September 2006 Archives

Toes are the main problem. You need to cover those little protuberances as soon as possible. There are two reasons for this. The first is in case anyone walks in on you while you are naked. As any armchair psychiatrist knows, the phallus can be threatening when encountered unexpectedly. Toes are phallic in shape. And there are ten of them. And they are constantly erect. Think how terrible it would be to suddenly come upon a naked man with ten erect phalluses protruding from the ends of his feet.

If this argument doesn't work for you, just picture in your mind a naked man. Now picture a man wearing nothing but socks. Which is less threatening? It's obviously the dude with socks on. He looks like a fool. The guy with naked toes is far more threatening.

"But why does this matter?" you may ask.

The reason is simple. Men are a violent, combative gender. When we feel threatened, we respond with violence. Picture the following scenario: You've cycled into work. You've showered. You are standing there, butt-naked, wondering which article of clothing to put on first. But you've forgotten to lock the door. It opens. Another male of the species barges in. He sees your toes. He feels threatened. Before you know it, the two of you are locked in mortal combat. Your antlers are entangled and the cubicle is awash with blood.

All of this could have been avoided if only you'd put some socks on as soon as you stepped out of the shower.

The other problem with toes is their pokiness. They stick out and catch on things -- things like underwear. Thongs are the worst because they are the thinnest. If you haven't put on your socks and you try to put on a leopard skin thong, there is a serious risk that it will catch between your toes. At this point you are standing on one foot, bent over with both hands and one foot tangled up in the thong. You lose your balance. Your supporting foot slips out from under you. You fall over, banging your head on the sink. Maybe you fall on the chair placed there to keep your clothes off the floor. What if you forgot to close the door again? The mysterious, antler-clad stranger opens it. You're draped over a chair, completely naked except for a leopard skin thong jammed between your toes - your rump pointed to the sky. It may suggest an invitation you didn't intend.

So, trust me, put the socks on first.

The thong goes next as it will be under pretty much everything else. Then it's decision time. Do you plan to tuck your shirt into your trousers or not? If you plan to tuck, put on the top; if not, then the trousers. Once again, having the socks on will help smooth the way for the trousers. It's almost as bad to have someone barge in on you when you're bent over a chair in a leopard skin thong as it is to be completely naked at the time.

Once you've got your shirt and trousers on, you should put your shoes on. The shoes need to come before the hat. If you put the hat on first, it will fall off as soon as you go to tie your shoes. This is especially true if the hat is very tall -- for example one of those big black furry hats worn by the guys who guard the queen.

So in summary, this is the correct order of dressing for a gentleman:
1. Socks
2. Leopard skin thong
3. Shirt
4. Trousers
5. Big black furry hat

Lucy put on Brendan's coat and they ducked out into the rain. Brendan led the way. They both ran with a wide, slightly staggering stance to maintain their balance in the mud, their arms out by their sides. Once they got to the woods, Brendan pulled out a flashlight and they slowed to a fast walk.

Inside the tent, he shoved all his loose clothes, dirty and clean, into a duffle bag and pushed it against one side of the tent. He lay down, propped up on one elbow and leaned back against it. He watched Lucy as she left his jacket on a stump outside the tent, took her boots off and swivelled into the tent. Once she was inside, he leaned forward and reached across her legs to pull the zipper closed.

His tent was a standard 3 person dome tent, about the same size and shape as almost everyone else's in camp. The roof of the tent was maybe a metre and a half at the highest point. One end of the tent was slightly higher than the other. This was where his pillow was. Above this hung a small dirty-white mesh bag. He put the flashlight in the bag. It created a soft diffuse light. It was enough to see by - enough to read by if you were directly below it.

Lucy pulled the book from inside her shirt where she'd been protecting it from the rain. She flopped down on Brendan's sleeping bag, and wriggled around until she was comfortable and the book was mostly in the light. There wasn't much room in the tent. Brendan leaned backwards against the duffle bag at right angles to her with his legs bridged over her back.

"Ready," she asked.

"Ready," he replied.

Lucy began to read.

"Page one. Today's Special. The beet is the most intense of vegetables."

The rain drumming on the tarp made it difficult for him to hear her. Brendan shuffled around on his back until his head was closer to hers. In this position he found he couldn't keep his legs bridged over her back without touching her. And that made it impossible to listen properly. After some more shuffling, he ended up lying on his side beside her. He rested his head on his forearm. His gaze naturally pointed down the length of her body. He could make out the soft hills of her buttocks rising out of the folds of the sleeping bag. This made it even more difficult to concentrate, so he shifted a bit so his focus was higher. Now his eyes rested on her waist. The dress she was wearing emphasised the curves of her lower back. There was a rip in the dress just above where her waist met her hip. Through the rip he could glimpse a tiny savannah of flesh.

Everywhere he looked was too sexy for clear thought. He was sure she knew why he kept looking around the tent. He forced himself to stare at her face as she read. He could tell she was conscious of this as well. Too late he realised he should have just kept his eyes on the flashlight hanging from roof of the tent, but now he was mesmerised. The only sensible place to look when you are staring at the face of someone reading is their mouth. He knew now he was doomed. At some point he would have to kiss that mouth.

>> Farts Like Gold: 42

I finally succumbed to YouTube while on my way back from Amsterdam. This is the latest little video nonsense I posted. It is, if I say so myself, uniquely insightful.

You can see more of my Youtube film-making genius at http://www.youtube.com/profile_videos?user=YandaBear

I'm currenty in Gouda, home of the famous cheese.

A little more than a week ago 13 of us headed out on our bikes from London to attend the International Broadcasting Conference in Amsterdam. The conference is now over. Everyone else is back in England. I'm the only one left.

The more geographically aware of you will have noticed tha Gouda isn't particularly in a direct line between Amsterdam and London.

It is important, I think, to visit as many places as possible that share their name with foodstuffs. It enables witty repartee in the grocery store.

"Look!" I will now be able to say. "Gouda cheese. I've been there."

"You've been to a cheese?" my companion might ask.

"No, no, no. Gouda -- the town in Holland. The cheese is named after it."

"Uh-huh," my companion would reply. "Fascinating."

Tomorrow I'm off to Willemstad. I don't believe there is a Willemstad cheese but I am confident the town will have other attractions.

Once again, you can follow my progress on http://www.ibcbikeride.co.uk/

On that site you will find links to a gps track of my route, as well as photos and videos from the road, and, most importantly, a link the Children in Need fundraising site that all of this is in aid of.

I'm cycling to Amsterdam tomorrow. This wouldn't be particularly impressive if I lived in Alkmaar, the Cheese Capital of the World, but I live in London. For those of you unfamiliar with European geography, London is in a completely different country than Amsterdam.

London is the capital of England, an island nation with a history filled with dragons, metal-clad knights, and despotic rulers prone to lopping off the heads of their own wives.

Amsterdam is the capital of the Netherlands, a nation below sea level on the edge of a fierce and unpredictable sea -- a land of suicidal madmen in other words.

When I leave my comfortable dwelling on Tuesday morning I will travel 140km by bicycle through the dragon-infested English countryside before arriving at the ferry port of Harwich. Throughout the entire journey I will be unprotected by armour of any kind.

(Well, except for a helmet made of styrofoam.)

Myself and twelve fellow travellers will board a ship and make a dangerous overnight crossing to the Hook of Holland. From there we travel 76km along the coast ot the North Sea which may at any time decide to submerge the very land we cycle upon.

We will spend Wednesday night at the Zeeduin hotel in Wijk aan Zee. Please stop in for a drink if you are in town.

On Thursday we make our way to Amsterdam via a circuitous route through the North of Holland. I'm not exactly sure why we are taking the long way to Amsterdam. It may have something to do with the fact the man who is organising the trip is a bit of a looney. I can tell he is a looney by the fact he thinks we can raise £8000 for the charity Children in Need by riding around on our bikes. So far we've raised just slightly more than half that amount. Please help prove that Rhys isn't a looney. You can help some unlucky children at the same time. What a deal! Donate Here.

For more on our adventure and to follow our progress in real time thanks to dozens of satelites orbiting our planet, go to http://www.ibcbikeride.co.uk/.

"There's an awful lot of narration in this book," said Lucy. Brendan moved closer and looked down at the pages. It seemed natural for him to put his arm around her waist so he could get close enough to read the book.

"Not much dialogue," she said. "At least in the beginning. Maybe we should just take turns reading aloud."

"You first," said Brendan.

Lucy read silently a bit, then said, "I don't mind reading, but I doubt you'd hear me in here."

"Are you suggesting we go somewhere quieter," asked Brendan.

"That's kind of what I was thinking, yes."

"Like one of our tents, maybe?"

"Like your tent, specifically," said Lucy. "Mine's too small and all of my stuff is in Kent's."

"Ah, yes," said Brendan. "I'd feel a bit weird reading about beets in Kent's tent." He shifted slightly away from Lucy and pulled his arm from around her waist.

"It's just a bedtime story," said Lucy. "It's no big deal. I just feel like getting away from the noise for awhile."

Brendan looked at her. He looked at her eyes. He looked at her mouth. "It would be nice to get away from this madness for a bit," he said. "But what about Kathy? It's her book."

"I'm sure she'll want to stay with the party," said Lucy. "I think she'll be fine with it."

"All right," said Brendan. "Let's go read about beets."

They both stood up. Brendan could see Kathy down at the other end of the cookshack. She was in deep in conversation with a man wearing a striped purple mini-dress. He couldn't tell who it was.

Lucy picked up Brendan's rain jacket. "Do you mind?" she asked.

Brendan shrugged. "No problem," he said.

>> Farts Like Gold: 41