Tuesday, November 16, 2010

The End Of An Earache


Following his much-publicised arrest at the weekend for supplying illicit broccoli to the British Nude Underwater Pole-Vaulting Vicar, Exegesis Palimpsest, the estimable Norbert Trouser-Quandary will henceforth be unable to continue with this… this… whatever it is.

Consequently, as Mr Trouser-Quandary will be unable to continue with it, whilst detained at her majesty's pleasure, this… this… thing will no longer be updated for the foreseeable future*.

Therefore we would be most obliged - if there is actually anyone bothering to read this drivel - if you amend you blogrolls, feed readers, manservant, lad with a cleft stick or whatever, accordingly**.

However, my organ will remain standing proudly here until Blogger come to their senses and delete this complete waste of space. So, until that glorious day, please feel free*** to peruse the archive - and deeply probe its back postings – for your edification and satisfaction until you are completely satiated.

Thank you for your custom.

Good night.


*However, as I probably said somewhere up above, the… er… whatever it is itself will not be deleted and will remain here - mainly as a warning to others - for as long as Blogger wishes to keep it.

**This also, of course, means that the @Trouserquandary Twitter account will no longer be updated either.

***But make sure your hands are warm first.

Friday, November 12, 2010

Sequestration And Its Pitfalls


Even though your string collection and your most precious aardvark have been sequestrated by the debt collection agency because you defaulted on payment for your latest shipment of wallaby spleen oil, there is no reason at all to be downcast. For was it not said by Rupert the Inconsequential (1799 – 1654) that all sprouts look alike to someone who has no interest in such things? Therefore, anyway, my love let us sellotape bananas to the upper inner thighs of some semi-naked sales representatives and then sail off into the sunset on our tandem built for seven.

There are marmosets in the wainscoting once again, dear heart, but do not let us be troubled by such peccadilloes at this time of the morn. Let us get naked together and recite our favourite entries from our book of Logarithmic And Other Four Figure Tables whilst you pour pancake mix over the naked and lightly-restrained body of our very own Little Frigging-In-The-Wold cake shop manageress and I fetch the ready-warmed spoons.

Thursday, November 11, 2010

Take-Away Strumpets


Of course, there are many both in this country - and in foreign parts - who will extol the virtues of fast food, the delights of the burger with cheese, the various parts of chickens, all fried and heaped together in one convenient bucket. The village of Little Frigging itself contains a fair selection of traditional English Chinese, Indian and various other takeaways that provide the hungry late-night gourmands with something to have with their chips.

However, we in Little Frigging have taken the concept – we believe – in an exciting new direction with our Takeaway Fast-Trollop service. This is a takeaway where anyone feeling that familiar urge when out perambulating or promenading the High street after closing time can avail themselves of something to slake their rude and naughty appetites. Such as, say, a double assistant librarian with cheese, a hot spicy-thighed post mistress, or for the ladies, and/or those gentlemen with an interest in musicals and soft furnishings, the extra-hot foot-long fireman, or a warmed-up Danish plumber in chocolate sauce.

Of course, there are many other such delicacies available on the menu should anyone wish to avail themselves of our hot strumpet service, not only that, there is a free delivery service available. This delivery option is ideal for those in the village who dislike venturing out of their own homes when there is a chance – however remote - of there being ‘something good on the telly’, but would like say a cake shop manageress with her hot baps out delivered directly to their eagerly waiting laps.

Wednesday, November 10, 2010

Handy With Their Tools


Of course, it does tend to go without saying that many of the gentlemen of Little Frigging are rather adept DIY enthusiasts. People who tend to reside in rural areas are - of course - more likely to be self-reliant that their more urban counterparts. Therefore, it is not surprising that when you do come up a male resident of Little Frigging, you do often find him with his tool in hand and often about to enjoy some of the solitary pleasure that comes from a good solid bout of DIY.

Although, having said that, many of the ladies of Little Frigging, when they see that a gentleman acquaintance of theirs is about to get his tool out, or has adopted that stance that suggests that he is about to engage in a solitary act of DIY, will often enquire if they may offer him a helping hand. This can be anything from merely holding his tool for him while he gets into an awkward position, such as atop a set of step ladders, right up to and including joining him for a long screwing session or a damn good hammering. Sometimes quite possibly with both of them atop that set of stepladders, hanging from the chandelier or any other way she can assist in aiding him to come to a satisfactory conclusion for them both.

Tuesday, November 9, 2010

Postman’s Knock

One of the common sights each morning is the Little Frigging Postman, Andy De Liver, striding down the streets of the village with his bulging sack; ready to hand his package to the keenly waiting ladies of Little Frigging, who are always eager to see how big a handful he is going to thrust into their slots each day.

It is true that the ladies do like to see a man in uniform, and will always be ready to offer a hand (or two) in order to help him out of it. The ladies also like a man who comes regularly and always has a broad smile and an interestingly large package to thrust into their waiting grasp. So, Andy De Liver is always ensured of a pair of warm welcoming hands to help him unburden his sack.

Of course, some games and pastimes, such as the infamous Postman’s Knock, can often be dated back to origins far more ancient than we in the modern world realise. The figure of the postman may to us seem like an invention of modern communications. However, those of us with some knowledge of the rural past, realise that the modern postman is but a contemporary manifestation of an ancient tradition that stretches back into the mists of history. For throughout history there are tales told of young women finding themselves knocked up in the early morning by a mysterious male figure who comes and then goes, leaving them with a mysterious package, and that only months later do they realise the full significance of his strange visit.

Monday, November 8, 2010

So Many Well-Lubricated Sheep


If you were to come with me and if I were to take you to places you have never known the wot of, then that would – indeed – be that. But I’m not, so you won’t and let that be the end of the matter. We’ll say no more about it and carry on as if nothing had happened, and I hope you will have the decency to never mention the matter again, certainly not in mixed company and in the presence of so many well-lubricated sheep.

If one of those sheep had happened to overhear you mention… er… (whisper) mint sauce in such a context, we would have had a stampede on our hands. You may wish to explain to the authorities why there are so many sheep in stockings, suspenders and split-crotch panties rampaging through the streets of Little Frigging, but I – for one – do not.

Friday, November 5, 2010



"Shall I get the sausages out?"

"No. I'm not in the mood today."


"Don't look at me that way. I'm just not in the mood. Anyway, I'd tired of being splashed with hot fat. You ought to try standing next to frying sausages when you're naked. See how you like it."

"I'm sorry… I never realised."

"No. I don't think you ever did, did you?"

"No. No, I didn't. But you never said, either. I used to look forward to the sausage game, though. I thought you enjoyed it too."

"Oh, I did. I did. Back in the early days, I did. I thought I'd tried every possible sexual deviation, that is, until I met you. I never realised you could do that with sausages and just one adjustable spanner. And I never, ever, thought it could be so… so… intensely erotic. But… well, I suppose you can get used to anything, after a while. It just doesn't have that… that thrill, anymore. I no longer get that charge of excitement you get from doing something so wild, so perverse, from doing something that would shock and outrage almost every person who heard about it."

"Oh, right. So, do you fancy just an ordinary shag, then?"

"What? Oh… okay then. I'll get the mountain goat lubricated, then, shall I?"

"Yes, please."

Thursday, November 4, 2010

The Mind-Body Problem


Now, or - of course, if you feel more comfortable with the notion - then, is a moment in time, and - if you are fortunate enough to be enjoying full bodily integrity at this time - space.

Speaking of bodily integrity - and why not, after all we are all freely-consenting adults gathered together here to snigger like excited children over rude things…. So, anyway…. Bodies, then… eh? Eh? Know what I mean? Eh?

Of course, I do not - and I presume you do not too, merely see this… this… whatever it is… as a place for like-minded folk to gather together in order to discuss rural perversions in a full and frank manner (before descending into giggles and sniggering, then retiring to another place for fresh cream cakes and oral stimulation). But, I also feel that it should be a place of, and for, the mind too. I know that, in what can be best described as, the English-speaking world, matters of the mind are regarded as some of the most foul and disgusting perversions imaginable. In these places, intellectual stimulation is regarded as far more abominable than un-consensual congress with an un-lubricated aged wallaby wearing mismatched spats and a bowler hat, but here, I feel, should be a haven for those willing to let original thought pass through their minds without fear, self-castigation or feeling the need to take a thorough wash afterwards.

So, if you are the kind of pervert who enjoys having thoughts gambol and dance through your mind. If you delight their full pulchritudinous terpsichorean dalliances in your thoughts, without feeling a need to hit yourself firmly and repeatedly in the genitalia with the religious tome of your choice before taking a shotgun to your head to rid it of such untoward happenings, then this here – my splendid organ – is the ideal place for you to sit.

Wednesday, November 3, 2010

Perversions Re-Birthing Ritual


As couples get older sometimes it seems as though the lady’s melons are not quite as firm and juicy as they once were, or perhaps the gentleman may find his plums growing wrinkled and shrivelled. If so then maybe the couple should consider taking part in a Perversion Re-Birthing Ritual in order to perk up themselves and become proudly upstanding and freely swinging perverteers once more.

If a couple, or more, wish to go through a Perversion Re-Birthing Ritual, they must both first dress up in their ideal fetish gear of choice. Such things as a vicar, a supply geography teacher, an ordinance survey assistant mapmaker, a fireman or cakes shop manageress and so forth.

The putative re-birthers must, once suitably bedecked, make their way down the village High Street towards the village hall. First, they must – of course – visit the village pub The Pervert’s Appendage for the full immersive experience of ‘Taking the ale’. Only when they have sampled as many ales and ciders as they can manage (or closing time, whichever is the sooner), they then must visiting each Take-Away in the village and order their personal favourite meal from each one. All through the ceremony, they will be encouraged by the re-birthing fetish mistress ‘to feel at one with their perversions’ and to have a damn good feel of each other’s oneness too.

Once inside the Village Hall the ceremony of the re-birthing nice cup of tea and selection of cream cakes will follow, along with the Holy chanting of ‘nice weather for the time of year, considering….’ before the spiritual rubbing down with the Holy unguents takes place and the ceremonial assistant librarian takes them both in hand in turn. She will then take them over to the dildo rail where they can pick their devices of choice before being led towards a selection of fresh fruit and then onto the traditional ceremonial re-birthing all-village orgy.

Afterwards, it is guaranteed (not legally-binding) that they will once again feel at one with themselves, their perversions of choice and their partner(s) and once more be ready to face the world and its tribulations with a uplifted heart once again.

Monday, November 1, 2010

Unspoken Kitchen Utensil Misuse


Well then, if the season of your marmalade indifference turns into a Thursday of unspoken kitchen utensil misuse, then who am I to call into question your lack of under-utilised Strawberry Flavoured Assistant Bank Managers?

It may - of course - seem, at first sight, one of those questions with a too obvious answer*. But sometimes these things are not quite as straightforward as they seem, at least at first glance. That is why it is always worthwhile to look both ways when you are poised to get astride your naked lady from the cake shop.

As you may not know, the Small Rotating Device shop in the village has been taken over by a newcomer to the village, who intends to turn it into different kind of shop.

The new owner of the shop, Miss Deplorable Moistgusset, has promised those many concerned villagers that she will, however, meet all the village's Small Rotating Device needs. As well, she intends to offer a brand new Small Rotating Device service and repair facility - something the village has needed for a long time. We have not had such a thing since the sad death of old 'Mad' Ginbreath Widdlepants, our original local Small Rotating Device repairman, at the gentle age of 104 while receiving the non-too-tender ministrations of Moll Splendidthighs in a roadside ditch early on Easter Sunday morning in 1987.

So, while this new service and repair facility is no doubt reassuring there is still some trepidation in the village as to what else Miss Moistgusset intends to do with the shop. For example, there is still a - well-justified in my view - mortal fear in the village of the spread of Estate Agents into rural areas, despite the eradication program that does keep their numbers down to manageable levels. Luckily, we haven’t had an outbreak of Estate Agents in the village since 1979, when we managed to immolate the last remaining estate agent in the village in the traditional wicker man ceremony.


*In this case, Norman the arc-welding budgerigar, of course.

Friday, October 29, 2010

Professional Naughty Ladies


You may – at times – feel that you are clutching the sexual-arousal spanners of inadequacy too tightly to your fevered* breast at times, when you see the antics of the professional naughty-doings persons portrayed upon you TV or computer screen. However, it should be born in mind that those who engage in professional pornographic endeavours are not – by necessity – of the same proportions or of the same, or similar to us, in our amateur enthusiasm for the delights of the naughty, the moist, and, yes, the perverse.

No doubt someone as familiar as my reader (and her friend) with the highways and byways of these interwebnets is no doubt used to seeing, say, one of the professional naughty ladies in all her elaborately over-frontaged splendour resplendent in a wallaby grouting apron and spats about to entertain a brace of young gentlemen. Furthermore, it is often the case that both of the aforementioned gentlemen are seemingly endowed with appendages that would make a telegraph pole feel inadequate. All three of which then, without explanation or preamble, engage in a moistly energetic and gymnastically strenuous workout, may seem – on the face of it – something we should all aspire towards, if we wish to reach the peak of naughtiness that is surely our birthright as freeborn persons of a perverse nature.

But, hold (and squeeze gently), be not downhearted (or if a more normally-appendaged gentleman – downcast) by these displays. We should not feel inadequate or inferior; we should not even compare ourselves to the professionals. After all, can we not enjoy a kick-about without comparing ourselves to premiership players, or go for a drive without possessing a supercar? Just be proud of what you have got and wield it with all the dexterity and expertise you can muster**, and treat your dalliance partner(s) with care, respect and take pleasure in their debauched moistness – that is all you need to do.


*Or feathered breast if you are of the avian persuasion.

**Please read carefully. I will not hold myself (a-hem) responsible for anyone who tries to weld themselves with mustard.

Wednesday, October 27, 2010

Hairstylists And Shopping


The day begins early in the morning for the hairstylist breeder with preparing the hangover cures for the hairstylists and mucking out the discarded underwear from the hairstylist sheds, unless that is the hairstylists have been for what is known in these parts as ‘anightonthetown’. In which case, there will be little or no discarded underwear to clear up, as the minimal underwear that is traditionally worn on such excursions is swapped by the hairstylists with the young men of the town in return for ‘a damned good seeing-to’.

Once the hairstylists have been rounded up into a herd, and any stragglers gathered from where they may have collapsed on any point along the road between the town and the hairstylist sheds then they will have to go on the first of their essential shopping trips to any nearby town centre or out of town retail experience. Just as cows need milking a few times every day, hairstylists will need to go shopping, without the release of shopping the amount of money they possess to lead to what vets call, ‘a severely swollen purse’. Although, through the judicious application of their bills, a vet can quite often reduce the swelling in the purse quite considerably, it is best that it is not allowed to get into the swollen state through the use of regular shopping to keep the purse from swelling and causing severe discomfort to the hairstylist.

Some hairstylist breeders have experimented with the use of online shopping, or even the building of shopping emporia within the hairstylist sheds themselves, but these are early days and no hard and firm data has been gathered to say whether these are as good for keeping the hairstylist purses from over-swelling. However, I – for one – feel that the regular exercise of the visit to the shops, even though it can be somewhat of a chore to the breeder and his herders, does help keep the hairstylists in good condition both physically and… er… mentally. Therefore, unless there is strong evidence to the contrary I intend to continue with the practice.

Tuesday, October 26, 2010

Hunting And The Law



It sometimes happens that accordion indifference is not quite enough to remove the accordions from the vicinity of your breeding sheds completely. Sometimes, even, threatening to sell them double-glazing or life insurance is not enough to get them to flee.

So, then, I hear you ask (yes, my hearing is that good) how can I prevent accordions from taking an interest in my hairstylists, since hunting them with heavy artillery and air strikes was outlawed by our namby-pamby anti-rural so-called government back in the darkest days of the Laborg Collective.

In order to discover the best way to prevent the accordions harassing the hairstylist pens, I did do something rather risky, and some would even say foolhardy. I took a copy of the relevant government legislation, outlawing accordion hunting, down to my lawyer sties and - after making sure I carried no loose cash and that my chequebook was in a securely-fastened inner pocket - I showed the legislation to the lawyers, and then hastily withdrew before they could even enquire about my bank balance.

Only seventeen weeks later - which you must admit is pretty swift for a sty full of lawyers - they gave me back an opinion. But just as I was about to back out of the sty they came at me with bared invoices, luckily I had come prepared and managed to distract them long enough to make my escape unharmed by scattering a handful of £10 notes in front of them. While they were scrabbling for these in the mud of the sty, I got out and closed the gate securely behind me. As the howling threats of legal action for non-payment of fees faded into the distance behind me, I walked back up the hill to the hairstylist pens whilst reading the legal opinion.

Apparently, so my herd of lawyers had discovered, although heavy artillery barrages and carpet-bombing of accordions has been made illegal, it is still quite legal to smear accordions with Thick-Cut Orange Marmalade, providing it is not fired from anything not classed as artillery or dropped from any aeroplane.

This, of course, is a massive loophole in the law, as - as you probably well know - the marmalade smearing of accordions is an ages-old rural sport*. So, that is good news, for once!


*One day** I may write the definitive history of this ancient and well-loved rural pastime.

**If I remember***.

***And if I can be arsed.

Monday, October 25, 2010

Avoiding Absurdity


Those who feel that the application of either fresh cream or certain fruits is all that is necessary for the erotic garnishing of an Administrative Assistant have long balked at the use of apricots, both fresh and dried, in such a situation. Although, I – for one (or a few times anyway) – can well understand their concerns, even though I do not share them. For there is a point (or, in any well-managed and organised perverse situation, many points) when there is the danger of the perverse arts turning from what is a noble and proudly-upstanding calling into an over-elaborate charade.

By way of example, let us take nipple clamps, by their very nature there are even in the most well-attended village hall orgy a finite amount of nipples available for clamping. So, any attempt to use them to clamp elbows, chins, the back of the knee or any other non-nipple erogenous zone moves us from the perverse into the merely absurd. The same, I’m sure you will agree, applies to marmosets and lukewarm custard, especially when the loganberry jelly is not quite set.

So, think on, my little fountain pen, think on.

Friday, October 22, 2010

Arts Council Grant


I come* hot foot and moist in the groin area from a meeting with our local Arts Council representative, Phyllis Styne. She has - it seems – managed to procure a grant for our village of Little Frigging in the Wold to stage an annual Traditional Rural Perversions Fair under the auspices of the Arts Council despite the deep slashing…. savage cuts… slight grazing of the Arts council’s - and other such budgets - in the government’s recent Spending review.

Now, normally, any influx of money into the village is eagerly welcomed by all denizens of the village, whatever the source. However the Arts Council – like all bureaucracies in these benighted times – suffers under the tyrannical yoke of the dread political correctness. Therefore the grant comes with a list of conditions, provisos and other pettifogging rules and regulations about just what perversions, fetishes and so forth are permissible. Along with this, there are several sub-sections and a checklist to ensure that all Village orgies and perversion events are all fully inclusive of the ethnic mix of the area and are not prejudicial to the full involvement of all communities including the transgenered, the disabled, the terminally unorgasmic and the exceptionally over-hairy.

Such is the number of such conditions, clauses, rules and regulations that the Village Council have – after all had undergone a full sensual oils massage, happy finish and a nice cup of tea, decided to turn down the Arts Council’s free money. This, despite the facts that it was both ‘money’ and ‘free’, a concept that seems most alien to the British Rural tradition. But we on the Village Council feel that once we explain about the attempted bureaucratic interference in our free-born right to engage in each and every fully consensual perversion, then the rest of Little Frigging will understand our stance, and find it rather erotic too.


*sorry, I’ll clean it up later.

Thursday, October 21, 2010

The Chocolate-Coated Orgy


We may have all the grace and elegance of hippopotami floundering about in delicate French lace underwear whilst making a blindfolded attempt to thread a startlingly obese dromedary through the eye of a needle, but we are happy. On the other hand, at least, we can demonstrate an almost convincing simulacrum of such a state.

However, village life is not without its tribulations, even in such a rural idyll as Little Frigging. Some times, it seems just an ordinary midweek orgy in the village hall, or some common everyday sexual deviation or even a humdrum perversion is not enough to lift one out of the doldrums that the dreary day-to-day routine inevitably seems to entail. I suppose that is why we have these special occasions – these various rituals, rites and ceremonies - in the village calendar. I suppose throughout history there have been these special times when the normal, the mundane, the day to day has been subverted – a holiday from the routine, if you will.

So, at this time of year – in the village hall - we in Little Frigging have a special chocolate-coated orgy where everyone in the village immerses various interesting parts of themselves into one of the vats of a variety of chocolates placed conveniently just inside the village hall doors, before progressing on through to the main village orgy room. This – of course – adds a bit of variety to what would otherwise just be another run of the mill midweek orgy. For – as I’m sure you are aware licking slowly up the inner thigh of a dairymaid is one of life’s most pleasurable experiences. However, if that inner thigh also tastes of minty chocolate, then I’m sure you will agree it can only add immeasurably to the experience. Not only that, a 70% chocolate librarian is something that everyone should experience at least once in their lifetime. It also goes without saying that witnessing our village postmistress re-enact the infamous Cadbury’s Flake advert with a fully-upstanding Strom Thighhammer must be the high spot of anyone’s orgy-going calendar.

Wednesday, October 20, 2010

Strom Thighhammer - Outstanding Tourist Attraction


Of late LFITW has often found itself on the tourist map for many different reasons – most, of course, having to do with the village’s well-known expertise in the matters of the rude, moist and extremely naughty.

One of our biggest draws- in several senses of the word, is – of course – our proudly upstanding village blacksmith, Strom Thighhammer, a visit to his forge to see him stripped to the waist and wielding his mighty tool has become a must see for the ladies of our fine nation. Each week we have coach trips from the various Women’s Institutes, Townswomen’s Guilds, Young Mother’s associations, hen night parties, gentlemen’s soft furnishing and musical appreciation societies and many other such institutions.

In addition, many, many women love to see Strom dressed in his volunteer village fireman’s uniform, most of which also seem rather keen on helping him out of it and getting their hands on his chopper or grabbing a feel of his rather impressive hose.

This does mean that during the height of the tourist season, Strom can often find himself overcome and tired of his obligations. Of course, professional that he his Strom always makes sure that each and every lady desirous of his personal attention goes away fully satisfied, even if it does leave him totally limp and completely spent out at the end of the day.

So, if you are a lady and/or gentleman who would like a hands-on demonstration of Strom’s impressive prowess, please book early to avoid disappointment.

Tuesday, October 19, 2010

The Virtues of Wipe-Clean Plastic Coating


Don't worry my little kitchen utensil, it will not take long for the smaller Welsh Canteen Manageress to removed the glockenspiel from the intimate parts of the gazelle. Still, it is one of those things that always seem to happen around this part of the week, don't you think? So, to be honest, I am surprised that you seem to have made such a fuss about it this time.

But, hush now, it is time for us to move on and speak of more important things. Did you remember to bring the lever-arch file? I have the new diagrams here. We must not get them stained with ketchup this time. Already the instructions for attaching a battery-powered marmoset to the traffic warden have been rendered almost illegible due to various condiment stains.

It seems that the use of a wipe-clean plastic coating would have been - as you rightly said at the time - a wise and prudent investment. I am both chastened and humbled by your perspicacity and humbly request your forgiveness for my unnecessarily high-handed dismal of your suggestion at the time.

However, we are both older and wiser - if a little less moist and supple - now. We can rest assured - as we look back on our lives so far, my little kitchen utensil - that we have done as well as could be expected in sometimes rather trying circumstances.

Monday, October 18, 2010

The Erotic Underwear Catalogues Of Our Souls


Deep down towards the very back pages of the erotic underwear catalogues of our souls lies one particular article we do not really like to refer to, which holds our deepest, darkest desires. It is that place where it is even possible for us – however briefly – to entertain the erotic possibilities of a politician, a cheeseburger or even a delphinium (suitably restrained, of course).

There are so many things that haunt us when we are out in the everyday world, going about our normal perversions with all the enthusiasm – and requisite moistness – we can muster. Normally, of course these dark desires are so far away, almost as if they belong to some other person, some other extremely perverted soul, who wallows in a far deeper morass than we know the wot of. Sometimes I think these are the very demons that must torment those – usually of a loudly professed religious bent – who seem obsessed with the rude and naughty doings of others of a more adventurous nature than the censorious busybody who so loudly proclaims that all except he (or even, she) are wallowing in some slough of despond.

But deep, deep – even deeper - down, we know in our hearts of hearts that deviation, perversion and even just mere extreme naughtiness of a more moderate and modest moistness and rudeness is indeed a noble , proud and – quite often – upstanding tradition that we should hold close to our throbbing hearts and cherish.

Friday, October 15, 2010

Rural Wisdom


Of course, everyone knows the old country saying about whether it is better to have a bird in the hand or your hand on her bush, as well as the one about how hard it is finding a dairymaid in a haystack if you put her down for a moment anywhere within a five-mile radius of Grand Uncle Stagnant. There is also the one about not counting your assistant librarians before they have made a frank appraisal of your volume, and that good old bit of folk wisdom of ‘Many A Mickle Makes A Muckle’ – whatever the fuck that means.

All of which just goes to show that the old country ways are steeped in wisdom (as well as copious amounts of strong ale and cider). Therefore, for the modern world to turn its back upon these centuries of experience in the rude and naughty arts is to, as they say, ‘cut off your peep-hole bra to spite your split-crotch panties’ and other such examples of hard-won folk wisdom.

The modern world does like to think – laughable as it seems to us who know better – that it has invented the art of the perverse itself, little acknowledging the fact that gathering a brace of hot-buttered strumpets a pair of wellies and a grouting trowel can be dated back to the times of the Viking invasions, if not before.

So, modern urban dweller, just think as you ease yourself into you full-body rubber traffic warden’s outfit, people in the rural areas of this land have been dressing up as Traffic wardens for erotic purposes since the days of the Norman Invasion. Consequently, therefore, there really is nothing new under the sun – except, of course, that strange purple outgrowth just below Old Feebletrousers’ knee that has the medical profession of three continents utterly baffled.

Thursday, October 14, 2010



[What a lovely pair of tits]

Of course, during the autumn months there is nothing nicer for the ladies of Little frigging to be out and about the lanes, paths and by-ways around Little Frigging, getting their hands on as many nuts as they can. Of course, it goes without saying that many denizens of the area, now that the falling leaves make a deep carpet on the ground, enjoy a good prodding through the undergrowth.

It is often surprising what warm creatures; snug in their fur can be brought to upstanding awakefulness or offer a warm moist welcome when the hand is thrust into the dark underneath regions.

However, it must be said that the colder weather can make the ladies slightly disappointed at what nature’s bounty offers them when they reach out a gloved hand to take what their gentleman companions can offer to them, soon though, with a bit of vigorous application matters can soon be brought to a far more satisfactory head.

For the gentlemen too, the season does seem to bring back the eagerly awaited blue tits and red breasts without which the autumn and winter months would not be the same. Consequently, many a gentleman can been seen taking himself in hand in a nearby hedgerow to enjoy the sight of these wonders of nature until he is overcome and has to creep limply away as not to disturb the cavortings of these wondrous creatures.

Wednesday, October 13, 2010

Law and Order: LFITW


There was consternation throughout the entire village of Little Frigging last week when our village policeman, PC Ghonnemadd, was forced to caution Old Feebletrousers for a breach of the peace. Old Feebletrousers was charged with ‘Engaging in an unlawful perversion in the company of a brace of dairymaids whilst nominally in control of his mobility scooter on the Queen’s Highway, in direct contravention of the Naughty Doings on the Highways Act of 1947.’

Of course, by the time the case had come to the magistrates court, Old Feebletrousers and the dairymaids had already eaten the cream cakes which were going to provide the vital part of the prosecution’s evidence, and someone - no-one knows who – had caused the mysterious disappearance of the mallard duck too.

However, several people have noted since that Grand Uncle Stagnant mentioned – in the snug of the Pervert’s Appendage – that he had roast duck for his Sunday lunch last week and the postmistress has several new feathers in her erotic devices cupboard.

Our local magistrate – Lord Mucky-Puffin – also had no choice but to dismiss the entire case when it was revealed that PC Ghonnemadd himself had been discovered with the two defendant dairymaids around the back of the post office last Tuesday. They were, apparently, discovered engaged in an intimate act utilising the PC’s truncheon inserted into a strap-on attachment by one of the dairymaid whilst the other dairymaid, dress as a Police Inspector, was greasing up the good policeman with a economy-sized tub of badger-spleen lubricant in readiness for her associate.

Lord Mucky-Puffin issued a stern warning to the policeman that if he is ever found in such a position again the dairymaids will severally reprimand him – this time with out the benefit of the lubricant - that is unless he invites Lord Mucky-Puffin along too and brings the roller-skates.

Tuesday, October 12, 2010

Wind-Assisted Perversions


There are not – surprising as it may seem to one of your experience, casual disregard of underwear, wit and erudition – that many English rural perversions that make much use of the kite. This is despite the sometimes quite windy conditions that can blow the traditional English summer drizzle right into your face when trying to perform some of the more tricky perversions. For example that old familiar one involving a brace of dairymaids , a leek and assistant librarian, two shuttlecocks and a member of the clergy, thereby forcing you to pause midway through the Full Reverse Cheesemonger in order to wipe the dampness from your goggles.

The kite, of course, can be used as a way of removing your pervertee’s clothing beyond their reach and to provide wind assistance to some of the more energetic hillside-based perversions. Here I am especially thinking of such as the fully-consensual cheese roll, the strumpet in the dell and the uphill climb – for those gentlemen of that persuasion who enjoy prising each other in and out of tight-fitting clefts.

All in all then, if you are out and about on a typically bracing English day, it is probably wise then to leave the kite at home and use the space on your perversion utility belt for something which will be more use, such as a flask of nice hot tea with a choice selection of biscuits.

Monday, October 11, 2010

A Firm Grasp of Your Plums


The goats are hiding in the azaleas again, Maureen. I suppose we only have ourselves to blame, after all, what is the point of all that custard when the game is afoot, or at least rapidly progressing down the left shin towards the aforementioned foot.

Still, as they say, we’ll always have Tewksbury. That is if you can remember where you put it.

I may have said all that many, many, times before, but it doesn’t mean that there is nothing new that can be learnt from it; especially if you have an accurate protractor and a decent set of compasses.

Now, never let it be though that I do not always advise you who come here often, to look both ways before crossing an assistant librarian, especially when she has such a firm grasp of your plums. Never again will I quibble about her cross-referencing skills, especially when she is not-so-casually, oiling up the largest of her strap-on accoutrements in such a provocative manner, before firmly insisting I to take a closer look at some of the titles on her lower shelves.

Let’s just say I learnt something quite startling about volumes and the amount I could take in that morning, as well as learning that carrying all those books about makes librarians deceptively strong and able to keep a hold on you even though you feel she has gone as in-depth as you can comfortably manage on that occasion.

Still, in the end – and it very much was – I was still able to walk away afterwards – more or less.

Friday, October 8, 2010

What A Splendid Part


Here and now, or – if you prefer – over there and a week next Tuesday is the time when we all must consider the state of our bejewelled orgy kneepads and whether they will last another orgy season or not, especially considering how often the spaniels of your loquaciousness have gambolled across the lawns of your desire this year.

‘But, hold!’ you may very well say, and – if you look carefully you will see that I am already holding myself in readiness for any such ejaculation on your part*. ‘How do you know about what my spaniels of loquaciousness do or do not do across the lawns of my desire?’

I – for one, or if you are in the mood, for two or three – will then just smile my sweetest smile that hints at all the secrets I am privy to. Then, and only then endeavour to change the subject, and – quite possibly – your undergatherings to something a little more risqué for the time of year, without of course running the danger of exposing your wherewithal to the dangers of a sudden sharp frost.

Then we can think about going to water the lupins.


*And may I take this opportunity to say what a splendid part it is.

Thursday, October 7, 2010

Mysterious Vibrations


Of course, being a Fully-Qualified Member of Her Majesty’s Perversion Inspectorate means that I am often asked to investigate many perverse goings-on in the general vicinity of Little Frigging. Then – if necessary – do all that I can to make sure that they comply with the many EU and UK directives issued by the relevant authorities intended to put as much bureaucratic difficulties in the way of people wishing to go about their own business in their own way as possible.

However, being a proudly-upstanding British pervert of the old school (uniform optional) I believe that people are quite capable of cocking things up on their own without the meddlesome interference of some bureaucratic jobsworth with a multitude of boxes to tick on some purposeless form that will only moulder away deep within the confines of some pointless filing system.

However, be that as it may, last week I was called to investigate the matter of some mysterious vibrations detected in the Experimental Deep Custard Bath Perversions Laboratory at the University of Lower Crotchstaine (formerly the tool shed at the back of the Lower Crotchstaine Antiques Shop).

Of course, any such perturbations of the space-time continuum that can cause ripples in a bath full of custard can cause many problems with any perversion about to utilise other forms of liquid, semi-liquid or colloid. This can be especially problematic if it is a perversion about to be undertaken under strict laboratory conditions, especially if it involves the use of a laboratory coat, a retort and a pair of goggles.

However, on entry into the laboratory I was able to see for myself the ripples in the custard bath, which were playing havoc with the experiment underway at the time. This was an experiment to see just how aroused an assistant librarian can get when immersed naked into a bath full of warm custard with varying numbers of local volunteer firemen firmly ready for action, with their custard ladles at attention, placed at the cardinal points of the compass around the edges of the custard-filled bath. This is – quite obviously - vital research and of great strategic import, especially considering that it is rumoured the Chinese are close to achieving the optimum fireman/ assistant librarian ratio in their similar experiments in The People’s Glorious Experimental Warm Custard Facility in Shanghai.

Luckily, though, it took me only a matter of moments to discover that one of the laboratory assistants was on her tea-break. Apparently, as I discovered she was spending that time, rather than having a cup of tea, a cheese roll and a natter about the poor quality of last night’s TV, lying on her back with her feet up against the Experimental Custard Bath, whilst intimately engaged with her Throbbing Weasel 90000 set on extra-maximum naughtiness speed.

After, of course, taking a few photos of her – for my… er... a-hem… Official Records, I gave her a stern ticking off and received a firm promise from her not to engage in such acts again, not without informing me first anyway, and a promise to see me around the back of the Laboratory bike sheds in her lunch hour for a full dressing down.

Case solved, later that afternoon, I headed back to Little Frigging, proud that I’d done my bit for this great nation of ours, whilst making a mental note that I must remember to give the laboratory assistant her knickers back next time we meet.

Wednesday, October 6, 2010

Little Frigging In The Wold – The Computer Game


Last week, having exploited many of the more lucrative methods of relieving tourists of their money, the Little Frigging Village Council decided to explore other revenue-creating avenues. After an extended session of sensual massage and cream cakes – the council decided on examining the possibility of creating a Little Frigging-themed computer game.

Loosely based on the best selling game Grand Theft Auto – Vice City, Grand Uncle Stagnant – Very Naughty Village will be a free-form action adventure game set in the village of Little Frigging and its environs. The player will play Grand Uncle Stagnant in his quest to get to the village hall in time for the Saturday Evening Orgy.

On his way to the village hall, Grand Uncle Stagnant will have to complete many sub tasks.

For example, starting in the hayloft of his smallholding with his weapon in his hand he must first leave a brace of dairymaids fully satisfied with the dexterity with which he wields his tool and the accuracy of his shooting in order to set the player’s skill level from Virgin to Totally Debauched before he sets off to face the ordeal of the cake shop.

In the cake shop, Grand Uncle Stagnant must admire the baps that each of the cake shop assistants offers him, whilst still providing each of them with copious amounts of fresh cream from his proffered weapon for their delectation and delight, whilst also making sure he samples their apple turnovers and peach melbas until they are completely satisfied and he can then move on to meet the End of Level One Guardian – the Post Mistress.

After a frantic 25 minute Post Office queue experience which only those with the requisite wrist dexterity in the use of their joysticks will survive, Grand Uncle Stagnant comes (several times) face to… er… well, not face with the Upper Thyghspreader All-County Face-Sitting champion, the Little Frigging post mistress, Labia Entanglements herself, as he lies bound to the Post Office counter during Half-Day Closing.

If the player manage to get free from the post office before the Post Mistress takes his last post, he must make his escape across a field full of free-range hairstylists wanting to discuss forthcoming holiday arrangements with him, and then traverse the lawyer sties carrying a bag full of money, without allowing any of the lawyers to extract any fees from him, before getting back to the village library where he will have his volume taken in hand by the librarian and her assistant who will endeavour to give him a fully-catalogued entry into their systems.

Once back out of the library, Grand Uncle Stagnant has a race against Closing-Time to collect pint after pint in the snug of the Pervert’s Appendage, before the landlord throws him out and he has to swim the duck pond, to escape from the clutches of the Folk Singers before they cider him to death.

Finally, at his climax of the game, Grand uncle Stagnant has to fight a duel against the wrathful Strap-On Sisters, both out to pound him into the ground with their fearsome weaponry that both can wield with pinpoint accuracy. Only when he has fully overcome both sisters, leaving them lying fully satiated and incapable of any comeback, can he finally win the game.

Tuesday, October 5, 2010

Inclement Weather and Fetish Gear


Now not many people like to wield their erotic devices when the weather is somewhat inclement, especially whilst wearing wellies. However, for some this is the very peak of enlightened sexual naughtiness, especially if it also involves an umbrella and their lubricating unguent of choice.

Of course, as the year progresses towards the winter and the possibility of snow, it becomes advisable to always include a snow shovel in one’s outdoor fetish gear and erotic devices rucksack, just in case a semi-restrained strumpet or two becomes overcome whilst trying to negotiate a snowdrift when wearing little more than a bobble hat and mittens. Snow shoes – or – in extreme cases – skis, can also be used should a modicum of chastisement be required to warm up any exposed areas should the weather turn chilly.

However, use of a suitably-lubricated penguin or walrus should be left to those well-versed in such matters, especially as the chocolate on the penguin is likely to melt should at be used in some of the warmer nether-regions when undertaking a suitable perverted art or practice, especially involving a fully warmed-up post mistress.

As for the polar bear, just make sure it does fall off the mint, or it will become very annoyed indeed, and it is very difficult to flee from an enraged polar bear across snow-covered wastes whilst wearing bondage gear – take it from one who knows only too well.

Monday, October 4, 2010

Kitchen Dalliances


Well, once you have your brace of dairymaids well in hand, it is then time to consider whether the colander is really necessary, or whether, instead, you can find some other suitable receptacle for your pasta. It is advisable, at this point in time, to get one of the dairymaids to check that you have achieved the right constituency to take the proceedings further forward by requesting one of the dairymaids to take it into her mouth to check that it is – indeed – firm enough. If not the dairymaids will be – I’m sure – more than willing to lend a hand or two to help you achieve the stiffness required, especially if they would like you to add some fresh cream to their baps.

At this time of year, many of those well-practised in kitchen dalliances will find their minds turning to the virtues of having a hot-buttered strumpet or two disporting themselves in front of an open fire for one’s delectation. There is – of course – nothing wrong with this and it has now being conclusively proved medically that there is absolutely no danger of anyone going blind if they do find themselves thinking of such eventualities too often. However, I am informed that it can lead, sometimes, to severe wrist ache and a tendency to over-exert one’s self. So, as in all other such cases moderation is advised.

Thursday, September 30, 2010

Off The Beaten Track


Now, as Little Frigging lies somewhat off the beaten track* you may think that we do not know as much as sophisticated urbanites about the latest fashionable perversions and deviations. This is where you would be very much mistaken. As it happens the University of Little Frigging (formerly the large cowshed) has just carries out some groundbreaking research which proves conclusively that rural perverts are way ahead of urban and suburban deviates. Significantly, this is in both their willingness to try new ways and methods, and – more importantly – in discovering and inventing new activities, deviations, kinks and perversions – with not all of them as the stereotype has it – involving sheep or the use of mud-encrusted wellies….

Er… hang on, I just remembered I have something very important to do over at the sheep dip… and I think I’ll probably need my wellies too….

So, anyway… er…. See you tomorrow.

*Although for those who enjoy such dalliances there is a small clearing, off the main roadway set aside for activities ranging from a few strikes with a light cane right up to an old oak tree suitable for complete bondage and flogging with various whips and so forth. There is also a small fetish hire booth manned and or/womaned throughout the hours of daylight from late April through to Late September where all the necessary items from handcuffs and gags right up to domestic ungulate restraints and social worker immobilising straps and ropes, can be hired for a small charge, if you have brought none of your own.

Wednesday, September 29, 2010

High Visibility Fetish Gear


Now that we have seen the last of the summer days, the weather here in Little Frigging has – as in much of the UK – taken a turn for the better(ish). Consequently, we have scheduled a few more outdoor orgies on the Little Frigging village green for the next few weekends. However, as the nights are drawing in, we have – of course – had to break out some of the high visibility fetish gear, usually only utilised on some of the more challenging field perversion trips undertaken by the Little Frigging Outward Bound Perversion club.

The High-Visibility brightly-luminous kagool is, of course, a very familiar item of fetish gear, common wherever people with a deep interest in outdoor perversions gather. So, of course, most - if not all - attendees at these late summer/early autumn orgies will be wearing one, especially the peep-hole version most suited to erotic activities, with – of course – the optional bondage clasps, integrated nipple-clamps and the excellent tea-making facilities contained within the matching all-perversion-proof rucksack.

Walking boots too are also highly recommended for the damper conditions faced at this time of year, especially for the women who enjoy putting their foot down and the menfolk who like to be underneath them when they do, as the more usual high-heeled fetish boot can often get stuck in the mud and can – therefore – take ages to lick clean… I’m told.

So, then all-in-all it promises to be an excellent late summer/early autumn outdoor orgy scene and I do hope you all come as often as you can.

Friday, September 24, 2010

The Etiquette Of Sex Utensil Placement


Nowadays, there is very little opprobrium directed towards those who would consider not placing their sex spatulas towards the rear of their personal sex utensil drawers as so often recommended in the manuals and instruction leaflets.

Of course, those of us well versed in the etiquette of sex utensil placement may consider such behaviour as to be so far beyond the pale that it automatically places its practitioners right outside our own milieu and unlikely to ever be invited to attend even a village hall orgy in Lower Spadgecock*.


*And we all know that the denizens of Lower Spadgecock are no better than they ought to be. There have been rumours that some of them have been seen sporting some of the cheapest and tackiest of fetish gear that would make even a Member of Parliament blush at its poor quality and – possibly- to think twice about the advisability of publishing a photograph of themselves sporting it on their constituency website.

Thursday, September 23, 2010

Pancakes and Perversions


Of course, no all-village orgy in the Little Frigging village hall is ever complete without a fair number of pancakes being available for all attendees during the half-time break before changing ends. Consequently, most of the ladies of the village have over the years of attending the village orgies have therefore become quite adept at tossing, which of course makes them very popular with the men of the village.

The men often eagerly gather around the ladies once a tossing session has been announced to study the diverse tossing techniques of the various ladies, their wrist action and to offer the ladies any pointers of their own which they think the ladies can make use of during the tossing session.

Those of you who are familiar with pancakes and the tossing of them will no doubt be familiar with the fact that after tossing the ladies, and possibly even the menfolk too, are apt to get rather sticky, especially if there is any overflowing of the gentleman’s topping once the lady has finished tossing for him.

However, most attendees regard this as – at best – a minor inconvenience and often the ladies appreciate a taste of whatever the menfolk can offer them once the tossing has been completed to their mutual satisfaction.

Friday, September 17, 2010

Orgy Dalliance Request Etiquette – A Pointer


Now as you approach your putative first village orgy partner of the evening, it is only polite for the gentleman to show his appreciation of the lady by being both a fully upstanding gentleman and by thrusting himself forward just enough to get her attention. Although, in more polite circles it is regarded as somewhat bad form to offer it to her between two slices of bread as some kind of ‘novelty’ sausage sandwich.

Although, I have heard that some of those soft southerners do like to offer to rest it between the ladies baps if she is already occupied with another attendee when the gentleman comes to call on her. However, the lady should herself bear in mind that it is often regarded as impolite for her to reply to any orgy dalliance request if her mouth is already full.

It should also be remembered that if several of you are about to engage in a more mathematically complex dalliance featuring three or more putative partners, it is considered polite for each attendee to always show their working. It should also be remembered that for anything more geometrically-complex that a threesome it is advisable to use a ruler and a protractor, although the use of a pair of compasses can sometimes be hazardous, especially if no-one there wants to feel a little prick right in the middle of proceedings.

Thursday, September 16, 2010

Over-Flanking in an Inter-Village Orgy Match


Of course, pogo-stick based perversions are all well and good, and there are occasions, especially for the more elderly or infirm attendees at an all-village orgy, when a skateboard (with or without the watermelon) can be utilised in an erotic context, providing – of course - that the post mistress is wearing the rubber gloves and the mallard duck is not indisposed.

However, and this is an interesting point (you can study it in depth later, but let me put it back into my bejewelled fetish shorts for the time being), the use of roller skates is not recommended for an outdoor orgy. This is especially true of an Inter-Village Orgy match if the pitch is muddy, as manoeuvring in the tight corners can be severely restricted if the rolling skates get bogged down in the mud, as our own Little Frigging Rear Centre Fondler, Labia Entanglements, discovered to her cost when the Titten Growper forwards rear-ended her without warning, leaving her completely overcome by their flanking manoeuvre.

Of course, by then we were down by a goal, three touch ups and a multiple orgasm with only fifteen minutes of the match left. Someone on the coaching squad recommended bringing up the yo-yos, but I pooh-poohed the yo-yos and suggested that we make use of the Pineapple Inquiry on their forwards. An old trick I know, but whilst their forwards were busy dealing with the pineapples our leading goal scorer Strom Thighhammer was able to go down on the Tittten Growper wicket keeper, then mesmerise her with the dexterity of his manoeuvres in order to bring about the equalising multiple orgasm just as the ref was blowing his final whistle of the match.

Wednesday, September 15, 2010

Orgies and Innovations


Even in the most mundane of ordinary weekly orgies at the village hall it is incumbent upon the participants therein to at least make some kind of effort to make some kind of innovations to their fetish gear or come up with some kind of new deviation or just a new kink to prevent the event becoming too stale.

I know there are some who believe that the more straightforward the dalliance, the more ‘authentic’ it is. Nevertheless, I believe this shows a very naïve view of humanity. From the archaeological record it seems that even the earliest of our proto-human ancestors was apt to notice that various items around them - both naturally-formed and man-made - had certain characteristics which made them useful for helping make those slow evenings around the camp fire pass in more interesting ways. This was even before the times when there was anything recognisable as a postmistress or assistant librarian as a putative dalliance partner, and extra-virgin badger spleen oil for use as an unguent or lubricant was virtually unknown.

Many of course, date the inception of human perversity from the first use of the sherry trifle in an erotic context by the Ancient Greeks. However, as alluded to above, recent archaeological research has now firmly pooh-poohed this notion, especially since the discovery of an almost complete Bronze Age fireman’s outfit – obviously meant for fetishistic purposes was discovered in a excavation pit near Little Frigging itself.

Tuesday, September 14, 2010

A Helping Hand or Two


Occasionally your dairymaids may not be able to bring themselves back to themselves, especially after a mid-morning dalliance in the hayloft with Grand Uncle Stagnant, even more so if he can manage to get his wellies off beforehand.

Of course, as every fully experienced rural dweller will tell you all it needs is to apply a raspberry jelly - or if it is too early in the spring, a lime–flavoured one may be substituted – to the inner thighs of the dairymaids. This is all that is required to have them up and eager to handle whatever you thrust in front of them with that impressive dexterity and manual strength that makes dairymaids so popular wherever rural males gather when in need of a helping hand or two.

However, a word of warning, it is never advisable to attempt the same trick with an assistant librarian, as fruit flavoured jelly applied to the inner thighs is apt to make a librarian look at one somewhat askance. This is especially true when you slap down your volume for her perusal and she discovers that it is well overdue, thus preventing you from taking it out again until she is fully satisfied that your withdrawal will not be too premature.

Monday, September 13, 2010

Season of Mellow Orgies and Perversions


Now that autumn is upon us, it seems that the weather will be turning against having the open-air village orgies out on the village green in the evenings. It is therefore time to turn over a new leaf, especially when certain ladies of the village incorporate leaves into their costumes for the Annual Little Frigging Village Hall Fancy Undress Autumn Orgy.

Costumes made of leaves have always proved popular at this event, including the time that our local blacksmith Strom Thighhammer had to use the gigantic leaf from the vicar’s prize rhubarb in order to cover all eventualities. Even then after several of the village ladies had taken it upon themselves to check that the stalk had been removed from the leaf, often in quite an interesting and interrogative manner. This soon gathered a large and appreciative audience, while the ladies themselves confessed that they themselves were very appreciative of Strom’s largesse.

Of course, there is often much more to these events than even Strom’s rather substantial contribution. After all the year’s crop of cider apples need to be pressed and, involving all the denizens of the village and a large barrel of apples is a sure way to get past those awkward introductory moments of the first orgy of a new season. Although, by the end of it the apples are more than well pressed and a bumper cider production year is almost guaranteed.

Thursday, September 9, 2010

The Great Fire Of Little Frigging


One of the most significant moments in the history of Little Frigging in the Wold, is – of course – The Great Fire of Little Frigging. Even today, some 350 years or so after the event it is still much debated when the denizens of the village are gathered together in The Pervert’s Appendage, and we have run out of more interesting things to talk about.

Of course, it helps that the eyes of one casting about the snug of The Pervert’s Appendage for a conversational gambit cannot help, if their eyes are still able to focus correctly at that point in the evening’s libations, to notice the display case on the far wall. There, proudly displayed is the actual 17th century beer mat that is the sole surviving artefact of that conflagration still known as the Great Fire of Little Frigging.

The story of that never to be forgotten evening, began just as the evening’s dusk was starting to spread and the hairstylist herders were calling in at the village inn in order to slake their thirsts before heading homeward. As you should already know hairstylist farming was still in its infancy in those days, and so there was often a great deal of discussion between the various herdsmen and breeders about how best to look after these – at the time – poorly-understood creatures. Such was the amount of discussion that took place at the Inn that several of the herdsmen usually had to be carried home by their fellows when the Inn inevitably ran out of beer that evening.

Apparently, one of the herders still almost able to stand after one of these discussion, thought that a midnight snack would be a good idea, so he set about cooking whatever he could find in the cupboard – all in the same frying pan. However, such was his sheer exhaustion from the intense debating earlier that evening, he soon fell asleep and one of the socks he had – in his ‘exhausted’ state mistaken for a rasher of bacon fell from the pan onto the rush matting.

In a matter of moments the whole village was aflame with women, children and some of the more comely ewes fleeing hither and yon from the cottages in panic. Fortunately, though, several of the herders were still awake and – according to the Little Frigging Chronicle of the time – were ‘still replete with the significant amounts of ale they had supped that evening. So forming themselves into a row, lifting their smocks and pulling down their breeches’ they extinguished the fire in record time.

Afterwards, the village council did think about asking the renowned architect Steve Burps to redesign and rebuild the entire village, especially the vital pub. But – in the end – no-one could be arsed to bother.

Wednesday, September 8, 2010

About The Use of the Cabbage


Of course, use of any underarm techniques on the orgy pitch – even amongst fully-consenting dairymaids – is often pooh-poohed by the cognoscenti as being in poor form, especially when the custard is introduced from the pavilion end just in time to immerse the assistant librarian before the banana is peeled.

Now, those of you familiar with the way that an inter-village orgy develops in the closing minutes of a tight match; or even those of you who have engaged in in-depth study of the photographs or videos of such a match will – in all probability – be wondering about the use of the cabbage. This is often the case, especially if the postmistress has been caught by the rear fondlers in an offside trap, just as she was about to apply the raspberry jelly to the inner thighs of the wicketkeeper.

However, to those of us more used to the casual and informal nature of the village hall orgy, such technical breaches of what is sometimes regarded as the spirit of the game are not to be taken too seriously. That is of course, unless it is the opposing team that are engaging in such underhand tactics, in which case they should be booted out of the cup and the league forthwith without having any recourse to an appeal.

Tuesday, September 7, 2010

Puritans and Perversions – A Warning from History


Of course there have been times during the rather excessive periods of history in Britain’s glorious past when all that is great and noble in rural perversions has been – to say the least – looked upon somewhat askance by the more censorious regimes that it has been this country’s misfortune to suffer.

As every learning-enabled junior citizenship unit is – no doubt – aware, the period immediately after the English Civil war was a period when all forms of dalliance – perverse or not – was frowned upon by the puritans who took charge of the country during those dark and sad days. Puritans – as we know – eke out what joy they can from their sad constrained lives by making sure that everyone else is having as little fun as is possible, preferably whilst wearing very uncomfortable and extremely itchy underwear whilst doing so.

Under the puritans, even such benign pastimes as Pass the Watermelon, Mixed Consensual Sprout Fondling and Late Night Ewe Appreciation were banned as well as more salacious activities such as maypole dancing (much to the chagrin of Mr May who looked forward to having several of the village’s most comely maidens cavorting themselves in a wanton manner around his proudly-erect pole.

However, such is the sheer bloody-mindedness of the British populace, such interference in the doings of the population, especially when they were doing each other was soon brought to a halt, by the speedy restitution of the monarch Charlie Two, who took it upon himself to bring about the ending of the puritan era though his deft handling of Nell Gwynne’s oranges.

Monday, September 6, 2010

Auditing Your Vegetable Rack


Now, it just so happens that the goats that covet exclusive use of all our sunbeds have laughed once too often at the underside of my second-best badger-irking cue. Now this is not the sort of thing one expects, not even near Droitwich or Luton, and, as for the people who live there… well, do I have to mention the state of their envelopes, or not?

But still, still but.

The cheese is here!

I have seen the state of your bananas and therefore I need no longer wear the cardboard trousers when shopping for tinned pilchards, not any more, not now the nurse know where to apply the ointment*.

However, from the way you have adopted the stance of someone about to fill in a government census form using a wax crayon and the cast list from an early episode of Crossroads, I’m sure I don’t need to audit your vegetable rack, not until next Thursday anyway.

Therefore, I’ll bid you good day.


*Just outside Macclesfield

Friday, September 3, 2010

Muffs 2010


As you are no doubt well aware, it is less than a fortnight to Muffs 2010 - THE show for displaying Show Hairstylists, Lawyer Trials, and, of course, to compete for Best of Breed Feral Folk Singers. Consequently, I will have to announce another hiatus, and admit that I am going to have to have my organ on hold while we get on with the preparations for the show.

Although, we last won Muff's Hairstylist of the Year back in 2008, this year we are quietly confident that our current Best of Breed contender - Britney Braindead of Mellonfronts IV - is in with a very good chance of getting at least one award.

However, there is always the possibility of a pause long enough from hairstylist grooming, lawyer obedience lessons or folk singer beard maintenance long enough to enable me to keep you updated of our progress.

So, anyway, then, keep your eye on my organ in case of any developments or spontaneous ejaculations and I hope to see you soon.

Thursday, September 2, 2010

Causing Undue Distress To A Nearby Geography Teacher


Now as we make our way towards the smaller of the two Social Norms and his warmly-proffered appendage, I would suggest you take a firm grasp on his wherewithal, before letting go of the appendage in question, as it can make the goat somewhat frisky and Little Norm is well known throughout the locality for his nervousness around overly-stimulated ruminants, ever since that incident down at the Lower Crotchstaine Shepherd’s Bring-A–Sheep party, involving the chicken vol-au-vent, a stick of celery and the overly-firm grasp of the village church’s head bell-ringer, which resulted in Little Norm walking with a limp for the next three days, whilst being followed everywhere by a enthusiastically-masticating ewe with a wicked glint in her eye.

Now, as you know, the jelly is not quite set yet, so if you could leave the librarian to come up to temperature as we wait for the custard to approach the correct consistency. Then we can see about applying it to the inner thighs of any eager headmistress in the near vicinity of our tandem, without causing undue distress to any nearby geography teacher.

Wednesday, September 1, 2010

Cost Accountant Hopscotch Eve

Now don't you think that it is about time for us to take the wombat back to the shop, Maureen? I know I said I wanted it use it in the preparation for the Cost Accountant Hopscotch Eve decorations. But the wheel has fallen off and - consequently - the attachment can no longer be utilised in the manner so inadequately described on pages 9 - 2078 of the manual, in what appears to be some undiscovered new dialect of a language that bears only a superficial relationship to the English language that we know and love so well.


Yes, I do know that your mother is, indeed, due to arrive in a few days, my little chainsaw. I already have the bonfire prepared. This year there will be no need to waste time constructing an effigy.

I know it may seem unnecessarily harsh, or even cruel (although, there is very strong scientific evidence that Mothers in Law do not feel pain in the same way that we humans do), but it is essential for us, and… well… for her too. I'm sure that if she ever did stop complaining about the world in general and us in particular long enough she would - eventually - realise that she is putting us through so much unnecessary and unwelcome pain.

So, in the long run, it is probably the kindest thing we can do for her, and for us too. We must not let our natural sympathy for her plight blind us to the full extent of the legacy that she will leave for us… I mean… you. We owe it to her to use that money, and to use it to buy all those luxuries that she always denied herself.

See, you do agree, don't you? It is the kindest thing.

Tuesday, August 31, 2010

A Spot of DIY


As you may well have gathered, when the ladies of the village are unavailable, there is nothing the gentlemen residents of Little Frigging enjoy more than taking their tools in hand and engaging in a spot of DIY. The men of Little Frigging like nothing better than taking a firm grasp of their tools and working away at the job in hand until their tools are hot and throbbing in their hands and they can then go about finishing off the job with a few deft flicks of the wrist.

However, many of the ladies of the village have now taken it upon themselves to watch the men and to take a keen observational interest in what – up until now – has been regarded by the menfolk as a rather solitary pleasure.

This is – of course – not to say that the men of the village are overly distracted by the womanly attention. As some of you ladies here present may know, many gentlemen do like to engage a lady’s interest in their DIY activities, although -quite often – the lady herself may not be willing to engage in any such frank perusal on little or no prior acquaintanceship, and so such men are regarded as being beyond the pale, especially if they engage in the activity far too often for their general health.

Consequently all such men should cease and desist such activities unless they have the express approval and consent of the lady – or ladies – in attendance, such as we in the Little Frigging DIY club are fortunate enough to possess.

Friday, August 27, 2010

Open-Air Reinvigoration


But even if the cake shop manageress that you are intimately entwined with does not object to the erotic placement of a bag of frozen peas on her exposed erogenous zone, other shoppers in the supermarket may – at least – look somewhat askance at your dalliance. That is what comes in having a society that places both the erotic and the perverse in the private sphere, when it would be much better having these things out in the open. This is why the British rural village orgy has become a commonplace, and why the orgy on the common is so popular too.

There is nothing getting oneself out in the open-air for a reinvigoration of those appetites and needs that have been so unfairly sublimated to other aspects of modern life, such as I alluded to in the opening of this article.

I strongly believe that far more people should do far more to include the erotic and – yes, indeed – the perverse into their shopping trips. If nothing else it does make the wait in the checkout queue less of a tedious ordeal, especially when in the presence of a suitably oiled and restrained assistant librarian who is more than eager to assist with the placement of your warm fresh baguettes into a suitable position in the shopping trolley.

Thursday, August 26, 2010

Salad Undressing


However, should you not have the mayonnaise to hand, for most assistant librarians a brand-name salad cream can sometimes be a last minute replacement. You should not, by any means, make a habit of this though, unless – of course – you are dressed as a monk* for the occasion.

A salad dressing is, advised for a cake shop manageress, or indeed for a bevy of dairymaids, especially in the case of the latter, utilising balsamic vinegar and – wherever possible extra virgin olive oil**

The slices of cucumber, however, must always be place in an anti-clockwise manner, especially if one is about to enter a dalliance with two or more ladies at once. You should also make sure that the radishes are with easy reach should they become necessary, especially when it becomes a little late in the season for the spring onions to be at their most pristine and crunchy. For if there is anything that will put a lady off a full salad undressing it is the sight of a putative dalliance partner approaching with his offering already wilting in his grasp.


*Or, for more specialised occasions – dressed as a nun.

** if you have trouble laying your hands on an extra virgin – as many of us do – then usually any nearby hot-buttered strumpet will do.