Get Shagging For Britain, Apparently. Your Country Needs you!

Today, is all about the meat, and no two veg.

So, here I am, back in Bristol, refreshed from another short break to what I call my second home in the Lancs suburbs, and already it's a "where do I begin" start? Suspected ADHD diagnosis, gleaned from a phone call my GP made en route via the M6, perhaps? Or, the fact I forgot to bring back the best pies from Horwich, the famous assortment of cheese and onion and meat pies from Greeley the butchers, to take pride of place in my freezer?

Yep, that's my life in a nutshell. A whirlwind of big ideas and even bigger forgetfulness. I'm back in Bristol, and I've already managed to prove her right, or at least her suspicions. Who forgets a whole box of an assortment of cheese and onion and meat pies heaven? Apparently, I do. The M6 call was just the beginning—a medical mystery wrapped in an oven-ready pastry.

And speaking of medical mysteries, that's actually why I'm back a day earlier than planned. It turns out my pancreas decided it needed a chat with my brain, and when those two get together, it's never a good sign. So, here I am, pie-less and a day ahead of schedule, with my body adding to the list of things I can't quite get a handle on. But at least with my urgent need for medication, the body won this round of that particular debate.

And then there's the welcome committee. Entering the outskirts of Bristol is as depressing for me as it must be for most visitors, when you're greeted with mindless, moronic, and somewhat pointless graffiti everywhere. It feels like a visual assault, a testament to a lack of pride that just makes you sigh before you've even properly arrived.

Nonetheless, I made it to the only place of real sanity away from it all and instantly crashed out in my own bed, at last. As per usual, I slept in short shifts and still wish that I'd kill (metaphorically speaking, of course) for a full eight, uninterrupted hours. But as usual, my brain was having none of the one thing I can only dream of, you know, a full sleep, and I woke to a discussion on the radio about, well, to put it bluntly, 'bonking for Britain.' Apparently, the country is having a bit of a dry spell in the UK reproduction sector and people need to wake up and get to it, you know, like rabbits do, apparently.

Now, while I'll happily engage in the, you know, full-on action bit, any time, day, or night—I don't, quite frankly, care—what comes out nine months later, no thank you! It's not that I have anything against children per se. I went to school with a few, and they seemed okay. I'm just not interested, one iota! I may qualify as the biggest male slut around, I don't care, but as for kids it's a BIG, in capital letters, no thank you!

Speaking of the word 'slut,' I was almost quadruple in the LMAO department on discovering an independent burger chain around the Greater Manchester area that's called itself, and wait for it, while those of you with a nervous disposition may wish to grip something firm for the next couple of minutes, 'Burger Slut.' Only up in the North West could someone get away with this. Down here in the south of England, meanwhile, I can picture the protests already.

It’s the prim and almost (except for graffiti and idiot protesters) proper south versus the down-to-earth, say-it-like-it-is, and don't give one 'Scheiße' (the only word in German I know off by heart) what anyone thinks. With one exception, perhaps, and that's the World Naked Bike Ride I passed by in Castle Park this lunchtime. The willies of all shapes and sizes were out on display for this one day of the year when both male (mostly) and female can let it all hang out, complete with a corps of drums to send them off, by the way. Not the best day weather-wise admittedly, as it was just starting to rain as I passed by. But those smart enough to have seen the forecast before setting off from home would have left well prepared for this and packed a bar of soap, you know, to ensure they were fully cleansed by the time they reached the finish line, and a probable well-deserved tincture. I mean, why waste such an opportunity, when you can save the planet and our well-publicised water shortage during all the lovely summer sun we've enjoyed so far?

(Image courtesy of Bristol 24/7 Rob-Browne)

I should, perhaps, mention the sudden chill of the day, and perhaps a little more forethought by the male riders to pack, or even wear, a willy-warmer. Because chills can do sudden and quite unexpected things to that part of the lower region to keep the blood flowing, and sudden pop-ups along the journey might just cause a little more excitement of a different kind to onlookers.

Now, from a personal point of view, I think it would be a great idea, and far more entertaining, to see this World Naked Bike Ride combined with that other great and internationally celebrated day, '420,' where smokers congregate to smoke copious amounts of weed in Castle Park. Can you not just picture this? Say, one hundred naked, stoned people attempting to ride around Bristol, and, more importantly, stay both on bike and on course. Oh, the joy! Please, please make this happen, someone. I would even pay to watch an event like this, and, be honest, you would too, wouldn't you?

So, as many a parent will, no doubt, spend most of what's left of this weekend, exasperatingly explaining why their young toddler shouldn't be going out in the buff on their stabilised cycle to see their friends. Or that the entire family should have a similar jaunt over the Downs, picnic included on a sunnier day, I will leave as I began, and one thought, the 'pen is' mightier than the sword. At least for today.

And, I'll let that hang.