Purveyor of Bollocks to the Crowned Heads of Europe
Thursday, 3 December 2015
Lowest common denominator
The part-Maori woman turned up last night to say her final goodbyes before flying back to NZ, and my drinking companion (the pop star) found me distracted as he tried to relate another humorous and risque story about his recent trip to Wales.
"She is a good-looking woman", he observed, "Take it from me. I know about these things".
Then, a few seconds later, "Do you think there will ever come a time in your life when you are no longer sex-obsessed?"
"Not if Groucho Marx's biography is anything to go by".
He had just returned from a visit to his old friend, Eva Koch - the installation artist from Denmark - who had hired a cottage in a remote village for a get-together with old mates from the Bristol days.
"Has she got a brother called Ivor?" I asked him.
"Ivor HUGH". (Snigger).
A quiet lull as we sipped at our drinks, then the mirth and merriment continued.
He fumbled with his phone and then brought up some photos. One of these pictures was taken in the Gents toilet of the restaurant they had all eaten in, and was - quite simply - a photo of a very shapely woman's bare backside, life-sized and right at eye level as you used the urinal.
He had gone back into the restaurant and told everyone about the decor subject matter. Eva said, "Are you sure it was of a woman's arse?"
Thus the early evening continued until my mate went home, and I left a short while afterwards to make sure I caught the Archers. What my non-Archers friends don't understand is that the nightly episodes are the only thing stopping me from getting as drunk as I did the other night, when I missed one crucial show. The Archers are a discipline, not a fictitious group of sociopaths living in a fictitious village in the Midlands.
He got to the door, then called out, "Cop you later!" to the rest of us old men.