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Thursday, 27 October 2016

In which One very nearly vomitted...

A strange and ghastly phenomenon appears to be sweeping the indigenous male of the Wivey species, Dear Reader...

In particular, those of One's recent acquaintance...

One has observed that the males appears to have significant tackle distribution worries...

Let me explain...

An, 'Evenin' all,' (a la Dixon of Dock Green) posture is adopted at the most inopportune moment.  They stop, mid saunter, in the middle of town to perform the 'Dixon Dip' which, can mean only one thing: tackle re-distribution, unless of course attired in the garb of Her Majesty's law enforcement officers, which they simply are not.

Even The Admiral, long since retired from The Metropolitan Police has a Romanian nineteen year old Care Worker, suitably gloved-up, of course, to dip 'neath the tartan rug over his knees to rearrange the contents of his Tena Man pant.  Anyway he always had the excuse of manouvering his firearm.

But, I digress, Dear Reader...

One, feigning the aversion of One's eyes, can't help but be drawn to the observation of this new and terrifying phenomenon...

One can only surmise that what with the reluctance of the indigenous populous to venture forth past the Totem Poles on the edge of town (see above) the strapping young coves are still 'ackled up in Trutex age nine Y-Back shreddies, for as anyone who resides in the sleepy hidey-hole in Deepest Somerset will inform you, you can get almost anything in Wivey, except undergarments.

But, that is not all, Dear Reader...

A further development has occurred which has left One struggling not to barf up me marked down sausage supper...

THE ACTUAL FORAGE OF THE UNDERGARMENT WITH A DIP OF THE HAND...

This redistribution activity usually occurs when they are under the impression that they are not being observed, but, One, a keen observer of one's fellow man, has encountered this phenomenon on one too many an occasion...

Why only yesterday, one such revolting specimen rent aside his combat trousers, went in for the full handful, shifted it to the required position and then, bold as brass, commenced fingering One's Pink Lady, if you please!

That put the kibosh on One's ten minute break snack I can tell you.

I very nigh vo-mited in me till!

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