If I were a branding consultant, which thank the Lord I’m not, I’d be seriously worried about the potential damage that yesterday’s posting might do to the developing Bloke in the North brand. There are times when I almost sound like I might be enjoying myself, which is not at all the point of this daily record of decay, futility and failure. Still, at least I can point to a most depressing weight gain when I foolishly step on the bathroom scales this morning, after a night much disturbed by my bed companion growling, barking, running and enthusiastically wagging his tail in his sleep, as he relived yesterday’s unaccustomed excitements.
We were supposed to be driving to Northamptonshire today, to visit some friends, but I feel that a day of peaceful recuperation is required – and surely the roads will be quieter tomorrow? So I spend the day at my desk quietly contemplating the fact that everything is going to hell in a handcart.
One of the things I find myself pondering is anal sex. It seems to be everywhere and not just in places like Brighton, where it is only to be expected. While I was indeed lulled to sleep last night by Penelope Keith, I had the misfortune to come round in time for the Catherine Tate Christmas Show. Her first sketch sought to raise a laugh from nothing more than the rapidly diminishing shock value of the F-word. The next one derived its humour from a retarded Irishwoman’s painful experience of sodomy. The studio audience fell about.
At least half the jokes in Viz seem to revolve around buggery. Many porn films concern themselves with little or nothing else. A 30-something Bloke, considered to be something of a ladies’ man, with whom I discussed the subject earlier in the year, said that it is “an age thing” and all women under 30 expect it. And, well, noblesse oblige. The Code of the Woosters, 2007-style.
How did this come about in the age of AIDS? Has the current generation of young women really been universally corrupted by the international porn industry, and is this another sound argument for the universal adoption of Islamic values? (Actually, that question might be best answered in two separate parts.) Will they all regret it when they end up, in middle age, wearing huge nappies like the late Freddie Mercury? Allegedly.
I can’t comment because I have almost no experience of the subject. Tried it once, didn’t like it. Actually, I didn’t mind at all but my girlfriend of the time complained about it so extensively that I never had the energy to raise the subject again, either with her or anyone else.
No, definitely not my Specialist Subject. But if you ever looking for an expert on banal sex – ah now, sadly, that is another matter entirely.
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