Sunday, July 09, 2006

Pantingtons


undercrackers
Originally uploaded by jamesandthebluecat.
I'm wondering if a blog posting was really the place to start listing my mother's dogs instances of antisocial behaviour, as they need to be updated so frequently, some kind of wikipedia article might be more appropriate.

This weekend for example, he ran into the field behind Boslowick shops (called, appropriately 'Boslowick Field'), sourced a discarded pair of knickers and ate them.

'I'm hoping they'll work their way through and come out in one go,' said my mother worriedly.

I'm beginning to wonder if your more orthodox Muslims might have a point about the woofies, and the disgustingness therof. I shall have to re-read my copy of the Koran, and see if it has any helpful tips.

I'm still wondering, of course, how the knickers got there in the first place. Boslowick Field, being about five minutes from where I grew up is, I can attest from personal experience, comprised of equal parts yellow grass, crisp packets and dogshit (not from my mother's dog, oddly enough he only poos flowers), and is not somewhere you would go for any kind of romantic assignation. Mind you, I haven't been there for a while, Falmouth has poshed up a bit of late:

EXT - BOSLOWICK FIELD, DAY.

TILLY and JONTY are enjoying a picnic, nibbling neatly at tiny sandwiches with the crusts removed.

Then: a strong gust of wind.

TILLY: My pants! My wonderful pants!
JONTY: Hmm?
TILLY: That strong gust of wind appears to have blown my pants completely off!
JONTY: My darling, I shall retrieve them!

Jonty chases after the unmentionables as they are whipped about by a playful summer zephyr. Tilly, ameliorated by the sudden burst of fresh air, makes some notes for a modern dance piece, which will be later performed to great acclaim at the annual Rumours Winebar Arts Revue.

Jonty returns, empinkened by his activities, but ultimately empty-handed.

JONTY: My darling, I have failed you. I'm afraid you must proceed with the picnic at least partially en déshabillé*, as t'were. Would it help if I too, were to remove my undercrackers and hurl them towards the gazebo?
TILLY: No, sweetie-pumpkin, although your offer moves me terribly.

They gaze into each others' cornflower-blue eyes and kiss sweetly, until Tilly suddenly wrinkles her pretty nose.

JONTY: My darling?
TILLY: You appear to have stepped in some flowers.
JONTY: Eurgh.



* spelling corrected by patroclus, who must be more righterer than dictionary.com, as her version has more pokey bits above the letters, and she has a house in France ('en house') which is good enough for me.

26 comments:

Sal said...

What colour pants did your Mum's dog eat?

james henry said...

I knoweth not, although hopefully we will all find out soon. There were more colourful pictures of undergarments available on the internet, I discovered, but I chose to illustrate my tale with some rather downplayed items.

It would seem likely however, that the sourced pair were brightly coloured, and probably had some kind of amusing logo on the front. Just a guess.

Sal said...

Maybe something like this?

http://img210.imageshack.us/my.php?image=041220050916vv.jpg

woot said...

Your mothers dog is much more interesting than my friends. Her dog just sneaks the occasional biscuit that has carelessly been left lying around...

Angela said...

"empinkened"!!

ha ha!

i hope that is a real word. if not, it should be.

patroclus said...

Ahem. As a connoisseur of fancy underwear, I fear your illustration lets the side down somewhat. Here are some aptly-named 'Bucolique' knickers that display the requisite Henry Fielding-esque attributes suggested by your Tom Jones (not *that* Tom Jones)-style narrative.

Top marks for "playful summer zephyr", though.

patroclus said...

Arse, the link didn't work.

leonie said...

that's the funniest thing you ever posted.

Helen said...

Hehe, that made me laugh!

cello said...

I will be popping into Boots tomorrow to see whether they are stocking 'empinkening cream' yet. I think there will be a rush on.

And I am now going to worry about your mum's dogs's insides getting slowly entangled around the pants like in an old washing machine. Please let us know when your mum...erm...'takes delivery' of them, so that I can sleep in peace. And I don't even like dogs that much.

Maud said...

Nice use of the word 'ameliorated'.

Terri Nixon said...

Cello, I think it says much about the theme of James's post that I read that as 'pooping' into Boots ...

Meanwhile, James - I think maybe a long bath and some soothing hot chocolate is in order. Step away from the keyboard now ...

I LUV CATS said...

Try to keep a positive attitude.

Fat Roland said...

"Oddly enough he only poos flowers". Hee hee, ah ha ha ha, hoo hooo, oh my elbows.

baggiebird said...

That has just brightened my day considerably, do you think you could pitch it The adventures of Jonty and Tilly, could be a comedy gold mibe

talulah trashbag said...

Either that, or it was an "all underscruds out the emergency exit" party on board a passing 747-400 .
Those Virgin Atlantic crews are pretty zany after all.

Rabidus Badgerus said...

I feel for your Mum. Clothing-wise my dog has swallowed a sock and a shoe ('twas a tiny pixie's shoe). Other things eaten include rocks, coal, shit, tennis balls, pencils and a cigar... I am yet to find something that he is unable to devour.

Needless to say he is sick a lot, but I'm sure by now you can guess what he does with that.

Button said...

mine partially devoured a book I had been waiting rather a long time to receive from amazon. Through the corrugated card no less.
He feels the need to defend the homestead against dangerous sources of education. Perhaps he fears that I will become enlightened and leave him with the goldfish (as yet not eaten).

Button said...

those are truly horrendous pants.

Button said...

now it reads like the pants ate my book. It was the DOG I tell you, the DOG.


why oh why can't we edit...

Adam Czarnowski said...

James,

Adds a new dimension to the expression "a heavily panting dog", dunnit?

Adam

Adam Czarnowski said...

Happily, unlike "Cello" I have never seen a "dogs's insides getting slowly entangled around the pants like in an old washing machine."

A very odd use of "like". Who rips out dogs' insides and washes them anyway? And if some sick bastard does, does he really do his smalls at the same time?

Not something one sees everyday, certainly, thank God.

A

Matt said...

we found a pair of pink and frilly knickers in our house that dont actually belong to anyone....

nanga parbat said...

Just an educated guess, but I'm thinking that when the pants finally reappear they will most likely be brown.

Hamilton's Brain said...

Isn't flowers seventeenth century slang for something?

(and some goodness is heading your way all stamped upon, burnt and bubble-wrapped - but not in that order)

james henry said...

Smashing, ta (although I suspect I'll be away in London when it arrives, so if I don't comment immediately, I'm not being rude).

HB is sending me a DVD of obscurish comedy gems btw - it's not poo or anything. In case people were worrying.

Nanga - I think you may be onto something there, although the digestive power of the dog is awesome - they might come out bleached white and smelling of lavender.

That's probably enough poo stuff now.