That was the first thought that leapt into my cousin Gary's head when I last met him and mentioned my dad. Our family, when we were kids, was characterised most distinctively by its inexorable devotion to all forms of lavatory humour. We all loved a fart, we all laughed at poo, bums and willies. (Well, mine and his mums both retained enough grace not to descend to our level, but they'd still chuckle away). And we haven't grown out of it.
If you have read previous blog posts of mine, you won't be surprised by this revelation. Out of curiosity, I have scrolled back to discover that, far from being in any way eclectic or diverse in my subject matter, I have tended to draw inspiration from a very limited pool of interests. These are, in order of ubiquity:
- contempt for modern society
- the 1970s and 80s
- poo
But to be honest, poo has seeped into most posts focussed on the first two subjects as well. My blog is FULL of shit. Many will find this off-putting. It makes you wonder how they cope with their own daily ablutions if they turn their noses up at the mere mention of a Richard the Third.
Having perhaps exhausted the subject of the glorious brown stuff, I'm inclined to focus on the two anatomical features lined up alongside it in the title. Firstly, bums. In today's hyper-sensitive and over-serious society, it may escape the wit of many that much of my childhood in the home was spent indulging with my brother in pulling each other's pyjama bottoms down and shouting out, 'BUM BUM!' Such inappropriate behaviour has repercussions later in life. I'm not sure my wife enjoys me shouting 'BUM BUM!' when I happen to see hers.
The concept of the 'moony' seems to have disappeared these days. Late teenage years full of drunken nights often found me playing the moony card in an attempt to raise a smile (or at least to humour myself). Usually from the top deck of a bus, or towards the top deck of a bus from the street. I say 'late teenage years'... it might have stretched a little into my 30s. My personal favourite moony was performed in Crouch End on a staff night out. Clocking a couple sat eating at a table for two right next to the floor-to-ceiling front window of a restaurant, I dropped my trousers outside in the street and pushed my bum against the glass, inches from their plates of food.
I don't do that anymore. Not in Crouch End anyway.
My parents' decision to send me to all boys' school only served to foster such behaviour. There is a plethora of solemn, serious or important situations in which an undetected pinch of your mate's arse challenges him to supress an untimely giggle - during mass (Catholic school, remember), when being told off by a teacher, buying a ticket on the bus, while trying to chat up a girl in a pub. You have to draw the line somewhere, though. Usually only funerals.
While on the subject of all boys schools, there was one practice that I never participated in and really didn't understand; and that was drawing willies in biro on every human being pictured in a textbook. In history, Chamberlain and Hitler meet in Munich in 1938 to sign a peace treaty and each has his cock and balls out. In French, a comic strip of two people discussing how many pets they have and each has three dogs, two hairy bollocks and one willy. And in Religious Education, Jesus and his disciples preached to Jews and Gentiles with their genitals hanging there for all to see. My reluctance to draw a penis or two in a textbook wasn't for fear of being caught, it was more that I thought it was a bit poofy (excuse the parlance of the day). So instead, I tended to draw poo coming out of people's bums, landing on the floor and steaming a bit, once there.
As humorous as I find poo, bums and willies, I find the thought of any links between them somewhat unsavoury. But the thing that unites them is definitely a further object of celebration and that is PANTS! Everything about pants is funny, from the sound of the word to the idea of sitting around in them to the embarrassment of messing them.
And so, one day in the future, I daresay a member of my family will ask my son about me and then add, 'Your dad, he loved a poo.' And I'd like to think it will be said at my funeral. And if my best mates John and Dalboy are there, then I hope that one will pinch the other's bum.
Having perhaps exhausted the subject of the glorious brown stuff, I'm inclined to focus on the two anatomical features lined up alongside it in the title. Firstly, bums. In today's hyper-sensitive and over-serious society, it may escape the wit of many that much of my childhood in the home was spent indulging with my brother in pulling each other's pyjama bottoms down and shouting out, 'BUM BUM!' Such inappropriate behaviour has repercussions later in life. I'm not sure my wife enjoys me shouting 'BUM BUM!' when I happen to see hers.
The concept of the 'moony' seems to have disappeared these days. Late teenage years full of drunken nights often found me playing the moony card in an attempt to raise a smile (or at least to humour myself). Usually from the top deck of a bus, or towards the top deck of a bus from the street. I say 'late teenage years'... it might have stretched a little into my 30s. My personal favourite moony was performed in Crouch End on a staff night out. Clocking a couple sat eating at a table for two right next to the floor-to-ceiling front window of a restaurant, I dropped my trousers outside in the street and pushed my bum against the glass, inches from their plates of food.
I don't do that anymore. Not in Crouch End anyway.
My parents' decision to send me to all boys' school only served to foster such behaviour. There is a plethora of solemn, serious or important situations in which an undetected pinch of your mate's arse challenges him to supress an untimely giggle - during mass (Catholic school, remember), when being told off by a teacher, buying a ticket on the bus, while trying to chat up a girl in a pub. You have to draw the line somewhere, though. Usually only funerals.
While on the subject of all boys schools, there was one practice that I never participated in and really didn't understand; and that was drawing willies in biro on every human being pictured in a textbook. In history, Chamberlain and Hitler meet in Munich in 1938 to sign a peace treaty and each has his cock and balls out. In French, a comic strip of two people discussing how many pets they have and each has three dogs, two hairy bollocks and one willy. And in Religious Education, Jesus and his disciples preached to Jews and Gentiles with their genitals hanging there for all to see. My reluctance to draw a penis or two in a textbook wasn't for fear of being caught, it was more that I thought it was a bit poofy (excuse the parlance of the day). So instead, I tended to draw poo coming out of people's bums, landing on the floor and steaming a bit, once there.
As humorous as I find poo, bums and willies, I find the thought of any links between them somewhat unsavoury. But the thing that unites them is definitely a further object of celebration and that is PANTS! Everything about pants is funny, from the sound of the word to the idea of sitting around in them to the embarrassment of messing them.
And so, one day in the future, I daresay a member of my family will ask my son about me and then add, 'Your dad, he loved a poo.' And I'd like to think it will be said at my funeral. And if my best mates John and Dalboy are there, then I hope that one will pinch the other's bum.
