Summer is, at last, in the air and so it is time for all the denizens of Little Frigging to dust off our pogo sticks and meet on the village green for the first of this year’s Naked Pogo Stick Steeplechases. This year we should have several good races as we have been promised a good summer by the weather forecasters. Even Old Feebletrousers has been quite upbeat about it, even his divinations utilising his myriad ancient danglings have meant his prognostications have turned positive about the prospects for this summer.
A decent naked pogo-stick steeplechase – of course – needs firm going, as there is nothing so frustrating as getting bogged down in muddy ground mid-bounce, especially during the final furlong down the back straight between the Chinese Takeaway and the Antique shop.
Of course, the Naked Pogo Stick Steeplechases have over the years, as word has spread, become great tourist attractions. Especially, it seems when there is a chance of a photo-finish in the ladies’ events. In fact, it seems each year more and more tourists like to enter into the spirit of the event by taking as many photos as they can of the Little Frigging ladies as they bound, leap and bounce nakedly towards the finish line.
There is something, it seems, about a naked lady bouncing up and down on the stick clasped between her sweating thighs as it pounds away which makes many a man stand proud and tall as he urges her on towards the climax of the proceedings.
Once she arrives, hot and panting at the finish there is always someone there to wrap her in his arms and ask how it was for her, whether she has come first or last, a quickie or a long languid slow summer bounce with deep slow strokes to push her over the finish line.
Hang on, I must just go and stick my head in the rainwater butt for a minute or two….
Right, as I was saying:
All-in all, then a magnificent day out for any tourist wishing to spend a great deal of their money on buying souvenirs depicting a rural tradition historians have dated back through the mists of time to even beyond the very first days of the Rolling Stones.
Yours perversely: Norbert Trouser-Quandary
A tale from the From the LFITW archive
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