Some readers have confused me with Boyo's imaginary social secretary, and have passed on congratulations for his appearance on the normblog profile and his winning of some special needs Welsh blogging award.
"Does Boyo feel proud to have joined the blogging aristocracy?" petitioners have asked.
This autumn finds me uncharacteristically expansive as I cherish the falling leaves and house prices, so I am willing to reply to these broad inquiries.
Boyo's sole source of pride, judging by his all-too-public declarations, is that he is "hung like a Grand National winner".
Whatever one of those is.
11 comments:
Although you are obviously in a position to refute his claim, Mrs Boyo, I would advise against it. A man needs his illusions.
What kind of Welshman would invite Edward I to dinner? Even we gorillas know that he shat on Wales and made the natives eat his turds.
'Glamcabs'!!! Mrs B, one of my favourite films 'Carry on Cabby' 1963 . . .
Sx
Woah, I just read "normblog" and found out that Boyo has his serious side, supports democracy and espouses family values. I dunno what to think; my world is destroyed. Next we'll be hearing that your family, Mrs Boyo, encourages the peasants to enjoy their individual cultures and their quirky religions! ;-)
Gadjo, it's called lulling the bourgeoisie into a sense of false security to match their consciousness.
I believe peasants derive enough enjoyment from the cultures they cherish in their underwear.
As for religions, I suggest ascertaining degrees of piety by deploying my father's "Where Is Your God?" Spot, a remarkable device that fits in the pocket and most bodily apertures. Initially.
Bananas, no one who has sampled Boyo's cooking would wonder why he wants to invite the royal Cambrophobe to dinner.
The bourgeoisie are easily lulled, Mrs Boyo, no problem there. I don't understand what this "Spot" thing of your father's actually does, but even peasants get edgy if you insert things in them as well as denying them their culture and their religious fun (and money, obviously). There's a lot of them... and you know what happened last time.
Er, Grand National winners have, if male, been castrated.
Hope this clears up any confusion.
Hoorah for Boyo! I have just read normblog, but as I speed-read and fillet everything I have only retained the essence of the piece, which seems to be mating tigers, Mahler and Marc Bloch. Good enough for me.
Grand National (male) winners are usually geldings, Inky, but not always; so let Boyo be partially right, at least.
I was about to say the same about geldings, Mrs P. I like to think I'll be put out to stud when Mrs Boyo's finished with me. Preferably in Thailand.
The correct term in Boyo's case should be 'hanged like a GN winner', although this is seldom done.
Having said that, 1896 winner David 'Soarer' Campbell of the 9th Lancers was in 1914 shot with a revolver, run through with a German lance and slashed with sabres.
Richard Holmes, in his excellent book "Tommy" quotes a medical officer's moving eyewitness account of coming across the multiply-wounded Campbell lying in a field after his charge and saying "I'm sorry to find you like this, sir," to which Campbell replied "Nonsense my boy - I've just had the best quarter-of-an-hour of my entire life!" Within weeks he was back in action, and he ended the war as a general.
Where are such men today, we might ask?
Oh dear, in the poo again. But I am glad to be wrong; my comment was the result of concern, not envy. No, not envy in any way at all.
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