Tuesday, 20 May 2014

I worship the ground you walk on


After John's tits post, I thought you might like to see the latest arse that I have been lovingly fondling recently. You can see why it is always areas like this that get dirty the quickest on marble figures.

I believe the Blarney Stone in Ireland is highly polished through all the kissing. There is a horrible, bronze figure of the Pied Piper in Hameln which - somehow - has acquired the reputation of bringing you good luck if you touch a certain part of it. I honestly cannot remember which part, but I do remember that whatever part it is, it is kept gleamingly pale and shiny through all the touching.

I sat in a nearby cafe once and, for the whole time I was there, I would see very level-headed and respectable looking German people go up to it, take a quick look around to see if anyone was looking, then take an even quicker dab at it with their hand to get the benefit of the magic.

Their furtive and guilty behaviour was exactly the same as I witnessed in the Nuremberg Stadium when they would sidle into the little rostrum built for one man and one man only - Hitler. Of course, the are places all over the world where your foot will land in the same spot as some famous or infamous person has stood before, but that little booth in Nuremberg is so well-defined and so well documented in full-colour films from the 1930s and 40s, that it would be easy to think that you were only the second person to have stood there in 70 years.

I wonder how many people have placed their common arses on the throne of Westminster Abbey when they thought nobody was watching? How many late-night cleaners have sat there, mop in one hand like a sceptre and the bucket in the other as an orb?

When you think of it, there could hardly be a greater act of disrespect than to plonk your arse on someone else's throne. It conjures up images of the French Revolution, or the downfall of a profligate African dictator - a common soldier with Kalashnikov in hand, several belts of ammunition around his chest and one of the toppled king's fat cigars stuck in his grinning mouth. Or those Marines in Saddam Hussein's palace.

The golden age for using the arse as a symbol of utter contempt and disrespect was the 18th century. Even the Hanoverian Georges were not exempt from this treatment in political cartoons, with the words that they had uttered the previous day coming from their fundaments in swags and balloons to flutter over the heads of their subjects.

I had a girlfriend once (honest) and I was particularly fond of her backside and told her so. "I like arses", is how I put it.

"Yes", she said, searching for the right words to describe her feelings about them, "They're so... friendly aren't they?"

Sometimes they are.

39 comments:

  1. I wonder who invented 'Mooning'?. It's a bit like 'Streaking'; it seemed to suddenly become a world-wide phenomenon.

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    1. A primeval monkey invented it.

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    2. Whilst walking up a ladder?

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    3. Before they invented the ladder.

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  2. Hello Tom,

    Well, this does seem to be a very shapely and highly touchable bottom!

    When we owned a flat in London, right on the Thames, we would watch the various river boats sailing up and down. At dusk a small crowd of young boys would gather on a small jetty next to our apartment block and 'moon' to passing boats after catching their attention by waving in a friendly manner.

    We thought of reporting them......could this be described as a public nuisance we wondered......but the

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    Replies
    1. ......but, then we could only describe a particular part of their anatomy! What would the local constabulary make of that?

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    2. Is this why you had to flee to Hungary?

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  3. What I wouldn't do for an arse like that. Really, there is nothing I wouldn't do.

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    1. Me too, but I would want it in front of me.

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  4. Many years ago my first husband worked in a Borstal. In the hall there was a bronze statue of a young man. He was all a dull bronze colour apart from the genital area where he shone like pure gold from all the touching as the lads passed.

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  5. …… then, there's the bronze wild boar in Florence ….. his snout is really shiny ….. not quite as erotic as the smooth marble bottom that you've been fondling lately ….. although, maybe for some it is !!
    My Dad kissed the Blarney Stone when he was 90 ! XXXX

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    1. I've sen that boar. The Ufizi boar? Big, isn't it?

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    2. That's right …… I've seen it too and rubbed it's snout. XXXX

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    3. It's people like you that get ropes put around artworks.

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    4. No, It's allowed …… it sits in the Loggia del Mercato Nuovo and you're supposed to put a coin in his gaping jaws so that it falls through the underlying grating { probably into someones overflowing coffer ! } and then you rub the boar's snout for good luck to ensure a return to Florence. It worked for me ….. I've been to Florence three times !! XXXX

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  6. It's the pleasant satisfaction of knowing the cause. I work in a school house built in 1886. The floors and staircases are honest oak. The treads have a hundred fifty years of "worn away" by student feet (teachers, too, I suppose), and the risers, though painted a nice deep green, have the dents of clattering heels and toes. I look up a staircase and smile.

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    1. Yes, I would look up the staircase and try to imagine the view to be had of all those students (male as well, I suppose) over the last hundred and fifty years.

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  7. Great fucking arse. Wouldn't mind drawing it. But that's it.

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    Replies
    1. Don't feel I need to stroke it.

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    2. Ah, Art. I always had a problem with the life-models. All I could think of doing was stroking them in various places - that's why I am crap at drawing too.

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    3. Well, not as bad as you, but you know what I mean. I thought you were complaining about how you wished you could draw recently.

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    4. No, I don't remember saying that. Fucking bastard.

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    5. Ann back to normal...I feel better already
      Btw
      My arse was voted best arse in Prestatyn high school sixth form 1980

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    6. Arrhhhh back to normal
      Not Ann

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    7. Niether of both of your comments come as any surprise to me at all.

      I am as tired as you sounded yesterday now, John, and I am going to bed soon.

      You, Rachel, have a short memory, on every level.

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    8. It's horrible when tiredness overwhelms you..
      I felt shite yesterday
      Sleep well

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    9. I enjoy a good spat with you Stephenson.

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    10. If constantly calling me a fucking bastard is your idea of a 'spat', then I'm glad we live in opposite sides of the country. I like a bit more sword-play, rather than being coshed over the head with an extremely blunt instrument. That gets boring.

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  8. for years I saw my friends whole family touch the door frame when the went in or out of the house.

    I never really thought about it, until she got married and had her first home. She had a Mezuzah put on her door frame as well, just like her parents. I thought it was a wonky 'pretty' box. little did I know it was supposed to be like that. and at 18 didn't really think or know much about marriage or religion out side of CoE or Baptists at the time.

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    1. All the factories that make fireworks have a similar ritual, which they think is exactly like the Holy Water business.

      Outside the entrance of every workshop which handles gunpowder, there is a post with a copper plate nailed to the top, and everyone who enters first touches the plate.

      This is to discharge the static electricity which we build up just by walking about, and avoids the small sparks which could set of a grand display inside the building.

      This ritual didn't stop one person I used to buy fireworks from in Kent getting killed in an explosion though.

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