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.

Wednesday, August 25, 2010

The Butter Of Our Unhappiness


Here is my kneecap. I only use it on Wednesdays. How about that for a moment of sheer unadulterated ordinariness? No-one here changes socks like that anymore, not on bank holidays anyway.

Is there any point in saving these eggshells, now your Auntie has returned to Bournemouth? It was all such a long time ago and now our armpits are moist with sweat again.

I shall boil all the old underpants. I shall fry my mushrooms in the butter of our unhappiness. I shall always remember that day you smiled, briefly. But it was only a superficial wound, and I soon recovered.

So, what happens now we've given it all up? What will become of these days? Will we forget, as we forgot before? Will our memories of those special chip shops be lost? Will those close-up photographs of the tubs of mushy peas lose their special meaning for us, as we walk away into just one more sad sunset?

Tuesday, August 24, 2010

Blatant Naked Chin Stroking


Let us not tarry to speak of full-frontal pondering and blatant naked chin stroking when there are matters afoot that will take us down the darkest alleys of sordid perversion that it has ever been your misfortune to know the wot of. I speak, of course, of fully-consensual toast ignoring and hot-buttered crumpet bondage.

Those of you (both) who have lead sheltered lives probably know little of the depths of depravity that humankind can sink to. You were probably brought up in respectable households where sexual perversion was seen in its true nature as something naughty, moist and pretty good fun for those who freely engage in it, providing there is plenty of marmalade, of course.

However, some people – often through no fault of their own – live poor sad lives bereft of the healing powers of a good chunky marmalade. There are even people for whom toast is not an ever-present reassuring presence in their lives. There are even some who have no knowledge of the delights of the toaster or even the grill in their poor wasted lives.

On the other hand, though, such people are not our problem and – therefore - their problems are not our problems either.

So – in future - let us speak only of moister things.

Monday, August 23, 2010

The Appendage Of A Hands-Free Pole-Vaulter


Of course after the stoat has matriculated then there is no reason at all why the trolley should not be returned to the supermarket once it has been utilized to return the hot buttered strumpet back to her usual place of residence, providing – of course – that the ring road is not too busy at that time of the afternoon.

Now, far be it from me (about 7 1/2 miles as the badger flies, or the okapi hops, but 15 miles if the donkey catches the bus) to pooh-pooh anyone’s favourite forms of sexual dalliance. That is providing everyone is entering into the spirit of things of their own free will, and all spirits ales and ciders are taken in a spirit of healthy over-indulgence in the great tradition of Grand Uncle Stagnant himself. A man whose thirst is still the subject of myths and legends in those far flung lands where he travelled in his younger days. I do believe that still – in this day and age – he is worship as a living God on several tropical island paradises and – of course - Wigan too. Places where tales are told of the great man with the thirst of many rivers and the appendage of a hands-free pole-vaulter who left women - and a fair few sheep – worn-out but with a satisfied smile on their faces that usually lasted for a week or more after he left.

Of course, these days he is far from the man he once was, but he is still able to give a brace of dairymaids a pleasurable dalliance in the hayloft each morning , even if it does require them to use some of their handling expertise to get him up and ready on the colder mornings.

Friday, August 20, 2010

A Place For Everything


So here we are. This is the place that is the place that it is. Over there is the place that is just over there, and across the road and underneath the hedgerow is - indeed - just across the road and actually underneath the hedge. If you look carefully, you will find it, as the former Deputy Prime Minister once said to the Diary Secretary.

So, there is a place for everything and everything is in its place. That is, except for the thing in the back left-hand corner of the top shelf of the cupboard in the rear right-hand corner of the third Tupping Shed from the right (facing north, obviously).

I strongly feel that the thing needs to be moved a further 1¾ inches slightly to the left. However, Maureen feels that a distance of 1⅛ inches is sufficient. However, as I have pointed out often enough in the past, she is not taking into account the full effects of metrication, which will be upon us all too soon.

Maureen, though, in typical headstrong fashion, allied with her expert wielding of the longest of our lawyer poking sticks, does tend to pooh-pooh the whole notion in a rather convincing (and threatening manner).

Nevertheless, I am quietly confident that in the long run I will prevail. However, I do hope that my bruises fade faster than the last (and - so far - only) time I won an argument with Maureen.

Thursday, August 19, 2010

The Chins Of Belgian Rapid Toad-Response Officers


The chins of Belgian Rapid Toad-Response Officers haunt our dreams and nightmares offering us beguilements beyond even the ken of Barbie. We have seen the marmosets at dawn, and we have seen Dawn just after Rosie’s sensuous fingerings have left her without the wit to put the milk in her own tea mug without some unnecessary dampening of her counterpane.

Still, even now you are sorely tempted to disparage all our most well-regarded Sopwith Camels, even though you have been awarded first prize for the moistness of your baps by the Committee For Awarding Things To People for the third year in a row. Sometimes I wonder if you do recall that it was you who lost at Strip Ludo and had to pay the consequences.

Still, we will always have Tewksbury, that is unless you lose it down the back of the sofa again playing that strange game where you dress up as a VAT inspector and I have to hold the radishes.

Now I do not know if you still like to change TV channels whilst wearing the minimum of clothing and holding a lupin, but it is no longer any of my business, even though the salesmen in the TV shop have requested, several times, for you to desist. I don’t see the attraction of the shopping channels myself, even though you demonstrated the Anchovy-Aligning device you bought from them to me several times.

The radishes are still quite crunchy though.

Wednesday, August 18, 2010

Global Warming – My Arse!


But whither the spaniels of wonderment and delight, where are the gambolling puppies of our wanton desires to lead us today, and… well, is that the time? Must get on, must muck out the lawyers before the entire lawyer sty is knee-deep in discarded writs and other less pleasant effluvia.

There was a time… there was a time… there was a time when Maureen and I were both as young and in love as any couple in any advertisement for perfumery or confectionary, and yet… and yet. We have grown older, inevitably, now, and - I like to think - a little wiser.

For us though still there is still the intense throb of anticipation as the summer open-air orgy season draws ever closer to its climax. This year, however, many of our mid-week Open-Air Village Green Orgies been somewhat marred, for despite the earnest proclamations of the weather presenters – gravid or otherwise - on the late evening news that we are going through an unseasonably warm spell, for, to us gathered naked - or suitably fetish-geared - on the Little Frigging village green, it has seemed more to be unseasonably cold than unseasonably warm.

Only last Thursday, for instance we had to warm the erotic unguents over a gently simmering Uncle Stagnant to get them to flow with the necessary ease to lubricate the small woodland mammals necessary for a fully perverse evening under the stars and between the cake shop manageress and our own local librarian.

Tuesday, August 17, 2010

Hairstylists And Tanning

Now, as we are in an unusually sunny period for the time of year, we have not been making much use of the hairstylist tanning sheds as we usually do. For some reason known only to themselves the hairstylists do not consider themselves to be bone-fide hairstylists until their bodies are as uniform a shade of dark brown as it is possible to get. 


Sometimes this means – in a typical British summer – we do have to dip them, usually in a mixture of gravy browning and creosote, a couple of times before they consider themselves brown enough to go on the compulsory holidays that bestow the status of qualified hairstylist upon them. Only if the hairstylist bears this all-over tan of authenticity are they allowed to be sold on to the High Street hair-salons at our local farmer’s markets, alongside farm-assured lawyers, free-range accountants and other such livestock.

Because of the cold hard winter, it looks as though this year there will be a bumper crop of farm-assured lawyers to take to market. Normally this would result in a glut in the market with some of this season’s lawyers being sold below cost price to various citizen’s advice bureaux, charities, legal-aid farms and – sadly – battery no-win no-fee lawyer sheds.

However, with the unstable nature of coalitions there is the probability of an early election, so it may be possible send the excess of this year’s crop off to be politicians. Some regard such a solution as excessively cruel, and think it would be kinder - to us as well as to the poor lawyers – if we just had them culled instead.

Monday, August 16, 2010

Acquiring The Advanced Field Perversions Badge


It is – of course – not always easy to replace the top on the tube after one has used it. This is especially true if it is ⅝ths of the way through a village hall orgy and the unguent tube is more slippery than would ideally be the case. It can be made more awkward if one is clutching a recently-oiled cake shop manageress in one hand and trying to balance a portion of sherry trifle on one’s unhindered knee (usually the left, unless one is engaged in an anti-clockwise orgy – say, as is traditional, on the first Tuesday of November orgy.)

Now, normally such things would not need any further elaboration from me, and today is – obviously - no exception.

So then let us now move on to other matters.

I see from the way you have recently polished your wellies and how you stand there in them, wearing nothing else except a small woollen hat, on this rather briskly invigorating morning, that it is time for you to attempt to get your Advanced Field perversions badge. so if you will take a firm grasp on the weasel from the cage to your left and pick up a Weasel Irritating cue from the rack on the wall opposite, we will venture out onto the village green.

Once there you can demonstrate your competence at Weasel Annoyancing to my satisfaction and to the amusement of all the other villages gathered there to witness you making an utter arse of yourself, and – in some cases - to have a utterly frank look at your arse.

After that we will go through the traditional rituals of bribery, blackmail and the offering of sexual favours in return for me awarding you the Advanced Field Perversions badge that is the usual way of resolving these matters to the satisfaction of all and sundry.

Friday, August 13, 2010

The Best Way To Grate Cheese In An Erotic Context


The very chinstraps of our Lithuanian penguin annoyance capes are wont to chafe the inner thigh of our dental hygienists even though we still take a firm grip on our badger unguent ladles whenever the chiropodist rides into town. Still, as they say in these parts, ‘Good Afternoon’.

I see from the way that you have quite unconsciously adopted the stance of a supply geography teacher about to undertake the frank appraisal of a watermelon during a visit to a traditional local street market, that you are ready for this afternoon’s little adventure. So if you could just put that weasel down, we can begin.

Now, while you may have your own ideas about the best way to grate your cheese in an erotic context, I’m sure you know by now that Parmesan is ideal for a naked assistant librarian, provided you do not undertake any naughty activity too close to an open fire as the Parmesan has a tendency to melt and then set in what can be an intrusive and unfortunate manner, especially if the lady garden has been left un-pruned and allowed to grow wild – as it were.


Oh, hang on, my appliance has just fallen off the dildo rail and rolled under the chaise-lounge, where a brace of assistant librarian’s are helping the post mistress to grate some Double Gloucester over the rather proudly upstanding Strom Thighhammer, so if you will entertain this duck for a moment or two whilst I attempt to retrieve it I would be more than grateful and more than willing to grate a little Edam with you come the witching hour.

Thursday, August 12, 2010

Summer Evening


Well, there you go.

Unless you don't, in which case - here you stay.

What a nice quiet summer evening we have today. Just the hushed rustling of the holiday brochure pages as the hairstylists settle down in their nests. There is the distant low murmuring of folk singers out in the far woods as they gather around their pubs for their first pints of real ale of the evening, and begin to compose songs about their adventures tracking down wild accordions and feral banjos earlier today.

The lawyers, too, are settling down in their sties with only the occasional rustle and sigh of an adolescent lawyer engaging in a little self-litigation. Contrary to popular folk-myth, lawyers are not at all a nocturnal species. Neither do they flit about around the midnight hour to drink the blood of any unfortunate* they can grasp in their talons for long enough.

No, lawyers are strictly daylight only creatures. They would not dare step into the woods during the twilight hours, let alone at night, without the cast-iron promise of exceptionally large fees. The lawyer has far too many predators out in the wild, which is why they are quite easily domesticated and even prefer life in the lawyer sty, where it is safe and warm, and are only ever tempted out by the strong scent of fresh money.


*not protected by legal charms, such as liability insurance etc.

Wednesday, August 11, 2010

On Pulling Yourselves Together


Of course, when the sprouts of despondency are lying there in the lukewarm lumpy gravy of your disappointment, it is difficult to be a proudly upstanding gentleman, or lady of lithesome easefulness. It is no wonder then when things go wrong in other areas of our lives we find it hard, or rather too often find it limp when it should be hard or arid when it should be warmly moist and purring when stroked like a cat by a fireside.

However, when the very gladioli of despair pull at your heartstrings, there is only one thing you can do and that of course is to:


Although, if you have a friend, or even just an acquaintance who would willingly do the pulling for you, more the better. After all, as wise Old Feebletrousers often says there is nothing like a good long pull over the lady breakfast TV presenter to get you going in the morning, and he should know, even though it has been many years since they banned him from the breakfast TV studio for putting viewers off their early morning porridge.

Tuesday, August 10, 2010

Advanced Perversions… With a Spoon


In some of the more advanced perversions undertaken by a perverteer of many years standing, or - if preferred - lying down, it often comes to pass that a spoon may come in useful.

There are many (seven at the last count) authorities on the perverted arts and sciences who insist that if a spoon is used, then it is advisable to stick to the wooden spoon. There is some validity to this point of view as those not too familiar with advanced perversions will not – perforce – be put off their stroke by a lady and/or gentleman approaching them with a look of determination whilst proffering, say, a ladle.

However, there is not a single assistant librarian of my acquaintance who has not expressed her gratitude – sometimes in rather inventive ways utilising both a chocolate éclair and a raincoat – for her gentleman partner to offer her full use of his teaspoon, should the occasion, of course, merit it.

No doubt there are some here who would wish to make use of the standard-sized tablespoon, especially for any forthcoming dalliance with, say, a post mistress, especially if the rumours of fresh cream trifle have found to have been not without some foundation.

As for approaching a brace of dairymaid and requesting a quick squeeze of their udders, that is best left to those of us more experienced in the art of perversion, despite however many desert spoons one may have has in one’s cutlery drawer.

Friday, August 6, 2010

The Erotic Potential Of Tinned Fruit


Now once the okapi is back in the office and reformatting the hard disk on the unicycle we can see about changing into our bespoke fetish gear. That is – of course – if you have remembered to bring the tin opener for the tinned peaches.

It is not often, of course, that fetishes utilising the erotic potential of tinned fruit come into their own – unless they are in a light syrup, of course.

For most instances of the perverse arts and science that do involve fruit, it is usually best to use fresh fruit, except – most obviously – in the case of mandarin segments. In which case, you must be very careful to make sure you remove them from the tin before even attempting to apply them to the erogenous zones of any nearby postmistress or assistant librarian.

It goes without saying that the use of strawberries (tinned or fresh) in any erotic encounter with an assistant quantity surveyor does pose several quite interesting problems, but as it goes without saying I won’t waste your valuable time repeating them here.

As for the use of the tin of pineapple rings, there are many ladies who find them quite useful as a garnishment to any nearby upstanding man. However, those wishing to undertake such an act with our very own Strom Thighhammer are advised to purchase the extra-large catering-sized tin in order to get the full effect.

Thursday, August 5, 2010

Erotic Possibilities Of The Sherbet Fountain


Of course, once summer eventually arrives – as you well know – it is time to consider just how best to arrange the jelly babies around the circumference of your local post mistress without causing any undue distress to any assistant librarian who has little experience with the erotic possibilities of the sherbet fountain.

Of course, those of us more experienced in the ways of the world and some experience with how to approach a naked social worker with a brace of wagon wheels already in hand, and will have little fear that the wine gums will be of an unsuitable flavour.

Now there are many ladies in the village of Little Frigging who are very fond of sucking the lollipop of a gentleman acquaintance, especially during the all-village orgies in the village hall. The ladies, of course, will, in turn, be delighted in any gentleman upstanding enough to proffer his lollipop for the delectation of one of the ladies, makes sure that he is more than willing to reciprocate when offered her cherry lips.

Wednesday, August 4, 2010

The Best Use Of Perversion Spanners


To make best use of your perversion spanners, it is recommended that you adopt the stance of a structural analyst about to take afternoon tea with a loquacious tea-lady called Noreen, before approaching a suitably oiled and readied assistant librarian from downwind. Now, as a pervert of your long standing will no doubt already be aware, there is little use in buttering your cake shop manageress before you have checked that you need metric or imperial perversion spanners. This is especially important if she is wearing a basque, which makes reaching the lug nuts on the underside of the postmistress, especially if she is in a recumbent position, somewhat problematical, especially if you do not want her to drop a stitch in her knitting.

Now, you should be able to manage to distract the penguins – most likely by making sure there is some live football on the TV - then you can go about getting ready to read out some of the more lascivious passages from the A-Z of Wolverhampton in order to get your assistant librarian in the mood for some full-on perversions involving both tinned anchovies and a yo-yo, especially if she is wearing the bobble hat and fetish mittens in readiness.

The rest – I am sure – I can leave up to you. That is as long as you remember to put the lid back on the jar of mayonnaise once you have finished with it.

Monday, August 2, 2010

Fully Pasteurised Penguins


Of course, once you have acquired a brace of fully pasteurised penguins you will then need to think about what is the best sort of cricket bat to use. Do not – and here I speak from hard-won experience – try to substitute the cricket bat with a grasshopper cue, otherwise only scorn and ridicule will result as well as the danger of having your own personal supply of erotic lingerie exposed to full public scrutiny. Unless, of course, that is the sort of thing that gets your celery seasoned.

Anyway, it makes sense to make sure that both the penguins are fully recharged before trying to put the suspender belt on the mallard duck as there are times – especially on Monday afternoons – when the banjo is likely to be out of tune, especially in these warmer months.

This, obviously, may entail thinking about a barbeque, but being as this is the UK, here, even the mere thought of anyone venturing outside to cook something over hot coals is enough to anger the weather gods and make them hurl downpours upon you until your sausage is damp and hangs limply in your hand, of no use to man, beast or lightly-oiled postmistress.