Since mcbeef and others are roasting peas, here's a genuine tale of a trip to the countryside.
OK. I’m the first to admit that I like nothing more than a good double-entendre. Thus, I never pass up the opportunity to get one in. In fact, I regularly go off on one, and often have to take a moment to get a hold of myself. I frequently have to take myself off in a little room in order to calm down. Tourette’s is also a serial innuendo-er – it’s one of the reasons I love her. Well, there are a couple of other reasons as well. But anyway.

There can be no greater love demonstrated, I think, than when a man is prepared to administer medical treatment in an intimate area. A few years back, myself and Tourettes took ourselves and our lunatic dog off to the countryside (Warkworth, to be precise). We took a picnic in a rucksack, a couple of bottles beer, and had a walk along the river. Spotting an overgrown bushy area, we decided to divert from the path and wander through the long, hairy grass and find a spot where I could unload my bulging sack. Tourette’s couldn't wait, and started helping herself to the contents with relish.

We were both quite thirsty by this time, and the bottles of beer were an inviting prospect. The bottles, naturally, required the use of a bottle opener because they were sealed by those crimped metal bottle caps. I reached down and cracked one off with ease, but somehow the second took a little longer. However, with a flick of the wrist and a sharp tug, it soon came away in my hand. We lay there for a bit, having the odd munch, and finished our beer.

This being the countryside of course, public toilets were short in supply. As a bloke, it doesn’t usually present a problem – it’s no great hardship to have to take yourself off behind a tree, but for the ladies it’s a bit more of a complex exercise. So I was sorted quite quickly, but it took a bit longer to locate the right spot for Tourette’s. Anyway, I was lying there, half dozing, when I heard a piercing cry. I looked up to see Tourette’s struggling a bit and jerking up and down slightly. She managed to find her composure, and came stomping through the grass. I asked her if anything was up, and she explained to me that she’d managed to lose her balance, and ended up sat in a bunch of stinging nettles.

Obviously I was sympathetic to her plight, but we didn’t have anything medical to hand.

“I’ve got some sting relief at home, that should sort it” she said, “but I can’t reach where it stings myself”.

“OK”, said I, ever the gallant gent. “Let’s head home, and I’ll spray your arse with cream”.

Happy days.
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Fri 19 Jun 2015, 19:09, 2 replies)

Wait, how fat is she that she can't reach her own arse?

( BraynDedd Natasha Kaplinsky's labia majora, Sat 20 Jun 2015, 10:15, closed)

Have you seen Lisa Riley?

( social hand grenade I was a lurker before you were a lurker, Sat 20 Jun 2015, 18:19, closed)