Here we all stand, resplendent in our bejewelled orgy capes and waders, ready for the another orgy out here on the village green. Of course, as this is a typical English day, the rain is falling with that determined intensity that some have taken as conclusive proof that the weather deities are no fans of outdoor sports.
Hence the waders.
Although, personally I have suggested in previous years when the duck pond has overflowed out onto the village green, and the river Teeb has burst its banks, that we should consider the use of punts.
Although, when I did mention the use of punts at the last village council, Colonel Fitz-Tightly did take some indignant offence until he was reassured that I wasn’t denigrating him and the rest of the council. However, it was not until new batteries were put into his hearing aid that I was confident he had got the gist of my remarks.
I do believe that now we have the University, providing the cows don’t want their shed back, a punting tradition would go down well and look very photogenic in the University Annual Prospectus. We could perhaps even introduce a short course on punt-based perversions, especially the always tricky problem of how the gentleman should best handle his pole for the delectation of the ladies present in the punt, who are – no doubt – eager to take a hold of his pole themselves.
In fact, when I suggested, just before last orders in the snug of The Pervert’s Appendage that most of the men of Little Frigging would enjoy a satisfying poling of the ladies in their punts, not a single one of those gathered there attempted to gainsay my contention.