While I normally ignore promotional freebies, this one was more than welcome and I happily squeezed my porker all the way to Westminster. There's nothing like a bit of hand relief in the morning …
More on that story later.
In the meantime, all that disgusting wallowing in self pity about my stupid birthday (somewhat compounded at five o'clock this morning by checking Sassy's blog to find a reminder that I would be in Club Suck once again this Christmas) distracted me from a rather nice story in the press a few days back:
I'll quote from the Guardian (I'm sure they won't mind).
"After more than five years of delicate and dangerous excavation on Derbyshire moorland, potholers have confirmed that Britain's biggest cave lies hidden below a fissure known for centuries as the Devil's Arsehole."
Why our dear Mister Knudsen sprang to mind I have no idea, but I'm relieved to discover that the Devil's Arsehole has not yet been bowdlerised by prudish nearby residents. I have great affection for rude historical names since my old mate Babs, up in Shetland, pointed out a standing stone to me, in front of which a small sign read (in a splendid attempt at the local vernacular) "The White Stane Of Willie."
I was disgusted to hear that Slut's Hole Lane, near my brother's house in Attleborough has now been re-named something inoffensive due to residents' complaints. This is a growing problem in crowded little Britain. We need to fight to keep our filthy places filthy.
The most famous example of this is a street I pass along every working day.
For centuries, fragrant ladies have plied their venerable trade there, offering such exotic delights as "penny up the wall" knee-tremblers, as a result of which, the place was officially known by the delightful soubriquet of (cover your eyes, Robyn) "Gropecunte Lane".
Unfortunately, when the Bank of England was located there, they renamed it Threadneedle Street (still a lingering trace of the old profession in the new name).
As if to prove that nothing ever really changes, this is the very street where I was given hand relief this morning.
Here's my porker. You're more than welcome to give him a squeeze …
"Oink".
6 comments:
I didn'd cover up my eyes, and I survived. Great story, and the last line was so nicely delivered.
There are string of towns in Pennsylvania that are all within close proximity to each other, so the line is, "you have to go through INTERCOURSE to get to PARASIDE and BLUE BALLS is just on the other side."
Hee hee. Robyn, you stole my anecdonte! I love those Pennyslvania Dutch folk.
Cute pig, and great Arsehole.
Sorry about the reminder about Club Suck. I'm going to post something cheery today.
Would you look at the typos?! That should read "PARADISE."
That's hilarious. Both of you.
Of course, you've got all those towns with the word Beaver in them, too.
If the commute wasn't so awful, I'd move there tomorrow.
Why does everyone cast a fine Presbyterian fellow like myself as the Devil? I'm sure I have no idea, but you'll burn Mr Dive if you ever enter me Devil's arsehole, and you'll feel like you're pissing razor blades.
I'd try, but by the look of the photo, you've two potholers in there at the moment …
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