At the back of the hill

Warning: If you stay here long enough you will gain weight! Grazing here strongly suggests that you are either omnivorous, or a glutton. And you might like cheese-doodles.
BTW: I'm presently searching for another person who likes cheese-doodles.
Please form a caseophilic line to the right. Thank you.

Sunday, July 21, 2013


As a single man without even any prospect of naughty business in my life, it is only natural that I disapprove of any and all manifestations of sexuality. Evidence that other people are having it on absolutely nauseates me.
Kindly do NOT expose your bestial passions!
Especially not when I'm around.
It's quite unseemly.

All of that could change. One hundred and eighty degrees, whiplash.

For instance, if I were the object of those bestial passions.

That isn't hypocrisy, but a big smile on my face.

My opportunistic side lives.

There's a time and a place for everything. Nasty business should always be indoors, in private. Unless it's an exceptionally fresh and quiet meadow, and there are no other humans or insects about.
And one of the people involved has a towel.

I don't know about you, but I've always mistrusted people who carry their own towel with them.

My parents' generation was much more discreet, generally speaking, than the current crop of youngsters, twenty-somethings, celebrities, and politicians. Yes, some of them engaged in illicit nooky with the wrong type, or ran-up enormous hotel bills with spouses other than their own. But for the most part they believed that their private affairs should remain precisely that: private.

I'm fairly certain that pre-marital, post-marital, extra-marital, or even anarcho-marital sex took place on a fairly regular basis among all levels of society. They just didn't talk about it.

This blogger does not mind you engaging in whatever shakes your basket. In fact, that is something which I encourage wholeheartedly. But spare me the details, I have no wish to know.
Unless I was involved. In which case I should be aware of that.
If, hypothetically speaking, it escaped me.
Which is not very likely, though.

I am quite observant.

Please, no photos.

NOTE: Readers may contact me directly:
All correspondence will be kept in confidence.


  • At 8:53 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said…

    "I don't know about you, but I've always mistrusted people who carry their own towel with them. "

    Oh, well. guess you don't observe

    The original quotation that explained the importance of towels is found in Chapter 3 of Adams' work The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy.

    A towel, it says, is about the most massively useful thing an interstellar hitchhiker can have. Partly it has great practical value. You can wrap it around you for warmth as you bound across the cold moons of Jaglan Beta; you can lie on it on the brilliant marble-sanded beaches of Santraginus V, inhaling the heady sea vapours; you can sleep under it beneath the stars which shine so redly on the desert world of Kakrafoon; use it to sail a miniraft down the slow heavy River Moth; wet it for use in hand-to-hand-combat; wrap it round your head to ward off noxious fumes or avoid the gaze of the Ravenous Bugblatter Beast of Traal (such a mind-bogglingly stupid animal, it assumes that if you can't see it, it can't see you); you can wave your towel in emergencies as a distress signal, and of course dry yourself off with it if it still seems to be clean enough.

    More importantly, a towel has immense psychological value. For some reason, if a strag (strag: non-hitch hiker) discovers that a hitchhiker has his towel with him, he will automatically assume that he is also in possession of a toothbrush, face flannel, soap, tin of biscuits, flask, compass, map, ball of string, gnat spray, wet weather gear, space suit etc., etc. Furthermore, the strag will then happily lend the hitch hiker any of these or a dozen other items that the hitch hiker might accidentally have "lost." What the strag will think is that any man who can hitch the length and breadth of the galaxy, rough it, slum it, struggle against terrible odds, win through, and still knows where his towel is, is clearly a man to be reckoned with.

  • At 1:06 AM, Blogger The back of the hill said…

    Toothbrus: left side breast pocket of coat.

    Towels REMAIN dubious.

    Hmmph, interstellar perverts!

  • At 7:07 AM, Anonymous BC said…

    In lieu of a towel, carry a freshly laundered handkerchief.


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