Sunday, November 09, 2008

Cortez amors

All the best news sources have covered the literally exciting news that HM Government is to expand and extend sex education so that it finally fills all the cracks in our edjucation system.

As ever, the sausage-fingered managers who staff the Labour Party opt for process over product. What do they hope to achieve by getting primary-school dwarves to draw Venn diagrams of ladies' intimate plumbing in non-toxic crayon?

"It will, somehow, reduce the level of teenage pregnancy," they wail, clinging to the Rugged Cross of Coincidence.

"Doubtful," I reply, "But what about the more important matter of giving the ladies a thoroughly good time? How can Play-Doh® models of Fallopian tubes help Mrs Benson next door blow her top like a narwhal slung from a siege engine?"

The earnest canvasser slunk away from our threshold, ushering her children before her.

As ever, the Cymru Rouge not only has a solution - it has the only solution. Both of them.

1. The United Kingdom, like many North European countries, has benefitted greatly from the discovery of penicillin and liberalisation of the divorce laws. These twin flumes of freedom have filled a fragrant reservoir with non-infectious women of a certain age.

These ladies reach the age of Keatsian ripeness with the realisation that their children have left home, their husbands are bacon-breathed drones, the house is worth a fortune and they themselves are still hot as a cage of minks on mezcal.

The divorce papers soon fly off the fax machine, then South Oxfordshire wine merchants, Open University summer schools and muscular curates brace themselves for the silken assault.

I had the pleasure of teaching Russian to a display of such ladies in the late 80s, and rejoiced in their smoky élan. Marxian principles dictate that these dimpled Deneuviennes should now devote some their ample skills and experience to the Common Weal by taming and training British youth.

If you were a blundering 18-year-old, what would you prefer - three chafing minutes with a pink-eyed classmate, or an afternoon of firm but patient tutoring in the ars amatoria by a gin-scented divorcee in a basque?

And when said youth moves on to his first proper girlfriend, she will be treated with the brio, charm, depravity and duration that she deserves on, or even elaborately suspended from, a Georgian four-poster bed in the Cotswolds - not jack-rabbited in a student dorm to the accompaniment of some "wrap" music. What better torch could one generation pass on to the next?

I propose a Council of Merry Widows to ensure that the young men of Britain are brought up to a consistently high standard of amatory prowess - the last thing we want is a postcoital postcode lottery whereby Shropshire lads will march on Llangollen because they heard Mrs Owen Edwards has a saddle strapped to her dresser. Again.

By the same measure, I would urge harnessing the thoroughbreds from Britain's rainbow stable of diversity - literally, in some cases - to this noble cause. The Kama Sutra, Thousand and One Nights, the Red Book of Hergest, Unaussprechlichen Kulten, Old Moore's Almanack, the Freemans Catalogue - there is so much to bring us all closer together, from Position XIX ("The Surprised Peacock") to Joan the Wad.

2. If, however, the Government insists on using visual aids to reduce teen pregnancies, I would suggest recourse to hardcore pornography. By which I mean American films with primo production values, waxed blondes and a funky soundtrack, not handheld barmaids in a Brummie bedsit.

A year hanging out at the Moscow Institute of Cinematography gave me an epicure's eye for glossy scud. The techniques, devices and choreographed deviance deployed in such flicks send sprays of seed in all imaginable directions but never hit anything that could remotely cause conception outside the pages of the Gospels.

Persuade our youngsters that this is what it's all about, and I'll be surprised if we don't have a procreation gap to rival that of Vatican City within a decade.

Mr Speaker, I commend these measures to The House.


Francis Sedgemore said...

" afternoon of firm but patient tutoring in the ars amatoria by a gin-scented divorcee in a basque?"

This brings back happy memories.

No Good Boyo said...

Minnau hefyd.

And sweet dreams, I hope.

Gorilla Bananas said...

A humane solution to a pressing problem. The delinquents should be straddled by the fat ladies to teach them forbearance.

Ms Scarlet said...

I may still be a little young... obviously... but much can be learnt from the sticky pages of the freemans catologue... Where is Mrs P.... I'm sure she'll have something to say about all this... oh and Boyo.. could you just tighten my basque... thank you...

Gyppo Byard said...

Well said old chap! My only regret about a certain learning experience I had was that I can only remember about half the proper terms for things, since even at a young age I realised that stopping periodically to write things down in a notebook as we went was something of a no-no.
I'm sure there were those who blew their chances (and consequently nothing else) by not realising the same thing...

Ms Scarlet said...

Have we met before Mr Gyppo?

Gyppo Byard said...

That depends... have you ever written a humorous article about a duck named Jeffersby?

(Believe it or not this is a serious question, aimed at finding whether Scarlet is indeed someone from my past of whom she reminds me uncannily)

Daphne Wayne-Bough said...

Whoa, hold your horses Mr Boyo. Less babies = less money for our pension pot. Or we'll have to find another wave of immigrants to fund us in our dotage.

Gadjo Dilo said...

Ahh, yes, the older woman. I've never found lack of youth to be a barrier to attractiveness. I reckon I'm lucky that way.

You can keep your waxed blondes, though - never mind the gospels, such a practice is sure to be against both oh-so-precise rabbinical and shia purity laws, and I'm taking no chances - I'm happier with the natural hippy chicks.

Gyppo Byard said...

As Boyo himself once commented to me over lunch "I like m'ladies the way I like m'lemons - bitter, jaundiced and unwaxed."

I apologise for stealing one of his best lines, though at least I credited him with it.

Ms Scarlet said...

Hmmm... would you really say no to a bit of wax and a wiggle?

Gadjo Dilo said...

P.s. For people interested in the Mrs Robinson thing, The Dotterel has just unearthed a priceless story about boy scouts whose bob-a-job is to inspect older women for breast cancer :-)

No Good Boyo said...

I am delighted that my amendment to the Adult Fun Act 2005 has met with such approval. Daphne's objection is valid, but I see no problem with opening our employment and matrimonial markets to large numbers of young ladies from South-East Asia - twins especially welcome.

I also think that we need to be open to new experiences, what with the Millenium and that, so Scarlet's offer to wax and wiggle in the national interest should be duly noted and, if possible, filmed.

Dotterel's fine piece of research reminds me of an obscene story about scouts, a housewife and a large washer. Let us leave it at that.

Anonymous said...

please tell me what you think of this new blog thank you

No Good Boyo said...

I wish you well, young Fledging, but would point out a serious problem with your world view:

"Jane Davidson what is she crazy, we can't have Tom Jones running round the assembly singing Delilah and Joe Calzaghe fighting his way round the corridors clipping Ieuan Wyn on the way. "

This is exactly what we want. And I don't agree lightly with Liberal Democrats.

Mrs Boyo said...

I wondered how long it would take for Oriental twins to rear their pigtailed heads.

Will they have to wait until they are 40-something before receiving the Boyo seal of approval?

Ian Plenderleith said...

A logical measure to counter the howlings and yearnings of every teenage boy in history, aching to be lead by the eleventh finger to an educative mattress in order that he will not later be humiliated for his virgin endeavours.

Have you seen the second season of The Wire, Boyo? There's a literate, debonair and comically articulate character in a bow-tie who appears in the final two episodes, and who uncannily reminds me of you. Though he packs heat too, like everyone in The Wire who wants to stay the course.

Mrs Pouncer said...

I don't know why it's taken me so long to grace your comments box with something pithy, Boyo, I just don't. Daphne seems uncharacteristically peevish, kvetching about her pension-pot, btw, and Scarlet seems to be skirting the issue, as usual.

The thing is, I thought I'd jump in madly, endorsing what you say, referencing my daytime drinking habits, my Rigby & Peller corsetry, my Paciotti heels, but the more I think about it, the less sure I am that it's such a good idea. I didn't particularly enjoy shagging 17-year-olds even when I was 17, and I'm not convinced I'd want to go back to that now. Plus, there was depressing news in the Observer this week: a recent survey showed 34% of UK women of 50 or over didn't have sex. Christ! what's happening here? At least I haven't sunk into that particular oubliette; but I don't think the Mrs Robinson path is the right one for these unfortunates. I think the trick is to wring whatever satisfaction you can from relationships that aren't headed for marriage. In this country - and in the US, too, I think - we shlep about looking for Mr Right, instead of welcoming experiences which don't necessarily lead to a particular goal.

Yeah, there's definitely something wrong with me and Daphne at the moment. That didn't sound like us at all, did it?

Gadjo Dilo said...

Don't worry, Mrs Pouncer; real life does rudely intrude once in a while and one has to deal with it, but I hope that you'll be feeling your self before too long (that can be a good idea, actually - saves waiting around for Mr/Ms Right).

Ms Scarlet said...

Christ... shagging 17 year olds was dire, now you come to mention it Mrs P... over in a nano-second. Shagging the English teacher wasn't much better.

Anonymous said...

I'd also recommend Charlotte Guest being cloned and mass-produced for the male populace as both a sex instructional kit and a hatstand.

Anonymous said...

Sorry, I meant of course Charlotte Church.

Mrs Pouncer said...

Gadjo, you have the mot juste, as usual. I hate real life; in fact, I have taken out several expensive insurance policies against it, and plan to make a claim next week to cover the vile consequences of the hangover which bedeviled me until Monday afternoon. Mainly I am in doldrums because of the C word. Yes, it is just around the corner, which will mean mulled wine and other seasonal yuckeries, instead of proper drinks.

No Good Boyo said...

Welcome back Mrs Pouncer! I'm also dreading the Big X this year. I normally work through it, but Mrs Boyo insists that I join her and Arianrhod at home. There's always Limmud, I suppose.

Inducting callow youth is an investment in the future and, like breaking in horses, becomes its own reward. There's the warm glow of altruism too.

Charlotte Church is certainly a pair of of Wales's leading assets, Simon. I see her becoming the Ruth Madoc of the devolved generation.

I've heard about The Wire, Pop, and shall certainly give it a go in the brief intervals between my compulsory Desperate Housewives study sessions.

Mrs Boyo raises a good point about Japanese twins of a certain age. Good thing or just de trop? Depends on whether they're still wearing tartan miniskirts, I venture.

Gyppo Byard said...

Japanese twins. Hnrgh.

I'm sure for such a cultured crowd I do not have to spell out details of the film I'm thinking of, a shared favourite of Boyo's and mine that we quote often.

"There's only two things I hate - people who are intolerant of other people's cultures, and the Dutch!"

Francis Sedgemore said...

"There's only two things I hate - people who are intolerant of other people's cultures, and the Dutch!"

Don't you mean the Belgians, Mr Byard?

Anonymous said...

Dear Sir

Forgive me for intruding on the golden oldie jig-jig thread.

I wish to make contact with you but I can't find your email address and I am somewhat reluctant to leave my email address on an open web page.

Get in touch if you wish. If you think my name is John Smith, send an email to, if you think my name is "Idi Amin", send it to, and so on.

And here's the evidence, m'lud.

I was present at the following occasions:

1) A discussion with some Sikh ladies in Hounslow circa 1990, where I think there was a dispute about the return of some Punjabi Jewels;
2) A search for jazz and kebabs in Swansea;
3) A Russian man with a moustache taking a swim in the English channel and then riding on a merry-go-round, and then being entertained by a boogie-woogie version of the Russian national anthem.

Sikh sisters, jazz kebabs and a KGB funfair. It sounds impossible, but Twilight Zone...

Look forward to hearing from you, moq.

No Good Boyo said...

Anonymous, my Boswell returns!

The Sikh ladies wore stockings - a pair each.

Jazz and kebab was replaced by a 0200 balti and some rapping.

The KBG man was really from the interior ministry troops, and his swimming trunks have since been banned by some UN committee.

You, in turn:

- will recall a performance of the Dead Pharaohs' classic "Pig of a Man", and its lesser known Romanian b-side "Om de Porc";

- are related to a man who quoted the strapline of this web blog to An Taoiseach Charlie Haughey in a Dublin hotel, or at least very nearly; and

- are involved in various crimes against Polish music.

I shall be in touch. I've had an interesting exchange with a Mr Amin already. He has large funds tucked away in a Swiss bank, and needs some handling fees to get his hands on it. With any luck, for me ze Recession is over.

Anonymous said...

Egad! You're right!

Mrs Anonymous remembers that the first time she met you there was incident with a mattress on a Welsh staircase, but that's another story.

No Good Boyo said...

True. Not the most diplomatic way of meeting another chap's wife, I must say.

Can Bass 1 said...

Would somebody mind telling me what the divvel's going on?

Mrs Boyo said...

Mr Bass, it appears that another random Celt has re-entered orbit around the planet that is Boyo's mind. Why the rest of us are here remains a mystery.

Pearl said...

I had difficulty reading beyond the news that "HM Government is to expand and extend sex education so that it finally fills all the cracks...

Bloody Americans.


p.s. Love your posts.

No Good Boyo said...

My good woman. It is Sunday morning. I simply have difficulty reading.

Until lunchtime,

Archibald Wyre Boyo

Pearl said...

Boyo, your Welsh/Celtic use of the English language leaves me weak-kneed and grinning in the bright lights. You are truly a strange and delightful human being. Thanks for the comments, and thanks for stopping by. Do you get out of Wales much? It's late
(4:33 to be exact) and I've drunkenly checked my blog to check on things in that slightly neurotic way that so many of my friend claim to find endearing.
Isn't the internet a wonderful thing? You mention nut-brown ale, and here, my friend, you and I are in wild agreement. It's a boon to the forward evolution of mankind that such a thing is available in both the six- and eight-pack variety; and I heartily endorse its continuance.
OMG I've had a bit to drink. If only I'd left this un-edited you'd see the massive amounts of typos I've committed in such a short amount of time.
Night night and cheers from the U.S.,


Mrs Boyo said...

Ah, another drunken blonde reaches Boyo's blog. Does it emit some sort of aroma of white cider to attract them? Or does he?

I need to be told.

Mrs Pouncer said...

I am a drunken brunette, Mrs Boyo, but you're right, I caught his scent, and I was undone.

No Good Boyo said...

Great. I spent years learning to dance and feigning an interest in furniture, when all I had to do was blog to have women clawing at my cyber-breeches.

Al Gore, why did you wait so long before inventing the Inter Net!? Too busy stopping global warmth and losing elections to get his priorities right, big slabfaced waster.