 'friend', Assistant Librarian Miss Margie Mingefinger, are regarded as very strong contenders for this year's award. So, they may well be worth a flutter - that is - if you can get the right odds.

Monday, March 23, 2009

The Inter-Village Orgy League Team Squad

Of course, applying the grommet to the seating point just under the offside mud flap of your oiled and naked Left Inside Full-Frontal Forward Wingback is quite an easy and straightforward piece of elementary orgy squad maintenance, nothing at all complex as a complete re-wiring of your Right Middlefield Outside Groper.

This is why I always maintain that a good Inter-Village Orgy League touchline coaching team should always have a full set (both metric and imperial) of sexual perversion spanners available at all times. You never know whether – for example – your Centre Fondler is ever going to be quite perverted enough on a muddy pitch until she is out there getting a good grasp on the opponent’s intimate defences.

Now, you may say that this is all well and good, but shouldn’t a good orgy League squad be chosen and balanced to cover all sorts of contingences on the orgy field without having to make such adjustments and repairs during the match? I would agree – in an ideal world – that it would be so.

However, this is far from an ideal world – just look for example at the price of a decent pint of beer. But I digress. There is always something unforeseen in each and every match in the Inter-Village Orgy League, that is why it is all so fascinating. Injuries, of course, are the most common problem, from a slightly bruised ardour right up to the dreaded itchy knee, but there are always tactical considerations to take into account when taking those instant decisions that can – and do – win or lose a match.

Sunday, March 22, 2009

Is Pole-Vaulting Considered A Sexual Perversion?

In the usual course of affairs pole-vaulting is not often considered to be one of the great, or noble, perverted arts. I would agree that in most cases this is an argument not without some foundation.

However, I would also maintain that a strong case could be made for its utility in certain situations, in particular, the large-scale outdoor orgy, especially when the putative next partner named on your orgy card is some way off across the other side of the orgy field. Moreover, though, I would maintain that such a strategy is best not adopted for most indoor orgies, unless particular notice is taken of the height of the roof. A particular mistake that our Little Frigging Village Policeman - PC Ghonnemadd will not be making again, after his spectacular mishap during the New Year’s Eve orgy of 1997 in the Little Frigging village hall.

A shattering collision between one’s neither regions and a fluorescent lighting shade at the apex of one’s vault is bound to – and the evidence on PC Ghonnemadd’s person did prove this – at least put a dent in one’s ardour. After the accident, it took a few moments for our good lady doctor, Minnie Strayshuns to be extracted from her Ladies’ Excuse Me with Strom Thighhammer, Village Nurse Pam Purring and Maureen Trouser-Quandary. But, once on the scene and after a cursory examination of the injury, Dr Strayshuns announced that the denting - although seeming initially severe - would right itself in a few days. It did, however rule PC Ghonnemadd out of the next three matches in the Inter-Village Orgy league.

Saturday, March 21, 2009

Rural Sports – The Hunt

Now, indeed. So, here we are then, one lightly-buttered social worker later and eagerly ready for whatever the rest of this splendid evening can bring. I find there is nothing like an early slight deviation - or kink - for setting off the evening before the full-bloodied orgy begins later in the village hall. A chaser – as it were.

Consequently, chasing, hunting a lightly-buttered naked social worker as she evades the hunting pack of villagers down the alleys, sidings, paths and so on that can turn what seems like a simple village into a maze, is both bracing and invigorating, both for the hunted and the hunters. Let no hunter saboteur deny it, the hunt is as invigorating for the pursued as for those doing the pursuing.

Of course, in this day and age, it is a fully-consensual act, with the social worker freely, and fully, involved and very willing to play the part of the pursued. Unfortunately, in days of yore, this was never always the case. In those less enlightened times a hunt would pursue a lightly-buttered fugitive for all manner of reasons, without the willing consent of the aforesaid chasee. It seems the origins of the act lie with other such old or ancient community punishments such as the stocks, ducking stool, or the enforced endurance of plainsong, which were used to prevent, or punish transgressions. A form of – often, rough – justice from within the community itself and by the community itself.

Therefore, not only was justice (of a sort) done, and seen to be done, all members of the village community could each experience that glow of smug self-congratulation, and that warm feeling of self-righteousness, that comes from inflicting all manner of unpleasantness on someone else in the name of a good cause.

Friday, March 20, 2009

Fruit-Based Perversions

Oranges are not the only fruit useful for perversions. A raspberry placed with care and accuracy on a cake shop manageress can often be very rewarding indeed. As can – of course – red seedless grapes arranged, in either series or parallel, on the postmistress of your choice. As for pomegranates and librarians… well, that almost goes without saying.

Old Feebletrousers himself swears by* that good old standby, the tin of pineapple rings (either in fruit juice or syrup – it doesn’t really matter that much). The pineapple rings have also turned out to be very useful in the village pre-orgy party games, where the ladies of the village compete to see which of the gentlemen present can accommodate the most pineapple rings about his person. The winning lady - of course - is often rewarded with a squirt of fresh cream over her eagerly-proffered melons.

However, I must issues a word of caution after hearing of a mishap during a village orgy in Lower Crotchstaine only a few months ago. I would therefore respectfully suggest that the erotic possibilities inherent in the use of the whole pineapple be left to those expert in such matters. On the bright side though, I have heard, through an acquaintance in Lower Crotchstaine village medical services, that Old General Fitz-Snuggly is starting to walk again, at long last, but only with the aid of a cane.

*He also swears at a lot of things too. However, we all put that down to his habit of wandering around naked and aroused, and with fading eyesight, in a kitchen full of hot appliances.

Recital In The Little Frigging Village Hall Tonight

It is with something - slightly - resembling a pleasurable sensation that we announce that this evening

Miss Constance Goodhead

will give a performance of

Spritz von Todger's

Trouserflute Sonata in Cmen, opus 3.142

in the

Little-Frigging-In-The-Wold Village Hall


£7.50 (stalls)

£10.00 ([Un-]Dress Circle*)

Full-colour illustrated Souvenir Programme

(including helpful numbered diagrams) - £12.50

(for plain brown wrapping, please add 75p)

Doors Open: 7:30 pm

Programme Commences: 8:30 pm

Interval: 9:15 pm

(Full body massage (with optional cream cakes) will be available in the foyer)

Programme Ends: 10:30 pm

(Please note all times are approximate).

Important: please make sure ALL mobile phones, pagers, remotely-operated sexual aids and other such devices are switched OFF before entering the auditorium.

[Miss Goodhead's kneepads sponsored by Splodge & Sons (Purveyors of Marital and Sexual aids to the gentry since 1789).]

*Extra-High Power Opera Glasses (with Lo-Lite facility) available (£1.50 + [refundable] £2.00 deposit**)

**ALL deposits to be the full responsibility of the patron (free tissues on request).

Thursday, March 19, 2009

Undercover Wartime Perversions

So… anyway…. Well, as you know by now the leading underside edge of Grand Uncle Stagnant is not – these days – quite as inviting prospect as it was back in his heyday during the inter-war years when he was leading scorer in the Inter-Village Orgy League for twelve seasons in a row. It could – of course – been more seasons (becoming no doubt an all-time record) were it not for him being called up once WWII broke out.

However, once his basic training was complete, Grand Uncle Stagnant was selected for special undercover duties. After several months of highly secret and intensive training, Grand Uncle Stagnant was parachuted into occupied France. There he was ordered to help set up a secret French Inter-Village Orgy competition in an effort to assist the French to undermine and harass the German occupation. For it was felt, by the Allied High Command, that a surreptitious French Inter-Village Orgy league and/or cup would not only be a great boost to the morale of the French people during those dark days, it would also help tie up a great many Nazi resources as they attempted to counter the growth of such events.

Although, somewhat ironically, their uniforms were to become staples of the fetish gear scene, the Nazis themselves had far too little intelligence and imagination to explore the full possibilities of the perverse arts. Consequently, as they did not understand it – they – of course – tried to ban it. So, any Inter-village orgy league or sexual perversions cup would be seen as a hostile act by the Nazi High command in occupied France.

Soon, therefore, there wasn’t a city, town or even village in occupied France that did not escape a visit from the Gestapo’s Sexual Perversion detector vans. These vehicles had aerials so powerful that a trained operative could detect the surreptitious oiling of a weasel from over a mile away. It was even claimed that some experienced operators in the detector vans could identify an individual from the way he or she put on the costume of a traffic warden for erotic purposes.

This meant that the perverts of the French resistance had to develop a whole new style of orgiastical methodology somewhat alien to the typical French character. For not only did they have to keep their sexual activities secret, they had to perform them with a certain amount of alacrity somewhat counter to the more usual relaxed French style.

Initially, there was an attempt to continue with the slower paced French orgy, but to counter the threat of discovery by the Gestapo they were made mobile. However, not only was there a problem with petrol rationing, which made only short haul orgies possible, there was the danger of some of those involved in the orgy falling off the back of the lorry, especially when being chased by the occupying forces, and/or if the participants were well-oiled as in the traditional French manner. However, once America entered the war they were able to send over experts in high-speed perversions, production-line and drive-in orgies and fast fondling – which enabled the French to finally master the arts of high-speed perversions and fast enough orgies for them to evade capture by the Gestapo for the rest of the occupation period.

However, in the immediate aftermath of the war European perversions and orgiastical practice were in chaos. So, the European Orgy and Perversion Community (EOPC) was founded in 1951 (Treaty of Paris), by France, West Germany, Italy, Belgium, Luxembourg and the Netherlands to pool the orgiastic and perversion resources of its member-states.

The Bonfire Of The Estate Agents

As the smoke lazily eddies off into the evening twilight and the Little-Frigging-In-The-Wold Brownies begin to dismantle the still smouldering wicker man apparatus, we older villagers can look back on previous Estate Agent public immolations in comparison with this latest one. Old Feebletrousers and Grand Old Uncle Stagnant can remember very little of what happened earlier today, but their recall of previous interloper immolations stretches right back to the inter-war years when villagers were quite prepared - eager even - to set fire to any stranger who happened to pass too close to the village pub, The Pervert’s Appendage.

Old Feebletrousers and Grand Old Uncle Stagnant have both often spoken bitterly of their experiences during WWII. In particular, the failure of the German paratroops they - and everyone else - were expecting to descend from the skies at almost any time. The whole village had got together to build several bonfires and wicker man cages in the full expectation that potential inhabitants of those cages would - quite literally - fall from the skies into the waiting arms of the village Home Guard.

The Little-Frigging-In-The-Wold Home Guard unit did, however, have one moment of glory during the war. This happened when they ignited a strange man who the rest of village had denounced as a Nazi spy. Unfortunately, just as the fire was beginning to take hold in his vest, they discovered that the man was a rep from the local brewery checking up on the seemingly exceptional beer consumption of such a small village. Once they had put his vest out and disentangled him from the apparatus, they did offer him half a pint of weak shandy by way of compensation for his slight singeing. But the salesman declined as he rapidly exited the village, claiming he was eager to be on his way to The Queen’s Gusset in Greater Spadgecock to check whether their supply of pork scratchings had arrived safely, despite the air raids on the strategically vital pork scratching factories deep in the heart of Tipton.

These days, though, both Grand Old Uncle Stagnant and Old Feebletrousers admit to a deep concern that such harmless old rural traditions such as setting fire to strangers, sexual relationships with close relatives and/or domesticated livestock and so on, are under threat. They strongly believe that this threat comes from a metropolitan elite and its government who seem to care little for the rural way of life. It seems, both claim, we have a metropolitan elite who have even less understanding of how a simple harmless pursuit like igniting a bonfire under an outsider to the village can bring people together as one* in this increasingly atomised and solitary world.

Maybe - instead of condemning practices and traditions they do not understand - the government ought to take a look at how rural communities bind themselves together with such traditional pursuits. Maybe - rather than banning and outlawing these pursuits - they ought to encourage them as a way of re-introducing community spirit into - for example - the inner cites and the suburbs.

What finer way can there be for reconnecting with your neighbours than in front of the warm friendly flames rising up from a slowly roasting estate agent, social worker, or - if you are lucky enough - lawyer?


* If only for the provision of mutually-supportive alibis.

Wednesday, March 18, 2009

Prudent Sex Utensil Drawer Management

It is very important always to remember to put your sexual arousal spatulas back into the sex utensil drawer, ready for next time. For there is nothing more frustrating than having, say, a local librarian or cake shop manageress almost at the point of sexual ecstasy then having to wait with ever-decreasing ardour while you search down the back of the sofa, or under the tupping restraints for the sexual arousal spatulas you are certain you left there last time.

It is also probably best not to lend them out, not even to friends and close relatives. For you never know when, say, a traffic warden, or VAT inspector may turn up unannounced, and you are suddenly aghast to recall that only the day before you let Grand Uncle Stagnant borrow your sexual arousal spatulas in order to take his favourite ewe of the moment ‘for a little walk down to the river bank’. In such cases, it is also probably advisable to make sure you wash them when you get them back as well.

Twelve Sexual Perversions That Changed The World - A Review

This book, by Little-Frigging-In-The-Wold's only true celebrity, Lord Mervin (Luxuriant) Hairstylings, the presenter of TV's long running South Bonk and of In Our Tupping Shed on Radio 4, is a robust defence and celebration of the perverted arts and their place in civilised society. In fact, Lord Hairstylings goes much further than that to assert that it is sexual deviation, experimentation and, yes, perversion that shapes and defines civilisation itself.

Hairstylings argues that once the basics of any civilisation: a food supply, housing, security and so on are more or less in place the ever-inventive human mind then begins to look for ways to make basic sexual intercourse more interesting. Illustrating his argument with many examples drawn from the histories of Western, Eastern and many other civilisations, Hairstylings build up an impressive case.

However, there are a few quibbles. For instance, is wearing a full Chelsea football strip a full-blown perversion, or just a mere kink? Hairstylings argument that it all depends on who you support (i.e. that for a Chelsea fan it would be a mere kink, whereas for a Manchester United supporter, for example, it would be an outright perversion) ultimately fails to convince.

Additionally, there seems to be a severe paucity of marmalade-related deviations and perversions to fully satisfy this review's notion of the perverse, especially considering the role played by marmalade-based perversions in the overthrow of Moorish rule in Spain, just by way of one example. Furthermore, I don't believe you need anywhere near the amount of butter suggested by Hairstylings, for the 'Crouching Stockbroker, Lubricated Traffic Warden' perversion. However, to be fair to Hairstylings, I do agree with him about the importance of the correct placement of the spanners, something that is still quite contentious to this day wherever true perverts gather in conversation.

So, in conclusion, although I don't think Hairstylings entirely convinces, I do feel that this work will go down in history as one of the truly great books on sexual perversion. Therefore, I cannot recommend it too highly.

Tuesday, March 17, 2009

Jehovah's Perverts

It happens usually about once a month or so with all the inevitability of a drunken footballer appearing in the tabloid headlines. There you are going about your normal daily business, maybe oiling your weasel or ritually polishing your tandem when there comes a knock on your doorbell. Maybe you are expecting a rather bulky package in plain wrapping from a specialist supplier (mail-order only), so you open the door, expecting the postman, only to be confronted by THEM!

"Good morning, sir! Have you ever thought that the world would be a much better place if only people found more time to smear the genitals of their neighbours in whipped cream and massaged mayonnaise into the erogenous zones of any nearby traffic wardens?"

Yes, it’s the Jehovah's Perverts again.

Each time you open the door and see the wide beaming smile, the brightly-polished fetish gear and the proffered bottle of baby-oil, your heart sinks.

Of course, it is not that we in the village are not proud upstanding perverts but the zealotry of the Jehovah's Perverts can be overwhelming. It is their belief that enlightenment can come though the agency of a well-lubricated small furry mammal, which sits at odds with our quiet belief in dutiful devotion to the Holy Sexual Arts and Practices.

We are, of course, proud to be perverts, but in that quiet undemanding British way. We dutifully go out once a week or so to the village hall for the orgy, quietly clutching our devices, lotions (and for those in the choir - the bondage gear), of course. But rather than for any great belief that through the use of unusual sexual positions, devices, number of sexual partners, small furry mammals or so on that we can achieve great enlightenment, it is more out of a sense of duty, of ritual, of comfort in the certainties that makes us turn up week after week.

Eco-Friendly Sex Aids – A Guide

Nowadays, in these environmentally-aware days, of course it is vital that one gets the most out of one’s brand new thermal, wind or solar powered intimate personal devices. Of course, long gone are the days when a lady requiring a bit of personal intimate massage would have to climb up onto a flat roof on the hottest day of the year, or find herself a hilltop in a force 9 gale, in order to be in with a chance of satisfying herself to the point of satiation.

As for those intimate devices powered by the Earth’s thermal energy, unfortunately, they never really did catch on. Stripping yourself naked before inserting a device into - and then sitting astride - a volcanically active area did seem a bit of an effort, possibly with more dangers than rewards even to the most sexually adventurous lady.

However, with today’s rechargeable battery technology, the environmentally aware can now use all these renewable energy sources to drive their self-pleasuring devices safe in the knowledge that they are not significantly increasing their carbon footprint, even with their most intense self-induced orgasm.

Furthermore, for the even more ecologically zealous there are now a range of devices made entirely (including the batteries) from recycled cardboard. However, they do – at the moment- seem to be for the more casual user, as they tend, with overuse, to turn into a rather aesthetically displeasing - and often physically disappointing - pile of soggy mush.

Monday, March 16, 2009

Domestication Of The Wild Hairstylist

Back in those far off days, enormous herds of hairstylists would sweep majestically over the wide-open plains of this ancient and noble land, often scaring the Romans and frightening the Vikings.

Later, no medieval city-centre was safe from the late night deprecations of these fearsome savages and many an innocent Middle-Ages shopping trolley was sacrificed to the God of the canals during those secret midnight ceremonies that are still to this day only spoken of in whispered and hushed words of awed fearful wonder.

Now, though, to see today’s herds of semi-domesticated hairstylists calmly flicking through magazines and applying suntan lotion as they bask in a spring-sun dappled meadow it is hard, but not only that, it is also hard to imagine that these are the direct descendents of those once-fearsome creatures.

Like many things, the domestication of the wild hairstylist had much to do with the English Civil War and its aftermath. Up until that point, there was no real need for hairstylists at all in English society, just someone with a spare pair of sheep shearing shears and a bit of free time. Even this was a bit too ostentatious for the Puritans who took over in the aftermath of the Civil War, preferring instead that people pulled their own hair out when it got too long as a form or penance and self-mortification.

However, during his escape from England after hiding in an Oak tree, a dishevelled King Charles II met a semi-domesticated Hairstylist in the employ of Lord Wilmot who effortlessly managed to restore the full regal magnificence of Charles’ hair ‘in a very fitting and pleasing manner’.

So, after the Restoration, It was Charles II who set in motion the organised domestication, keeping and breeding of the hairstylist on a scale never before seen. Soon, the growth of the mercantile classes in England’s burgeoning cities led to many domesticated hairstylists opening premises to cater to the increasingly elaborate and demanding tonsorial needs of the new middle-classes.

The rest is - a bit more - history.

A Lady’s Guide to Fetishes

Ladies, if, at one breakfast time, the man you love – or you, at least, tolerate for the time being - slaps down a photograph of a uniformed policewoman licking an ice cream, and then begins to pleasure himself into your half-empty breakfast cereal dish, it doesn’t – necessarily mean you are co-habiting with a fetishist, merely a fairly typical male. However, if he shouts out the names of TV motoring programme presenters during passionate lovemaking with an intensity that almost makes you drop a stitch in your knitting, then – in this case - you just may be sharing your life with a fetishist.

In the much more robust days of yore, this would mean immediately dispatching him to a mental institution. There, large electrical machines would be attached to his genitals, with increasing frequency and intensity, until he ‘pulled himself together’. Meanwhile you would be off and away. Quite possibly disporting yourself on the beach at some Mediterranean or Caribbean resort in-between hectic nights comparing and contrasting the relative merits of the local population of gigolos.

However - these days - unfortunately, we live in more enlightened times. So, unless you want to go through all the hassle, of sorting out your stuff and packing all the suitcases, that divorce entails then you are going to have to deal with the problem.

First, and most importantly: do not attempt to discuss feelings or emotions this will only reset him back to default male mode; where he can only discuss the offside rule*.

Whatever you do, you must not encourage your man to further his interest in these fetishistic arts and matters, especially believing that it is good for a man to have a hobby or interest as long as he leaves you in peace. Even if it is something that doesn’t initially involve you, perhaps utilising chickens, marmalade or trellising, or - in more extreme cases – a combination of all three, be under no illusion, he will find someway of involving you, eventually, even if it only involves holding the chicken. Inevitably, a few weeks, or months, down the line you will suddenly ‘just have’ to wear the new Chicken-Holder’s rubber uniform (with integral trellising straps) he has just bought.

From that point on, all is lost as you become more and more involved in his sordid little games when it is too late to insist that it is all his fault, anyway, as if he wanted sex then he should not have got married in the first place.

*It is, at this point, interesting to note the emergence of a new phenomenon. Recently, it seems, the pseudo psycho-babble-lite of daytime TV has permeated the consciousness of the female half of the population. Leading them to believe that the non-light endless discussion shines on minor non-problems is somehow enlightening or ‘empowering’. In the male world, by way of response, FIFA has been working flat-out to increase the complexity of the offside rule, purely in order to enable men to cope with this sudden increasing escalation in the female side’s sex war arsenal.

Sunday, March 15, 2009

On The Importance Of Your Daily Perversion Exercises

Now the lupins of preponderance are once more in bloom again here at this… this… whatever it is. We are once more strutting our hour upon the stage of the world’s interwebnets dispensing wise words to those sorely lacking such and thencefore sore from over-indulgence in the perverted arts.

Still, I would presume you would not want this banjo to go to waste, so if I could borrow a match or two, I’ll get the fire started and we can cook these sausages whilst we wait for the cake shop manageress to finish buttering the weasels.

Now, far be it from me to cast aspersions on the competence of my audience, or ever to doubt that you have all done your best to manage whilst I have been elsewhere over the last few months. However, I cannot help noticing that some of you were not quite… how shall I say… fluid enough during the warm-up deviations proceeding our early morning orgy yesterday.

I see from some of your downcast faces that my words have uncovered something here, have – some of you, at least – not been doing your daily perversion exercises?

Ah. I see.

You must understand that perversion is very much like a muscle. If you do not keep exercising it, extending it, pulling and pushing at it, then it will go all limp, shrivelled and useless.

Friday, March 13, 2009

The Sexual Perversions Cup

Well, now then, now then. Let me think…. I can't think of that much to say, really. Except that we had expected to do better, much, much better.

To be knocked out like that, before even reaching the quarter-finals, was a bitter blow. A very bitter blow. The Little-Frigging-In-The-Wold Gleaner had confidently predicted that this year would - once again - be our year. Talk about Thirty years of hurt - this has been much worse.

This year we felt we had such a strong team too:

The defence:

[Maureen Trouser-Quandary (of course!), Labia Entanglements (The Post Mistress), Fanny Knickerless (The Cake-Shop Manageress), Jenny Moist-Gusset (From the LFITW Riding School)

The midfield:

Miss Lesley Mufflapper (The librarian), Miss Margie Mingefinger (The Assistant Librarian), Old Feebletrousers (retired Badger-Mollifier) and Grand Old Uncle Stagnant (Ex-Cream Horn Wrangler)

The Forwards:

Bert Splodge (Local handyman and voyeur), Strom Thighhammer (Blacksmith), Foaming Lickspittle (LFITW Gleaner Editor), Spage Braindribble (World Champion Village Idiot).

Undoubtedly, one of the best Upper-Thyghspreader All-Village Full-Frontal Sexual Perversion squads in the contest, even if I - as coach - say so myself.

Our strong defence was renowned throughout last season's league fixtures for their unequalled record, losing only seventeen points and one - still-disputed- submission for the whole season. As for our forwards, an All-Village record of 397 points, 5 submissions, 2 touchdowns, 83 multiple orgasms and a still totally-bewildered chicken. No mean achievement for an amateur team, I'm sure you'll agree.

So, to go out to Much Piddling in the sixth round - albeit after extra time, cream cakes and penalties, and to an extremely well-placed, and well-lubricated, sexual aid, is all the more galling.

Still, I suppose there is always next season's league and cup to prepare for, and look forward to.

Good News In Rural Affairs

Some good news in rural affairs, for once. It seems that the Forestry Commission of Great Britain has - at long last - decided that it is going to reintroduce breeding pairs of banjos back into the wild in some specially selected forests and woodland areas.

It has been many years, maybe a century or more, since wild banjos ran free in British woodlands. No more does the lone traveller hear the distinctive mating calls of banjos (the so-called duelling banjos) as he makes his way down the woodland paths and trails.

The wild banjo was - of course - hunted to extinction. But this marvellous creature has never really managed to survive alongside mankind in an easy relationship. During the 18th Century, the wild banjo was widely believed to have some association with devil worship and witchcraft. For example, there are many accounts of witches using banjos to provide the 'musique fore thane naqued dancinges and Sabbatts'. It was often believed at the time that any lone traveller who happened to hear the so-called duelling banjos would be in danger of losing his life. Although this ancient superstition died out long ago in this country, apparently immigrants to the Americas took this and similar beliefs with them to their new land and, apparently, there are still some there to this day who believe that the sound of duelling banjos foresees a sudden and violent death.

After that, the rapidly-expanding Victorian middle-class, aping the manners and mores of the upper class, discovered the delights of roast banjo with parsnip jelly. Soon the forests and woodlands were no longer a safe refuge for the rapidly diminishing numbers of wild banjos. The last surviving wild banjo was reportedly shot and eaten by Lord 'Smeggy' Inbred-Wastrel in the forests of Walsall in 1901.

We can now only hope that the specially-bred wild banjos - imported from the wilds of Manhattan - do take to their new homes in the forest and woods of this - their once-native country - and soon once again the lone travellers will thrill to their mating calls as he makes his way through the woods.

Further good news!

There have been reports of wild bagpipes seen in the glens of the Scottish Highlands, once again. But whether these are really wild bagpipes, no-one is quite sure. It has long been believed the last wild bagpipe was shot by Hamster McBloodthirsty just north of Inverness in 1898 when he found it perturbing his sheep flock. Although, many experts believe these recent sightings are of feral bagpipes that have escaped from urban areas and, somehow, made it into the wild, rather than authentic 'wild' bagpipes.

So, until some of these wild bagpipes are caught and examined their true origins will remain a moot* point.


*Ironically, the moot is - of course - the sound of the wild bagpipe's mating call.

Thursday, March 12, 2009

Advanced Sexual Perversions – Lesson 1

Now, if you tether the donkey 73.25 degrees widdershins of the last Tupping Shed to the left (facing North), they apply the parsnip, gently in a clockwise motion until it is fully seated, then – and only then – you can take a firm grasp on your rod and manipulate it until you can detect its twitchings.

By then, of course the young lady should have finished dressing herself up as a supply Geography teacher and should then be almost ready to apply the lubrication to the leather elbow patches on her jacket.

Then, when it is precisely 14 and a half minutes past midnight on the first full moon of March, you can begin to recite the first seven pages of the (Amiga version only) Dungeon Master instruction manual. By page 5, the young lady should be showing the first signs of sexual arousal and be therefore considering putting her knitting to one side for a time (or two).

You should now check the batteries in the video camera and then release the fully-lubricated weasels. If necessary, you could also recalibrate the knots binding the traffic warden to the quantity surveyor. Whilst, at the same time, it is useful to check that the cream cakes are keeping cool, and that they are also within easy reach, especially if you happen to drop the sex spatulas during a more frenzied moment, just immediately prior to the time when the use of the cream cakes becomes vital.

Then the fully-lubricated weasels should be in position to begin their re-enactment of the Battle of Shrewsbury, while you and the young lady begin to discuss terminal moraines with all the fevered eroticism that two eager young lovers can bring to the subject.

Sexual Arousal Spatulas

It seems that everywhere these days one can walk into a shop selling anti-spanner lacquer for your electro-goat or gas-turbine weasel. Yet, only a few years ago even to make an enquiry for such a product would have been met with uncomprehending stares. Such is the rate of technological change these days.

In the past, years - decades - even could go past without even a slight change in the shape, design or functionality of your sexual arousal spatulas, or badger-pondering utensils. But now, these days, it seems that hardly a week goes by without some new device, redesigned with a new shape, extra functions or whatever hitting the market.

The question of who - if anyone - would want to have a pair of gardening wellies with integrated digital radio, cat grommets and the complete works of Dostoyevsky (read by John Prescott) on DVD, never seems to halt the stream of such products.

Only the other day, I received a catalogue offering non-stick weasel racquets with integral MP3 player, also featuring a laser hologram of the late Diana - Princess of hairdresser magazines - or, if preferred, former US Presidentialistizer G.W. Bush (successfully) masticating a pretzel, all tastefully finished in Day-Glo purple imitation velvet.

At last, I thought, someone has finally come up with a product that people actually want!

I ordered seven right away - one each for the whole of our village Weasel Affronting team.

Wednesday, March 11, 2009

Bumf Oddball's 'How To Watch Wife-Swappers'

Tonight BBC3.1428 sees the first programme in the new 'how to watch' series staring Bumf Oddball. In this new series Oddball is taught how to go Swinger-spotting by 'Offthewristers', those dedicated people whose hobby is covertly watching swinging parties, 'What we amateurs call 'wife-swapping,' says Bumf near the beginning of the first programme. 'It is not long now until spring is upon us once again. The Offthewristers will board their transportation unicycles and head out into the wilds of the suburbs on their first orgy watch of the New Year.'

'Of course,' as Bumph admits in a later programme in the series, 'without a doubt suburban orgies, wife-swapping parties and all the other meetings of 'swingers' do occur in the winter months.' But, as Bumf discovers, those short days and long cold nights are not conducive for the swinger-spotters. After all, only the most devoted enthusiast would be prepared to spend a long December night in a hide in some suburban garden hoping that for a mere glimpse of naughty goings-on through some steaming-up window. Anyway, even if the watcher did strike lucky, the odds are that in such cold and dark conditions the 'swingers' will have closed the curtains, making the watcher's night-time vigil both pointless and frustrating.

However, once the spring arrives and the evenings grow both longer and lighter, then swinger watching really becomes worthwhile once more. Not only does the increasing warmth and light mean that it is easier to spot those shy creatures, the swingers, going about their sexual dalliances, it also means that, as they have less desire to close the curtains against the cold and dark, then some serious spotting can take place, possibly including photography. Sometimes, if the conditions are suitable, even filming of the action is often possible.

Spring and summer also brings about new growth in the gardens where the watchers have their hides, which means that not only can the watchers linger longer; it also means that they can sometimes almost get within touching distance of their objects of interest. Sometimes it is the closest the watchers have ever managed to get towards touching a real woman.

At the close of tonight's programme, Bumf joins an Offthewrister in a garden hide in order to watch the Grimsby Swinger's club at their first meet of the year at the local vicarage. During the evening, Bumf and the local Offthewrister get quite a few photographs of the rarely seen mating rituals of the Grimsby swingers, including the one, never before captured on film, where they use baby oil, a spatula and rubber waders.

Unfortunately, only too soon, the enthralled watcher's well-developed hearing picks up the sound of distant police sirens growing ever closer. So, he suggests that he and Bumf will, however reluctantly, must hastily leave the hide and leg it off into the growing twilight, confident however, that - if they can evade detection, this time - they will be back for the next programme in the series at the same time next week.

Rural Post Offices

There has been some talk recently in the media about the fate of Rural Post Offices. This is, of course, not quite so fascinating to the hoi polloi as the antics of brain-dead celebrities gambolling through their lives like sexually over-stimulated puppies. However, it does raise some serious issues about the nature and fate of rural communities where the majority of these Post Offices (often the only shop in the village) teeter on the verge of insolvency.

Here in Little Frigging in the Wold, however, our Post Office, under the soft-but-firm guiding hand of our Post Mistress, Labia Entanglements has gone from strength to strength. Not only does it do the usual Post Office business of selling stamps, stationary, greeting cards and a wide but totally humour-free collection of 'comedy' car stickers, it does also perform that invaluable service to the community of keeping the great British tradition of the queue alive and flourishing. For, how else in this age of the internet and shopping mall, are our youngsters ever going to learn the delights of staring at the back of someone else's head for up to ten to fifteen minutes of their day?

Due to the wisdom and foresight of Miss Entanglements, our village Post Office has also undergone some wise diversification. For example, Miss Entanglements’ Sex Aid Coffee Mornings are very popular with the ladies of the village. Miss Entanglements has also opened a new department in the annexe* to the Post Office for fetish clothing hire. This has proved very popular for the village orgies, especially for weekenders, tourists and other visitors who do not own their own bespoke fetish gear.

Therefore, all in all, due to the foresight of Miss Entanglements, we in the village of Little Frigging in the Wold have little to fear - we feel – from any impending changes the government decided to introduce into the network of rural Post Offices.

*formerly the chicken coop. Labia decided against restocking the chicken coop after the unfortunate misunderstanding by the village’s recently-retired Badger-Mollifier, Old Feebletrousers, who under the influence of strong drink mistook the chicken coop for the village hall part way through last summer’s midsummer all-village orgy and dinner-dance. Apparently there were, according to PC Ghonnemadd, feathers everywhere and the state of Old Feebletrousers’ leather fetish thong had to be seen to be believed.

Tuesday, March 10, 2009

How To Do Perversion - Part Two

One of the most useful aspects of doing perversion properly is knowing how to use the full length and width of the pitch to full effect. It is, after all, no use going out there - not even if your custard bucket is full to the brim (and at the optimum temperature) - and charging straight down the middle. That way, all that will happen is that you will lose possession of the nipple-clamps and be forced to retreat in order to cover your own end.

No, it is far better to use the full width of the available pitch to develop overlapping runs up both flanks. That way you can outflank the traffic wardens, leaving them both overcome, and encroach - on the blind side - on the fully-lubricated vicar without unduly startling the goat. Then, providing you have kept a firm grip on your custard bucket, it is relatively easy to shackle the naked librarian to the tea trolley in readiness.

Here is a little tip for you to savour. It is a good idea to use your regulation be-sequined donkey jacket to conceal the ostrich feather and the vibrating devices behind your back. Or, even better, try concealing them inside your day-glo wellies, thereby providing ease of access in some of the more advanced positions (which we will discuss in greater depth in part three).

Monday, March 9, 2009

Christmas Gift Scrutiny And Charity Calendars

These days sometimes even an in-depth audit, or a detailed study of our accounts, cannot get us fully aroused in time for the next village orgy. This period between the Christmas festivities and the onset of spring always seem to drag, to be the doldrums of the year. This despite the many novelty fetish items and sexual aids that are usually exchanged as gifts between many of the inhabitants of the village. For example, this year Miss Entanglements, from the Post Office, was kind enough to give me an electric stoat-oil warmer and from Old Feebletrousers I received a boxed selection of various other small mammal unguents and oils, suitable for all formal perverse occasions.

This year Strom Thighhammer and the rest of our village Volunteer Fire Service produced a charity calendar (in aim of the local hospice for Terminally Bewildered badgers) in which each month Strom, or one of the other firemen are pictured performing various perverse acts, some of which are still illegal in many American states.

Once again, the ladies of the village were on hand to help out the volunteer firemen in any way they could. In fact, there were so many willing hands – and, sometimes, bodies – in the way, the photographer was often prevented from shooting until all the ladies were fully satisfied and satiated.

Applied Fresh Cream Cake Perversions

We are all - by now, I’m sure – very familiar with such fresh cream cake-based perversions as the Double Cream Horn, the Chocolate Éclair Surprise and the Cost Accountant Fondant Fancy such things are – indeed – elementary to the repertoire of any fully-upstanding pervert or deviant of the first water.

However, how many of you (both) gathered here this fine spring evening have ever considered the Strawberry Flan Reverse Traffic Warden, or even the - and this one I’ll admit is best left to experts – The Victoria Sponge Back-flip and Half-pike, especially in the immediate vicinity of a suitably lubricated Assistant Bank Manager?

Of course, we in Little Frigging are most fortunate in having in our local cake shop manageress, Miss Fanny Knickerless, a woman commonly acknowledged far and wide to be in possession of one of the most perverse imaginations in our beloved country. Not only is she – rightly – credited with, and lauded for, introducing the infamous Bakewell Tart Double-Entry, she has also been instrumental in getting many cake-based perversions accepted as new sports in their own right for the 2012 London Fiasco Olympics.

Consequently, even if the London Olympics does turn out to be the disaster we all hope and expect it to be, there will – at least – be something there for those interested in cakes, perversions or both to look forward to.

Friday, March 6, 2009

Hairstylist Whelping Boxes

I remember it well. One day, late in the 1970s, suddenly there it was, resplendent, laid out in all its glory and slightly less purple around the edges than the advertising brochure would have you believe. Of course, I have seen many wild hairdresser nests in my life up to then, but this was – I know you will find it hard to credit – one of the few pedigree domesticated-hairstylist whelping boxes I had seen.

After the unfortunate incident with my father, Implication Trouser-Quandary, and the end of his – the first - Official Little Frigging village semi-automatic sausage sorting machine, I had been more than keen to get involved in the exciting and, sometimes, dangerously risky business of breeding domesticated hairdressers and – yes – even lawyers for the market.

Therefore, when my father’s smallholding was made available to me, I grabbed it as soon as legally possible. I was new to the role of hairstylist farmer, However, Maureen, (a short time (or two) later, to become Mrs Trouser-Quandary) of course, came from a long line of farming folk*, she took to mucking out the hairdressers like one born to it. Soon, after a few trials and tribulations, we had a thriving hairdresser farm. So then, I looked to expand in some way and therefore decided to try my hand at breeding lawyers.

However, and this may surprise you, I - like most sensible people – had an almost instinctive fear of lawyers, and they can sense it. I could feel their writs bristling whenever I approached their sties. I knew it was something I would have to overcome as soon as possible. Even now, all these years later, I can still feel vestiges of that old instinctual lawyer-dread flutter down my spine as I approach the lawyer sties. Familiarity with these creatures has eased that dread a great deal, but I believe I will never lose it altogether.

In a way, it is no bad thing, that feeling of apprehension, for – as recent lurid media stories attest – sometimes, otherwise placid-seeming, lawyers can turn rogue and attack with little or now warning, leaving their victims lying in a pool of writs and injunctions, too stunned to move to protect their bank balance from a savaging by the avaricious lawyer.

Anyway, as the sun sets over the lawyer sties once more and I begin to gird my loins for this evening’s village festivities, I can – and do – look back on my life so far with few regrets.

*A long line, but often knotted and tangled where the many relatives became very related to each other (in one case in the late 17th century a certain Mary-Jane de la Quandary was not only her own mother and sister, but became her own husband and second-cousin too, when she married).

Inter-Village Orgy League: Match Report

Well, now. We are approaching the halfway point in this year's Upper Thyghspreader Inter-Village Orgy League. I am pleased to say that Little-Frigging-In-The-Wold is in a very strong position in the top six, just 7 points, one submission and a confused mallard duck behind the league leaders, Titten-Growper, and capable of moving up to third place if we can score at least 3 touchdowns and a multiple orgasm against Morningwood-in-the-LowerBack next Saturday.

However, despite this, our last match - against 10th placed Much Piddling - didn't quite go as predicted in the Little-Frigging-In-The-Wold Gleaner, where their sports correspondent, Sherry Ventilator, claimed it would be an easy win, if not a walkover for Little Frigging.

Things went well enough during the first quarter with Little Frigging scoring 7 points, a touchdown and a field goal before changing ends. However as the third over of the second quarter began with Little Frigging in possession of all the sexual aids, our best player, Strom Thighhammer (LFITW Blacksmith) was sent off for Un-Gentlemanly Fondling in the penalty area during the second Ladies' Excuse-Me of the quarter.

However, repeated viewing of the match video* has demonstrably proved that Strom was unfairly provoked by the Much Piddling Centre-Laidback, Hetty Mellowthighs, when she gave him a fully body-check in an offside position while out of sight of the referee and umpires. It later transpired that the referee was otherwise engaged at the bar, getting his round in, when the incident occurred and had to rely on the word of the fourth official when the Much Piddling team claimed the foul.

Consequently, from the penalty, Much Piddling scored an equalising multiple orgasm when their expert penalty-taker, Grope Donkeywang, sent Little Frigging's Fanny Knickerless completely the wrong way.

After the sending off, the remainder of the Little Frigging team fought bravely, including many goal-line clearances, to prevent Much Piddling achieving any more multiple orgasms, points or even touchdowns. In particular, Maureen Trouser-Quandary was named Person of the Orgy for her stout defence of her end under constant assault from the Much Piddling forwards as they attempted to thrust ahead.

It was not until the last few seconds of the match - after Labia Entanglements, Little Frigging's Centre Rear Fondler, was substituted with a suspected itchy knee - that Little Frigging managed to score a fully-consensual double touchdown in Much Piddling's box, and thus end the match on a draw.

The much needed points from this draw enabled Little-Frigging to retain their place near the top of the league and suggested that they may - at least - be in with a chance of, if not winning the League Championship for 2008/9, be in a good position to qualify for the European Inter-Village Orgy Champion's League next season.

[Please note: The post-orgy wheelbarrows were generously provided by Splodge & Sons (Purveyors of Marital and Sexual aids to the gentry since 1789).]

*Now available on DVD at all good (and a fair few poor-to-middling) Adult Stores and Vicarage Coffee Mornings.

Thursday, March 5, 2009

Some Information About Little Frigging In The Wold And This Blog

This is the official blog of everyday rural perversions from the village of Little-Frigging-In-The-Wold, in the county of Upper Thyghspreader, deep in the rural heart of England.

The village pub is The Pervert's Appendage and the village newspaper is Little-Frigging-In-The-Wold Gleaner.

Just some of the local characters you may meet in this blog:

1. The narrator of this blog – Norbert Trouser-Quandary. I am a farmer specialising in the husbandry of free-range hairstylists and the breeding for the market of farm-assured lawyers.

2. The narrator's wife – Maureen Trouser-Quandary. Manageress of the Little Frigging In The Wold Inter-Village Orgy Team

3. Ex-Army Colonel and local magistrate - Colonel Fitz-Tightly

4. The Post Mistress - Labia Entanglements

5. The librarian (couple with No. 6) - Miss Lesley Mufflapper

6. The assistant librarian (couple with No. 5) - Miss Margie Mingefinger

7. The Cake-Shop Manageress - Fanny Knickerless

8. Retired Badger-Mollifier - Old Feebletrousers

9. Ex-Cream Horn Wrangler - Grand Old Uncle Stagnant

10. The Little Frigging vicar - Rev. Counter

11. LFITW Riding School Proprietor - Jenny Moist-Gusset

12. Local handyman and voyeur - Bert Splodge

13. Blacksmith - Strom Thighhammer

14. LFITW Gleaner Editor - Foaming Lickspittle

15. LFITW Gleaner Sports Correspondent - Sherry Ventilator

16. World Champion Village Idiot - Spage Braindribble

17. Little Frigging Village Policeman - PC Ghonnemadd

18. Little Frigging Antique Shop proprietor - Minge Peccadillo

19. Little Frigging Village Doctor - Minnie Strayshuns

20. Little Frigging Village Nurse - Pam Purring

21. The Three Old Crones/Purveyors of Traditional Herbal Remedies/Witches - The Teeb Hags:

22. Splodge & Sons (Purveyors of Marital and Sexual aids to the gentry since 1789)

Neighbouring villages and their pubs:

  1. Tupping-on-the-Marsh (pub: The Highway Man’s Floozie)
  2. Greater Spadgecock (pub: The Elbow and Spatula)
  3. Morningwood-in-the-LowerBack (pub: The Catamite In The Bush)
  4. Titten-Growper (pub: The Shepherd’s Ewe And Wellies)
  5. Much Piddling (pub: The Queen’s Gusset)
  6. Lower Crotchstaine (pub: The Thatcher’s Demeanour)

Nearest Town: Upper Lower Spadgecock (pub: The Fox and Quantity Surveyor)

Open-Air Orgies And Their Drawbacks

Spring is almost upon us and I trust you all (both of you) have your sexual arousal spatulas fully-oiled (with turbo-weasel spleen oil) ready for the new season’s round of orgies, as it will not be long now before the open-air orgy scene begins in earnest*.

Although open-air orgies seem to embody so much of the rural idyll, they, like most Arcadian fantasies differ in the reality a good deal from what you urban ‘sophisticates’ so naively imagine.

Most obvious, I suppose, is the danger of exposing your nether regions and intimate delicate parts in the general vicinity of several forms of insect life that – it seems – only exist on this earth to cause severe irritation to its human inhabitants. I speak, in particular, of wasps who not only seem to have an insatiable appetite for the jam-ensmeared faces of young children, they also seem to be attracted to the oils, lubricants and other unguents without which no modern-day outdoor orgy would be complete, or quite as sticky.

Other outdoor problems, such as:

· Setting up the deck chairs for the audience and those taking a tea break

· Dog – and other animal - evacuations

· Not being ‘in’ when the postman knocks

· Wind damage to the fresh cream cakes

· Muddy knees and elbows

· Damp grass cuttings in the crevices

And so on and so forth do tend to make these events not for the squeamish**, or for the easily discouraged.

*And Earnest is remarkably willing – and accommodating – for a man of his advanced years.

**The sight of Grand Uncle Stagnant advancing across the village green, naked except for his pre-war wellies, is not a sight for those of a non-robust constitution, especially if you happen to catch him masticating near the fresh cream cakes.

Wednesday, March 4, 2009

Sex Weasel Spanners

It is not often that I write about my extensive - and rather enviable - collection of Sex Weasel Spanners, and today will be no exception. Frankly, the use of Sex Weasel Spanners is a matter best left to us experts, and I don't want to be held responsible for any misuse of these precision items, no matter how indirectly.

It is with mounting trepidation* that I see professional quality Sex Weasel Spanners on sale in DIY emporia. It takes years of training in a rigorous apprenticeship system - as well as a large vat of lubricating oil and a full set of grommets - to become an even halfway competent wielder of professional-quality Sex Weasel Spanners.

A weekend with an instruction manual half-arsedly translated from the original Latvian is - at best - going to leave the putative Sex Weasel Spanner wielder overwhelmed, or - at worst - cause extensive damage to their collection of Sex Weasels. Damage that - even if repairable - could result in a bill for several thousand pounds. However, more often than not, any attempt at adjustment of a Sex Weasel by an unqualified tinkerer leaves the Sex Weasel completely beyond any redemption, even by an expert as adept as me.

So, please, take my advice - learnt from years of experience in these matters - leave ANY adjustment of your Sex Weasel to us experts. It may seem expensive, but in the end, you know it is worth it, if only for your own peace of mind.

*As opposed to Mountain Trepidation - which is a feeling of slight apprehension when faced with anything greater than a slight hillock.

All-Nude Chicken-Intriguing

Nasturtium Cheeseincident (1945 - 2009) began as a Chicken-Intriguer of the old school. She first learnt the ancient and noble art of Chicken-Intriguing at the knee, ankle and - on one memorable occasion - elbow, of the semi-legendary Great High Trilobite of Chicken-Intriguing - Gerrymander Ankletrouser, an adept at the once lost art of Turkey-Perplexing, as well as being the greatest Chicken-Intriguer this world has ever known.

It was only through following Ankletrouser's rigorous training regime, and strict diet of Draught Guinness and pickled onions, that Nasturtium Cheeseincident was - after many years and countless disappointments - able to achieve the highest reaches of the Chicken-Intriguing discipline, mastering such - once-considered almost impossible - Chicken-Intriguing stances as the notorious Crouching Stockbroker, Disinterested Spaniel and Loquacious Hedge-trimmer of Tipton.

Cheeseincident first came to the attention of Ankletrouser when she was runner-up in the first post-war International Chicken-Intriguing finals in Paris during the summer of 1960. Ankletrouser immediately offered her his services, and once the misunderstanding with Nasturtium's rather over-protective father, Benchpress Cheeseincident, was cleared up and Ankletrouser was out of hospital, her training began in earnest.

Cheeseincident completely disappeared from the International Chicken-Intriguing circuit from that point. It was assumed that she had - like so many of those once-keen young Chicken-Intriguers - succumbed to one of the many vices - drink, drugs, perverted sexual practices, or even accountancy - that plagued Chicken-Intriguing at the time. But she was deep in training with Ankletrouser at his secret training ground, deep in the heart of mysterious Wolverhampton.

It was during this period, out of the limelight, that Nasturtium Cheeseincident began to experiment with the first of the many revolutions in Chicken-Intriguing she was to bring about. Eschewing the then-typical Chicken-Intriguing costume of black rolled-top wellies, spangled leather thong, donkey jacket tied with muddied string, and bobble-hat of the professional Chicken-Intriguers, Nasturtium began to experiment with naked Chicken-Intriguing.

After first disapproving of this innovation, soon the great Ankletrouser himself became a fervent advocate of this methodology, even though he later confessed that watching Nasturtium practicing naked Chicken-Intriguing did tend to give him very sore wrists for several days afterwards.

Of course, these days we all tend to be a bit blasé about naked International Chicken-Intriguing. But, on Cheeseincidents first appearance completely naked in the preliminary rounds of the Droitwich International Chicken-Intriguing finals in 1964, the whole world was shocked, outraged and quite aroused by her. After all, Nasturtium Cheeseincident had the sort of body that makes grown men walk into lampposts, so to see it in the familiar contortions of the expert chicken-intriguing poses is enough to add several new chapters to the Big Boy's Book of Advanced Sexual Perversions.

Of course, Droitwich was only the beginning for Nasturtium Cheeseincident. Soon after winning the grand final by intriguing not one, but three flocks of chickens for almost a solid half an hour utilizing the - until then - unheard-of stance, Shoe-Shop Manageress in State of Disorientation she became the household name she would remain until her retirement from professional Chicken-Intriguing twenty-three years later.

But, sadly, her personal life away from the glamour and excitement of International Chicken-Intriguing was not such a success. She had a string of short-lived affairs with several eligible bachelors, none of which bought her any happiness. She had numerous affairs with other women too, which again brought her little fulfilment, but provided the rest of us with some very memorable incidents from her stolen home-movies. It was not until her thirtieth year when she finally retired from full time Chicken-Intriguing while still unbeaten world champion for the eleventh year running that she finally found personal happiness in her private life when she moved in with the entire North Shropshire Fire Service Amateur rugby team.

Apart from giving the very occasional Chicken-Intriguing exhibition, she gave up the sport entirely to live out the rest of her life in quiet, cosy domestic bliss with her rugby team.

She died, tragically, last Saturday at the age of sixty, when the - now nearly all badly arthritic - rugby team could no longer keep the shape of the scrum and they all collapsed on her as she lay naked underneath them. Nasturtium Cheeseincident was rushed to the hospital where they attempted to disentangle her from the lower part of the scrum, but it was all in vain and she died on the operating table. Several of the rugby team were treated for minor injuries, and one had to have a jockstrap surgically removed before being allowed out of the hospital.

On hearing of her untimely death, Gerrymander Ankletrouser - now Emeritus Professor of Chicken-Intriguing and General Poultry-Confusion at Wibble College, Cambridge, issued this statement: 'Throughout her career, Nasturtium Cheeseincident was, unarguably, the most famous Chicken-Intriguer in the world, not only for her looks, her body and her creative use of bad language, but for the whole air of serious and profound understanding of the art of Chicken-Intriguing she always possessed. She was - without a doubt - Chicken-Intriguing's first, greatest and most consummate artist. It is unlikely there will ever be another quite like her.'

The funeral of Nasturtium Cheeseincident (1945-2009), World Champion Chicken- Intriguer 1964-2000, will take place on Tuesday, 10 March 2009 at the Our Plaice fish and chip shop, Nuneaton.

How To Do Perversion - Part One

Well, now, of course if you have a well-lubricated llama (I find a good rubbing with linseed oil rather invigorating myself, but for the llama any old oil will do). Then you can proceed to the next step.

This is, obviously enough, to make sure that the traffic warden is securely fastened to the table tennis table at ALL four corners, before carefully introducing a well-buttered politician.

Some people do, apparently, prefer to alternate the buttered politician with a suitably-moistened member of the clergy. However, please make sure that all participants are well aware of the impending substitution before commencing the activities, as there is a danger that at least some of the post-perversion cream cakes could end up being utilised in what is sometimes - quite frankly - a rather unhygienic manner.

Still, once the candles are lit, and the lighting and positioning of the participants have been made suitable for future blackmailing purposes (don't forget to check that the camera is working!), you can then release the honeyed weasels and set free the vibrating electro-badgers. Finally, you will be ready to begin!

An Introduction

Hello, Good morning, and pull up a small furry mammal of your choice and then make yourself as comfortable as your fetish devices allow.

Welcome one and a…. Well… welcome anyway, to this - the latest iteration of the Official Little Frigging In The Wold Village Blog.

I am Norbert Trouser Quandary (or at least I was last time I filled in my VAT Returns) and I am responsible for this blog and its contents, in which I hope (somewhat in vain, I fear) to introduce you to the wonderful village of Little Frigging In The Wold. I will also introduce you to its residents, denizens and other less easily categoriseable persons who populate the village and its environs.

I would also like to share with you the exciting and – quite often – moist and throbbing delights of rural perversions, the quality, originality and sheer perversedness of which our otherwise humble village takes great local pride in.

However, for the reader (and her friend) of the previous version of this blog there may be some feeling of over-familiarity with some of the posts on this blog, especially in these early days until I can be arsed to write some new stuff.

Thank you, and I hope you enjoy your stay in Little Frigging In The Wold, no matter how brief*.

*Please note, car-parking charges are not refundable, no matter how little time and/or money you spend in the village before feeling the desperate urge to leave with some urgency.