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Put off our swing by fetish comment

Patsy and Jose are heading to his home town of Murcia shortly for their holidays, so she thought it would be a good idea to try to get in shape for the beach.

"A sarong only covers so much," she said. What shape she has in mind is a moot point, but Maggie reckoned it was somewhere between a square and a rectangle. She got a slap on the back of the head from the Senora for that one.

So it was decided that, instead of going to the coffee shop, she (which meant we) would partake of some light exercise.

naked

Josie suggested a game of tennis – until Maggie reminded her that Patsy plays it as if it were cricket and the ball usually ends up near Nobber.

Swimming was out because Josie hates getting her hair wet, and the last time we went for a walk Patsy and I came across a naked man in the canal and we are still not the better of it. We settled on a game of pitch and putt.

Patsy, Josie and I turned up in our tracksuits, but Maggie was taking this very seriously and arrived in a pink jumper, white cropped trousers and one of those hats with the big peak that have no roof on them. She looked as if she had just made the cut in the Masters.

We hired the clubs and tootled off to the first green. Maggie set up her tee and ball, and was just about to swing when Patsy said: "Did anyone read about that gobshite who put a fork up his you-know-what?"

incredulous

Maggie's club hit the ground so hard I thought she might have broken her arm.

"WTF, Patsy!" she roared at her. I have to say I was a tad incredulous myself.

"Swear to God – it was some oul' fella in Australia."

"What? He actually stuck a fork up his back passage?" I asked her.

"Nooo, he actually stuck it up his front passage," she replied.

"You mean up his doo dah!" said Josie, her eyes watering at the very thought.

Maggie took another whack and her effort landed on the green. Unfortunately, it was on the wrong green.

Patsy stood up for her turn. "Apparently, it's some sort of fetish thing," she said as her ball sailed into the next field. By the time we got to the 3rd hole, she had embellished the story so much that yer man had managed to store a whole canteen of cutlery up there.

When I got home, my other half asked how I had got on and I told him the story about the fork. He's still looking at me ...


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