Thursday, December 31, 2009

New Year's Eve Orgy

The approach of the New Year is always a time of great excitement in the village as everyone looks forward to the traditional New Year's Eve orgy in the village hall. With so many of the old rural traditions fading away into the mists of the past, it is vital that we do keep up as many of these old customs as we can. Although, it is quite interesting to see that the quaint old customs that many people, these days, seem keen on preserving are the ones that seem to mostly include rubbing bits of yourself up against the more interesting bits of fellow villagers, especially if it involves exotic lotions, unguents and - on occasion - devices of a buzzy and throbby nature.


Of course, the ladies of the village have been working hard over the last few days to prepare the village hall for the orgy, taking special care to wax the floor properly. A splinter in the knee at a vital point in your orgiastic manoeuvrings is not something to be recommended.

Although, it can go too far the other way.

Everyone remembers New Year's Eve three years ago, when the floor was a bit too highly polished. A slightly too vigorous thrust by Strim Goosefondler, our local publican, ended up propelling both him and Mrs Minge Peccadillo, of Ye Olde Antique Shoppe, across the highly-polished hall floor, out through the side fire exit and deep into a three foot-high snow drift. Although, as Minge Peccadillo did point out later, it does show the advantage of rubber fetish gear, in that all she had to do was wipe herself down with a cloth while poor old Strim suffered a severe icicleing of the scrotum.

It seems however, from my informal research, what most of our villagers enjoy about the New Year's Eve orgy - apart from the sherry and home-made mince pies afterwards, of course - is in the way having an orgy makes the traditional hand-holding as the midnight hour approaches into a far more interesting experience. For, at an orgy, one is never quite sure what is about to be thrust into one's hand as the seconds tick down to zero. I have it on very good authority that many deep and long lasting friendships have been made in just those special few seconds.

So, despite the sore knees, aching backs and stiff necks - and, on occasion, the red faces when meeting certain other villagers - that almost inevitably follow for the first few days of the new year, most - if not all - of the villagers would say that the traditional New Year's Eve Orgy is one - if not the one - English rural tradition they are eager to keep going into the new decade.

I - for one - agree.


All I can now say is HAPPY NEW YEAR to my reader (and her friend) and hope to see you (both) back here bright and early on Monday morning.

Wednesday, December 30, 2009

Hairstylists And Stoat Indifference

A certain amount of stoat indifference is to be expected whenever attempting to re-decorate your hairstylist-breeding pens. Personally, I would strongly suggest that you employ the services of a professional well-versed in the art of being indifferent to stoats. But if you are on a tight budget, own a tight budgie or just fancy having a go yourself, then - by all means - give it a go. But you will have no one else to blame but yourself if - when partway through the redecorating of your breeding pens - the stoats start taking an unwelcome interest in your hairstylists.


The danger - of course - is that if the hairstylists are in anyway perturbed by the stoats taking an interest in them, then your breeding plans could be put back several weeks at least, with the concomitant danger that the whole breeding season could be lost.

It can be very serious - for example - if the stoats disparage or in any other way show disdain for, or - at worst - show complete disinterest in, the holiday plans of the hairstylists. Hairstylists take an extraordinary amount of interest in the holiday plans of themselves and any other creature they come into contact with. So, to be in any way dismissive of the hairstylists initial holiday-related conversational gambits (as stoats are often wont to do) can often have devastating effects on the whole hairstylist-breeding season.

So, be warned and be ever aware and vigilant. At the first sigh of any stoats appearing in the vicinity of your hairstylist-breeding pens, be prepared to show them complete and utter indifference before they have a chance to show any form of disparagement towards your hairstylists. It is the only way to be safe, and sure, as stoats are very insecure and will run off to sulk if they feel they are being unfairly ignored.

A Stock Comic Situation

[A Guest Post By Grand Uncle Stagnant]

Cabbages are not elephants - so be warned, Matilda. Don't let them see the whites of your underwear. These are the helicopters of our desire, so don't let that donkey near the car park, or all our advertising slogans will have been in vain.

Don't put it there!


I have seen the cheese and onion pasties marching at Dawn, and I have seen how worried she was, despite Rosie's reassuring fingers.

So, let us go dancing at the fishmonger's once again.

I knew him before. He used to play the banjo in Walsall. But they managed to find a cure, and not a minute too soon.

Still, eh, still?

It goes on. Then it stops.

We know all that, and we have read the instructions too. Don't forget, it will always be raining now. I have a goat too, now. So there.

I have seen it all, and I have painted it blue.

I'll tell you a joke.

A national stereotype, a second national stereotype and a third national stereotype entered a stock comic situation together. The first national stereotype and the second national stereotype avoided any possible entanglement in the stock comic situation by using their wits to escape. But the third national stereotype fell victim to the lurking punch line.

Thank you. Good night.

Tuesday, December 29, 2009

Free-Form All-Nude Marmalade Besmirching

It is a stirring, and often proudly upstanding, sight to see the massed ranks of the Little Frigging In The Wold Free-Form All-Nude Marmalade Besmirching Team as they make their way down the village High Street in their annual parade.


The annual parade of the Little Frigging In The Wold Free-Form All-Nude Marmalade Besmirching Team is a local tradition dating back – some say – way beyond the introduction of the stereo LP, and, could - quite possibly – date back to even before the days of colour photograph, to the times when – as we all know – everything was in black and white.

Of course, marmalade besmirching is itself a long-standing rural tradition; especially in its all-nude form (obviously it is sometimes not quite so long-standing on the chillier days). It is – therefore – always a great honour to be one of those lucky enough to be chosen to be besmirched by the application of fresh marmalade to the nether regions, by the Little Frigging In The Wold Free-Form All- Nude Marmalade Besmirching Team.

Obviously, these public – and it goes without saying, pubic - displays always attract a large crowd, especially in the tourist season when the ladies of the Little Frigging In The Wold Free-Form All- Nude Marmalade Besmirching Team are ready to put some of their finer points on display for the edification of the massed ranks of tourists.

So, if you feel the slightest desire to have all you hold dear besmirched with marmalade by some of the deftest exponents of the art, then by all means come along to Little Frigging In The Wold for a marmalade besmirching you will never forget for as long as you have the strength in your wrists.

Thursday, December 24, 2009

How To Improve Your Sex Spatula Grip


Anyway, here we are again….

Aren’t we?

Oh… right then….

Well, if you just bear with me for a moment….


Oh, right. I’ll put my clothes back on then. Sorry.

You see, from the way you were standing there with your sex spatulas poised above the badger unguent-application table, I – quite naturally – assumed that you were a VAT Inspector.

Sorry. I’m sure it will wash out without leaving a stain…. Eventually.

You see, I don’t normally offer one-to-one tuition… well, not when Maureen is around, anyway. Especially not when she is experimenting with some new restraints and looking for a willing volunteer upon whom to utilise some of her more esoteric devices for some fully-consensual intimate probings.

So, my dear, if you will just pop on this wallaby-grouting apron and follow me, discretely, down to Tupping Shed No. 17, I’ll give you some practical advice on how to improve your sex spatula grip for this evening’s All-Village Christmas Eve orgy.

All that now remains is for me to wish my reader (and her friend) the compliments (and the condiments too, of course) of the season.


Happy Christmas Everyone!

Wednesday, December 23, 2009

Cold Weather Fetishes

How many of you (both) gathered here this crisply-frosted winter morning have remembered to don your cold-weather fetish gear?

I thought so.


I cold tell by the icicles forming on your erotic lotions and unguent utility belts and that fine coating of frosting on your sex spatulas that none of you have thought about the changing of the seasons. In particular, how it relates to the form your fetishes take, as well as which perversions are more applicable on colder days and the darker, longer, nights.

Of course, any adept at rural perversions will – naturally – know that animal ‘husbandry’ is best kept for the spring months when a young ewe’s thoughts turn to romance, and there is a sparkle in the eye of all the young badgers.

The winter is the time of the year when it is better not to consider disporting yourself and your cake shop manageress out-of-doors in frank and full-frontal nudity, unless, of course, you are both well-seasoned (and lightly-oiled with a low temperature erotic unguent) cold-weather perverts. A handy hint: a scarf is always a useful accessory on the coldest of winter days, and – for the man – a magnifying glass, and a pair of warm mittens for the lady is often advisable.

Please note: we have discovered that our wallaby grouting implements, spatulas and racquets have slipped out of true due to the excessive coldness of the season. Therefore – quite obviously - we will have to make haste to get them fully recalibrated ready for the start of the Christmas orgy season. This, of course, means that there will (un)fortunately be less frequent than normal* postings here until the beginning of the New Year. However, the remainder of my organ remains freely available for your perusal.


*No, I have no idea what that means either

Tuesday, December 22, 2009

Master of Applied Perversions Certificate


So, if you put the table tennis bats away, I will unlock the handcuffs binding the quantity-surveyor to the shopping trolley and I’ll also make sure all the tops are securely fastened on the containers of badger and weasel unguents. If you could also put the sexual-arousal spatulas back in the sex utensil drawer, that would be a big help too, thank you.

All in all, not a bad little session, but I feel you do need to take more account of the prevailing wind direction if you want to apply for your Master of Applied Perversions certificate any time in the near future. It is all well and good making sure the small furry mammals are well-lubricated, and the consensual adult is fully restrained, but you must be certain of it before you begin to read selections from the mail order catalogue of your choice out loud to the quantity-surveyor.

Although, it is usually the case that a detailed in-depth listing of desirable consumer items is enough to get most people aroused, you must remember that not everyone in a modern consumer economy is automatically sexually stimulated by the promise of incipient satiation of their consumerist needs. Therefore, it is always advisable to have fresh batteries in the devices – and a freshly-oiled fireman on stand-by – just in case.

Monday, December 21, 2009

Small Brown Things

So, here we are. Which is - I suppose - quite fortunate. For, if you were over there, I would have to shout. That is something I would prefer to avoid, especially at this time in the morning when the hairstylists are all still asleep, dreaming of short weekend breaks in Alicante (full board).

Anyway, if you look to your left….

No, I said YOUR LEFT, not mine….


If you look to your left, you will see the not unimpressive Little-Frigging-In-The-Wold collection of Small Brown Things. The head inspector from the UK Small Brown Things National Inspectorate, Lady Gladiola Throb-Grinder herself, has recently remarked upon what a splendid collection it is. She even implied that these days it might even eclipse the once world-famous Lower Spagecock Small Brown Thing Heap. That, in its heyday, attracted visitors from as far away as Tupping-on-the-Marsh and - even - Titten-Growper to gaze in awe and wonder at the heap, and then spend inordinate amounts of money on the over-priced tourist tat at the adjacent tourist souvenir shop.

Not that we here in Little-Frigging-In-The-Wold would ever stoop so low, or be so commercially crass - when our pile of Small Brown Things begins to attract visitors in high numbers - as those infamously mercenary-minded denizens of Lower Spagecock.

At the last village council meeting - just before adjourning for fresh cream cakes and sensual massage - it was decided unanimously that the Little-Frigging-In-The-Wold Small Brown Thing Visitor Centre will be much more upmarket*, understated and reassuringly expensive.


*While - of course - staying true to the first - and unbreakable - rule for tourist attractions of separating as many tourists as possible from as much of their money as possible.

Friday, December 18, 2009

Inter-Village Orgy Team Squad Trials

Now, as you know, today is a special day in the Little Frigging Village Calendar, as it is the day we hold the trials for those wishing to join the Little Frigging Inter-Village Orgy team squad for the upcoming season. For those gentlemen who wish to apply, being upcoming is an almost vital requirement, almost as essential as it is for any ladies who apply to be fully accommodating, and aware of the ardours they will have to overcome whilst out on the orgy field.


Of course, any potential member of the squad should be familiar with the basic rules, tactics and so forth of the Inter-village orgy. It is no good going out there and not knowing which way to pass the devices when under pressure from the opposition’s centre fondler, or in which hand to hold the mallard duck when the other team’s gropekeeper is all that lies between you and you scoring. Knowing how to get you end away whilst the opposition’s full hatchbacks are bearing down on your exposed flanks is not something that one would normally have to deal with in a, say, run of the mill village orgy, or a post office queue on any day (except Thursdays, obviously). Out on the orgy pitch though, it happens several times in each of the seven quarters of all three halves of an average match.

So, you will – should you wish to apply – have to be ready for anything and everything as well as the ever-present danger of the onset of the dread itchy-knee.

Thursday, December 17, 2009

Pre-Christmas Orgy Preparations

Some stoats are bigger than some other stoats. It may come as a shock to those of you not amongst the cognoscenti, but I'm afraid it is true. Other things you may not be aware of are - I'm sure - just as easily rectifiable with just a little effort and application on your part.


As we speak of effort and application, the mind naturally turns toward thoughts of village orgies. Now, it has been a long tradition in Little Frigging that the last Pre-Christmas open-air orgy on the village green takes place on the third weekend in December.

This year will be no exception, the recent unseasonably mild weather being somewhat of a boon in this respect, especially to the more mature of our participants. They often find the more pleasurable aspects of the evening somewhat marred, in the ensuing days, by stiffness of the all-important knee and elbow joints caused by the cold and damp ground so common at this time of the year.

So, there has been some agitation to move the whole event indoors, into the village hall. This would mean, of course, an end to the traditional Immolation of the Estate Agent, which normally sets the proceedings off with a flourish. As setting fire to an estate agent indoors can - sometimes - be problematic, the traditionalists amongst us are opposed to the idea. Although, as we too grow older, we begin to appreciate that the elderly folk may well, indeed, have a point, if only on this one weekend each year.

Wednesday, December 16, 2009

On the Current Paucity Of Cream Cakes At Village Orgies

Of course, once you have attached the nozzle to the icing bag then it is only a matter of making sure the assistant librarian remains lying still long enough for you to finish icing her weasel and place the glace cherries in the traditional places*.


Now, you may be wondering why the weasel needs icing, especially as we move towards that time of year when an un-iced weasel is usually more popular. To my mind you would be fully within your rights to ask such a question.

Pity I can’t be arsed to answer it though, but there you go. You have to be grateful for what you get these days, especially as the budgetary restraints under which the village orgies now take place means that it has been several weeks since any of us in Little Frigging have even so much as got close to a fondant fancy, let alone a Belgian bun.

Of course, it is a tradition at village orgies to have a selection of fresh cream cakes ready for the interval just after when the umpire is blown for us to change ends. Such is the lack of finances available for refreshments we have had to resort to each being given a single lick of the cake shop manageress in the hope of locating some spilt cream or an errant sponge cake crumb that may have become lodged about her person.


*Usually one just outside Wolverhampton and the other near the outskirts of Glasgow, providing it is Tuesday, of course.

On Mornings


Anyway, here we are then on this… well… not quite so splendid morning. Even some of the birds have managed to stir themselves enough to give a half-arsed shriek of indignation at the encroaching dawn before groaning and covering their eyes with a wing for ‘just a couple more minutes’. As a rule, I like the mornings, but why do they have to begin quite so early in the day? This is especially true as autumn fades away and we progress deeper into the wintertime, and the mornings become more and more indistinguishable from the night.

Mornings are good, but dark mornings make you bump into things. This can be pleasantly fortuitous if, by way of example, one of those things you bump into happens to be an early-morning cake shop manageress with her baps still warm from her bread ovens. However, it is much less so if you happen to fall over a Grand Uncle Stagnant still comatose from his last evening’s exertions in The Pervert’s Appendage, smelling like a overflowing brewery and feeling like a sack of mouldering rodent corpses.

Still, though, there is nothing quite as invigorating as a early bright sunny, but sharply frosty, morning for striding manfully (or womanfully) through the frosted waist-high undergrowth in no more than a pair of stout walking books and a simply-equipped perversion-utility belt.

Tuesday, December 15, 2009

Little Frigging All-Nude Mass Pogo Stick Display Team


The Little Frigging All-Nude Mass Pogo Stick display team are preparing themselves for an exhibition of pogo-stick based perversions at the UK Annual Rude And Naughty Exhibition at the O2 Arena, in London at the end of next month. As you probably know, if you indulge in a frequent perusal of my organ whenever I display my latest outpourings, the Little Frigging naked pogo stick squad can be - quite often - found exhibiting themselves to the public, whenever the opportunity arises. They have displayed themselves to many thousands of people throughout the length and – on two occasions – the breadth of this great island of ours, as well as visiting Wales three times.

There were some, of course – when the idea was first mooted – who pooh-poohed the idea of the pogo stick being of much utility, or even of finding any role at all in the perverted arts and sciences.

However, after some sterling theoretical work, and – later – practical experimentation by our very own Emeritus Professor of Applied Pogo-stick dalliances here at the University of Little Frigging, Old Feebletrousers himself, along with a bevy of the more sturdily-thighed of his research assistants, Professor Old Feebletrousers has proved that not only is the pogo stick a more that adequate device for achieving sexual satiation, it is by its very nature, entirely suited to the perverted arts.

Sub-Atomic Goat Particle Accelerator Woes

The sub-atomic goat particle accelerator is on the blink again. Of course, at this time of year, it is hard to get a man out to have a look at it, but - this time - we are fairly sure that it is on its last legs. We have had it for seven years now, a decent enough length of time for something that is almost constantly on during the height of the breeding season when the goat particles - obviously - tend to need the most artificial acceleration.


Of course, with the goat particles themselves being sub-atomic they can occasionally be rather tricky little buggers to deal with. With the accelerator on the blink like this, it is becoming increasingly common to find the odd errant particles in the most unusual places. There was a whole pile of them behind the fridge last Thursday, for example, and I've found several down the back of the sofa whilst searching for the spare change necessary to purchase new batteries for the intimate devices so essential for the modern sex orgy.

Speaking of sex orgies, both Maureen and I have lost count of the number of times we've had to blow the half-time - change ends - whistle due to errant sub atomic goat particles worming their way into intimate cracks, creases, cleavages and crevices. Not to mention the dread itchy knee problem.

Oops, I seem to have mentioned it. Sorry.

So, anyway, I suppose, after the Christmas festivities, Maureen and I will have to gird our loins and set off to the shopping centre in the hope that we can pick up a heavily discounted sub-atomic goat particle accelerator in the January sales. One of those new ones with brushed aluminium leading edges to the manifold and integral MP3 player and low-fat grill would be nice. But how often do you see top-class merchandise like that in the January sales these days, eh?

Monday, December 14, 2009

The Facts of Life

Here we are then, isn't this cosy? There's not much on today, so pull up a lawyer and take a seat. It is time for us to talk seriously again. This time, about The Facts of Life, or, at least, some of the more interesting and wilder speculations about it.

Contrary to what every schoolchild knows, facts are not dull, and learning is not a tedious chore. It is just the job of schools to make it seem that way.

Anyway, where were we?

Oh, right. Really?

Well, if you would just move your left elbow a few degrees widdershins, and apply a tad more lotion to the underside of the llama, we can carry on with our discussion.


Anyway, the Facts of Life.

  1. Being rude is a lot of fun. It can -as you should know - be fun on your own, but it can be a lot of fun with a friend, or even - in more advanced cases - several friends.
  2. It doesn't really matter what kind of rudeness it is, just as long as you, you both, all of you, the entire Post Office queue, everyone in the village, or whatever are happy about it, or - at least - curious enough about it to give it a go, if only this once and to be polite.
  3. The genitals of whom you do it with - apart from yourself, obviously - whether they are complimentary, matching, a mixture of both, or even of little more than novelty value, is purely a matter for yourselves alone.
  4. What you do, and whom you do it with, providing everyone involved freely consents, is nobody else's business - at all.
  5. That's it. That's all you need to know.
  6. Now all you have to do is go out and do it.
  7. Good-night.

The Size of Chins


So, anyway, what size chin do you have?

There is no string next to the lime jelly, but - on the bright side - we have located - and laughed at all of the laughable things in the precinct. We have seen your unashamedly Tory trousers and made many a mock of them. Now I have to ask, is that the only goat you have as a friend?

Don't go down there. It is far too dark for a lady of your pulchritude and inherent wasp avoidance abilities. I confess I have seen your knickers. Oh, all right… yes…. I'll admit it. I have worn them too.

However, put it away now. We have all seen enough of it.

But do not touch those things over there. Those are not the devices we would use to change the socks of any toad maintenance engineer of our acquaintance. We have not dared to use them for such purposes for many a decade. Is that how you would change the socks of your best friend?

I have touched it.

I have smelt it.

I have tasted it.

I want to do it all again.


At least.

Go now, though, it is beginning to throb again.

Friday, December 11, 2009

Modern Orgy Etiquette

Back in the old days, I wouldn’t show you my collection of electro-weasel spanners until we had been formally introduced. Consequently, it would have been exceedingly bad form for any act of utmost intimacy to take place between us. Until after such formalities had taken place, I would prefer not to have your sexual arousal spatulas placed so close to my semi-grouted wallabies.


Therefore, it would probably have been best for us to both step out of the bath full of custard and get dressed again. We would then pass the time, and therefore avoid too much social awkwardness, making desultory small talk up until a mutual acquaintance introduced us to each other in a socially recognised manner. We could then return to the bath of custard and take up our stances once again as you began to manipulate you spatulas.

Normally, of course, in a better run orgy situation in those times, one would spend time getting to know the new faces, and other bodily parts too, of course. It goes without saying, also, that one would also go about renewing acquaintances made on previous occasions.

These, modern, more informal orgies, however, do have other attributes that go some way towards making up for their lack of the more formal social graces. For example, the unusually rather well-lubricated llamas, and the plentiful supply of sandwiches and chocolate éclairs are a case in point. In these more relaxed times, too, there is little awkwardness when one finds one has been indulging in sordid practices with fellow attendees who are – through no fault of their own – not quite of one’s own class.

That is not to say that I am in any way a snob. Far from it, I delight in exchanging bodily fluids with people from all walks of life, providing – of course – they do know the correct way to butter a weasel. Informality is in general a good thing, but we must not lose sight of what matters. Just because an orgy sometimes inevitably transgresses the norms of social intercourse, we should not - for one moment - allow these matters of extreme moistness to overrule our good manners.

The Never-Ending Sea Of Tuesdays

Still, there you have it - surprisingly warm and not a little moist. Look after it well, my chosen one; it will come to be of great use to you in the near future as you wander the highways, byways and unnecessary large number of cul-de-sacs in this strange, wonderful and excessively damp land of ours. Of course, the time of legends is long over now. The time when – it is said – that there were chip shops as far as the eye could see and great herds of shopping trolleys swept majestically across the wide open spaces of the car parks of this grey and damp land.


However, my little torque wrench, times change; and we should be glad otherwise we would surely drown in a never-ending sea of Tuesdays.

As Grand Uncle Stagnant so wisely slurred last night in The Pervert’s Appendage; ‘you can never perform the same perversion twice*’. For even if you are in the village hall on the same orgy night with the same cake shop manageress, the same unguents lubricating the same weasel restraints, with the same suitably be-custarded traffic warden still having the same glint in her eye, it will still be different, if only through the effect the passage of time has on everything.

*He did – of course – acknowledge his debt to Heraclitus for the idea behind his remark.

Thursday, December 10, 2009

Crime Wave

It is with sorrow, some trepidation, and a slight itch above the left ankle, that I reveal that there has been a serious outbreak of crime in Little-Frigging-In-The-Wold.

Our local policeman, PC Ghonnemadd, revealed the full depth of this criminal depravity yesterday evening at the village council meeting (fortunately, after we had fully digested our cream cakes and completely recovered from Miss Entanglements full executive massage and hand relief).

Apparently, according to PC Ghonnemadd, thanks to their benign and benevolent wisdom, our magnificent national government has recently enacted some new, far stricter, laws. Consequently, it is now - apparently - against the law to make derogatory or disparaging remarks about a person's sex, ethnic make-up, religion, political affiliation, sexual proclivities (including fetishes and/or kinks), and - most importantly - their choice of knitwear.


So, it came to PC Ghonnemadd's attention (through intelligence sources he refused to reveal or compromise) that certain members of the Little-Frigging-In-The-Wold's Inter-Village Sexual Deviations team had been making derogatory remarks about the choice of knitwear favoured by our very own Colonel Fitz-Tightly during the recent unseasonable cold snap.

'Not only,' continued PC Ghonnemadd, 'was the knitwear item in question a Christmas present from an elderly, and well-off, relative, it was also - in my professional opinion - a rather tasteful design, featuring fully consensual acts of an intimate nature between Santa Claus, his elves and a brace of rather fetching reindeer.'

So, after some heated debate, and a salutary reminder from the Colonel himself that he is always the major donor to our annual Christmas Eve All-Village Orgy fund, it was unanimously decided that we - as the village council - will take the extraordinary step of placing a notice on the Village Hall Notice Board. This message will convey the council's strong disapproval of such remarks, and, additionally, carry a request that all villagers think very carefully before making such statements, lest they wish to suffer the full brunt of the law.

We hope that such resolute and prompt action will nip this outbreak of anarchic lawlessness before it takes too strong a hold and the whole fabric of our lives is torn asunder. As our glorious Prime Minister, and his erstwhile minions, have so recently opined, free speech is a great tradition of this noble country, and one of the bulwarks against tyranny and oppression, so we should make sure that we do not act irresponsibly by actually trying to use it.

The Smell Of Stamp Collections

There are helicopters and badgers and electro-weasels and Maureen is naked, oiled and prepared. Therefore, it is time - once again - to get out our stamp collections.

Oh, I do like the smell of recently mounted stamps in the morning. It tends to set up the whole day rather splendidly. To see the sun rising up from behind the tupping sheds and the soft susurrations of the slowly awakening hairstylists as they mutter to each other of the holidays taken in their dreams. Then there are the low rumblings from the distant lawyer sties as the awakening lawyers calculate the possible fee structure from suing the sun for its callous disruption of their sleep.

Then it is down to check on the accordion traps and the anti-wild banjo fencing and ditches. After that, I usually like to put out a little food* for the feral folk singers we brought in to control the infestation of accordions in our woods. Sometimes - if you are lucky - you can catch a glimpse of a feral folk singer as it stalks an accordion. When the folk singer manages to catch an accordion, he clutches it tight to his chest and begins to wrestle it into submission. If you can bear to tolerate the unworldly caterwauling of the entrapped accordion as it struggles to escape the determined clutches of the folk singer, it can be a fascinating spectacle.


However, there is always the danger that the accordion somehow manages to entangle some of the folk singer's beard in its fearsome bellows mechanism. It is then that the accordion turns the tables on the folk singer. For, once it overpowers the folksinger by trapping its beard, and therefore stunning it, the accordion can then lay its eggs in the deepest darkest part of the folk singer's beard before making its escape and fleeing back to the safety of the woods.

It is essential then that you must put the folk singer down as quickly as possible before the accordion eggs hatch and a new infestation begins.


*Just the standard folk singer fare of real ale and meat pies.

Wednesday, December 9, 2009

Fashionable Sexual Perversions

Nowadays we are - or have to pretend to be - rather blasé about sexual perversions. In days gone by, such outrageously obscene perversions such as naked string-length comparison, donkey-basting or even full-frontal accountancy would only be spoken of by consenting adults, and then only in a whisper during the darkest hours of the television schedules.


I - for one (but occasionally two when the wind is in an opportune direction) - believe that something has been lost by this descent into a rather flip frankness about matters of both the rude and naughty. Although - I hasten to add - it is much preferable to the manner in which matters of extreme moistness were condemned out of hand in days of yore.

What people get up to, or even down to, in the privacy of their own bedroom, dungeon, tupping shed or even social-workers sty is of no concern of anyone else. Nor is it the business of anyone not involved as to what goes on in an extreme sexual perversion field, or orgy stadium, providing all are there of their own free will and have all the necessary costumes, materials, lotions, restraining devices and spare batteries they may need.

I suppose what has been lost - to (what's left of) my mind anyway - is that rather lovely sense of the sordid us deviants would feel as we dressed up in our leather stockbroker outfits, or slithered into our rubber extreme cake-decorating fetish gear, for a night down at the local place of naughtiness, or for the weekly vicarage coffee morning. These days, it seems even the most brain-dead of celebrities will openly admit to a desire to lick fleshly-whipped cream off a suitably bound and restrained assistant supermarket manager, or to fondle the moist or dangly bits of a well-seasoned okapi, merely to garner yet more publicity from a complicit media seemingly in a state of permanent faux outrage.

Consequently, all this fashionable perversion and extreme naughtiness by the fashionable does - in an ironically perverse way - make all seem… well, a bit mundane, frankly. Sometimes it makes me feel like giving it all up and taking up a brand new hobby such as deep-water stamp collecting, knitting double-glazing salesmen or grouting wallabies.

Tuesday, December 8, 2009

On Match Fitness In An Inter-Village Orgy Squad

It is not often acknowledged by those adept at the intricate arts employed by Inter-Village Orgy team members that sometimes they may not be what might be called ‘match-fit’. We are all – no doubt – aware that occasionally some gentlemen, not we hasten to add ourselves personally, of course, do have trouble establishing the full rigour of their ardour. Also, we have heard rumours that some ladies – though not one we have ever had the fortune to have a dalliance with – do sometimes succumb to what I believe is called ‘a headache’.

Of course, one expects such happenings to be confined to the dull and sordid couplings undertaken by those forced by misfortune to suffer the suburban – or worse - the urban lifestyle, far from the refreshing invigoration so often occasioned by being in the near vicinity of a flock of comely young sheep.

Out here in the true rural heartland of this once great nation, we do not expect our men to be anything other than firmly upstanding and ready for action at the drop of a milkmaid’s thong. Our women too, we expect to be ready for vigorous haystack-style action as soon as they see their local blacksmith taking a firm grasp of his tool and advancing towards them.


So, then let us hear no more of this limp and defeatist talk and let us stride manfully and/or womanfully off into the sunset together for a nice relaxing early open-air winter orgy in the Upper Lower field.

Monday, December 7, 2009

Various Provocative Stances - A Treatise


I was once* inundated with a request to explain fully the Various Provocative Stances utilised by one's undressed nubile young lady for such things as Indifferent Badger Procurement, and other related activities such as All-Nude Chicken Intriguing. So, after allowing a decent enough interval to elapse so that my interlocutor has in all probability got bored and wandered off to more accommodating alternatives to… er… whatever this is, I will now do my best to offer as little advice as I feel I can get away with.

Of course, there are several specialist publications that deal with these stances in all the wide variations thereof and therein. These publications can often be found on the upper shelves of certain newsagents, and for the connoisseur they are also available by mail order.

The web has – of course – enabled those with a keen academic interest in underdressed young ladies to peruse their vocation with a diligence denied to us of earlier generations. We, of the pre-internet age, had to spend hours and much shoe-leather seeking out the one dodgy newsagent in the neighbourhood who had no qualms against selling such adult educational materials to those clearly well under-age for such edification.

In short, then, I would humbly suggest that those seeking such information to go and bloody-well find it out for themselves. After all, isn’t seeking out pictures of underdressed young ladies what Google was invented for?


*A fair while ago now. It was – if I remember correctly – from a certain Mrs Trellis of North Wales.

Friday, December 4, 2009

Some Badgers Are Bigger Than Others


Some badgers are bigger than others, so my advice is to always carry the larger sized bottles of lubricating unguents in your perversion utility belt, or sex webbing, preferably in an easily-accessible location, just in case of any sudden hasty reluctance, or second thoughts, on the part of your small woodland mammal of choice. Although, if there are any reluctant parts on – or in – ANY putative partner the pervert of conscience should always withdraw to a safe distance until full consent is re-established. This should apply in ALL circumstances, even if it means having to have the devices fully recalibrated by a qualified Sexual And Perverse Devices Engineer before continuing.

Moving on – and, hopefully, leaving the woodland creature fully satiated before so doing – let us discuss something of more import and significance, if only I could think of something….


Perhaps not, though, especially as you are still slightly sore behind the left knee from the last time we tried that. Take my advice and always try to be a little more circumspect about mounting any librarian in future. In fact, it would be better to make the librarian aware of your presence in their immediate vicinity BEFORE placing your feet into the stirrups, as a surprised librarian is quite likely to attempt to throw off anyone who catches them unawares. That is just the nature of librarians, I’m afraid.

Thursday, December 3, 2009

Naughty Lady Evening

It is not often we get to compare our penguin hats these days. You are often far too busy with your helicopter-flavoured sausage procurement stance adopting evening classes, while I am frequently busy down in my workshop perfecting my Naughty Ladies. For example, last night I spent several hours down there giving them a fresh coat of butter and a final buffing up before tomorrow night's Naughty Lady Evening down at the village hall.

It is more than a little perturbing that the urban ignoramuses that populate the mainstream media all seem to think that us rural folk do nothing except count sheep in the evenings. Now, while that is no doubt a thrilling event that we all look forward to and fully enjoy, it doesn't happen all that often. Yet there is hardly a week that goes by without the village hall being pressed into service at least a couple of times for various village-wide events.


Some I have already mentioned, such as some of the stuff you can find in the archives… somewhere or other. But there are many more such events like Naughty Lady Evening. Sometimes the village green is pressed into service for events like this, or open-air summer orgies, estate agent wickerman barbeques and much, much more.

So we in Little-Frigging-In-The-Wold do indeed have a very full social life indeed. It isn't all sheep-shagging and fornicating with near relatives - well, not all the time.

Wednesday, December 2, 2009

Perversion Through The Ages

Of course, here in Little Frigging we take a quiet pride in our mastery of rural perversions. Not for us the – to our eyes – rather bland and pseudo-sophistication of the urban perversions, where dressing up as a Traffic Warden (with a mango) is seen as rather blasé, even no longer a perversion in any real sense.


No, out here, in what a superficial view would regard as less sophisticated areas, the use of the traffic warden fetish still has some deeper meaning, something that goes beyond mere dressing-up as an optional extra to spice up an otherwise jaded sex life.

In fact, out here away from that so-called (and self-deluding) ‘urban sophistication’ we believe that we are more in touch with the true folk roots of sexual perversion. After all, you must remember, it is rural areas where sheep (probably the oldest perversion) are usually found. In addition, you must remember too that Morris Dancing – probably even as ancient a perversion as sheep ‘husbandry’– is still practiced in many rural areas. It is sometimes forgotten too, by glib urban sophisticates that immersing a naked tax inspector in a bath of lukewarm custard is in fact a perversion that pre-dates the Enclosures Act of 1771 by several hundred years, and lightly buttering a dairymaid was first recorded in the Domesday Book.

Tuesday, December 1, 2009

Rosie Fingered Dawn

Ah… Rosie fingered Dawn. Moreover – I must say – why not? As long as all the sexual arousal spatulas are put back in the sex utensil drawer afterwards, I don’t think it is any business of ours what other fully-consensual adults get up to in the privacy of their own multi-storey car park, is it? Especially if they are prepared to give a fully-illustrated talk (including numbered diagrams) on it at the next pre-orgy tea and cream cakes session at the village hall.


To be honest, I was quietly impressed with the way Rosie and Dawn have fitted themselves into village life in less than 10 years. Whilst still (for another three or four generations – at least) they are outsiders, they have thrown themselves into village life with an openness and a naturalness that can only give them credit. The weekly all-village orgy may seem like a quaint rural tradition to you urban sophisticates, but to us locals it is something we are proud of – history means a lot to rooted people. Therefore, it is always nice when incomers – like Rosie and Dawn – enter into things (and vice-versa, of course) with such generosity of spirit and well-lubricated enthusiasm.