Despite the fact that the very ladles of our small rotund canteen manageress are utilised by her to prise Old Feebletrousers out of his socks in readiness for his post-winter ablutions, we can still rest assured that the explanatory pie charts she prepares afterwards still have a very toothsome pastry upon themselves, even if I say so myself.
But, having said that - and I did check. I do have it written down here in my notebook - then I think we can now safely proceed to the cheese counter. Once there we can begin the full disrobing of the librarian from her ceremonial cardigan and then I can go about giving her the official pearl necklace that denotes her status as custodian of the outpourings of all my copious ejaculations from this organ.
Now, there are some in this fair land of ours who would pooh-pooh the use of a cheese counter in a village orgy setting. However, I would hope those of you (both) who gather here to peruse my ejaculations would not consider yourselves amongst such mentally and perversosity-challenged personages.
No, I am sure – and I can tell be they way you have adopted the stance of a trainee supermarket manager about to be immersed in warm custard – that you are (both) very familiar with the uses of the various great cheese of this noble land, and possibly even some from foreign parts*. Here I am particularly thinking of such deviations as the Stilton over-broccoling, the leek and cheddar wheelbarrow and – of course – the smoked Bavarian lederhosen parradiddle.
All those does, of course, imply that you have someone of long experience in change of the cheese counter. We here in Little Frigging count ourselves very fortunate in having our Welsh, former canteen manageress, Phyllis Mann-Sausage, who is well-experienced in judging portion sizes in just a glance, so that one’s dalliance partner(s) are not subsequently disappointed in one’s offering when the time comes for them to receive it.
*Especially, if your dalliance partner(s) themselves are from (or have) foreign parts themselves.