I know this is a crass piece of commercialism but I simply don't care -- it stars the amazingly wonderfully lustfully extraordinary Thierry Pepin, and that's good enough for me...
Ah, Thierry: whenever I see you now I have an image in my head of your hard, throbbing cock, searching for the hole of your bum-buddy during your, er, early foray into gay porn, back in the day. That's some wand you have there. And even I, the champion of the modest winkie, salute your todger.
My thanks to a generous reader for drawing this to my attention.
Thursday, 31 March 2011
Smiley Smileys
I am constantly moved by the generosity of some of my readers -- and someone has now sent me another two World ExclusiveTM images of Smiley-Face Man. I am in Heaven:
That was, obviously, another shot of Smiley-Face Man and his Friend (some of you have outrageously suggested that Friend is hotter than Smiley-Face Man, but you are clearly delusional. Lovely though Friend obviously is).
And then there's this, the best back view that has yet emerged. My God, those dimples...
Someone left a comment on a Smiley-Face Man post a while back, wondering if Smiley-Face Man was aware of just how much he was worshipped on an obscure English blog. If he is not aware, I hope he is still feeling the lurve
My thanks, again, to my very generous reader.
That was, obviously, another shot of Smiley-Face Man and his Friend (some of you have outrageously suggested that Friend is hotter than Smiley-Face Man, but you are clearly delusional. Lovely though Friend obviously is).
And then there's this, the best back view that has yet emerged. My God, those dimples...
Someone left a comment on a Smiley-Face Man post a while back, wondering if Smiley-Face Man was aware of just how much he was worshipped on an obscure English blog. If he is not aware, I hope he is still feeling the lurve
My thanks, again, to my very generous reader.
Wednesday, 30 March 2011
Sequential
A sequence commissioned by a fash mag (maybe Vogue Italy?) publication of which was vetoed by the US parent on the grounds that penises are very, very frightening.
I rather like these (though apologies that they're not as sharp as I would like -- my source was very small jpegs that have been blown-up a bit).
Still, you get the gist (and I do like that hairy man's wee winkie, above).
Still, let's end with a properly manicured model, although that hairstyle reminds me a little uncomfortably of my teenage years spent with a side-parting...
Big balls, though. I mean, really Big Balls. Blimey. But a nasty ring...
I rather like these (though apologies that they're not as sharp as I would like -- my source was very small jpegs that have been blown-up a bit).
Still, you get the gist (and I do like that hairy man's wee winkie, above).
I'm not generally a fan of beards, but these are rather jolly.
Still, let's end with a properly manicured model, although that hairstyle reminds me a little uncomfortably of my teenage years spent with a side-parting...
Big balls, though. I mean, really Big Balls. Blimey. But a nasty ring...
Monday, 28 March 2011
High Speed Rail - the real future
I thought about saving this for 1 April but I love it so much I can't resist sharing it right now:
Tragically, there are people who probably believe it's true (Cambridge-St Ives guided busway, anyone? At vastly greater cost than a heavyweight railway, let alone a metro line, years overdue and still not a single passenger ever carried).
Tragically, there are people who probably believe it's true (Cambridge-St Ives guided busway, anyone? At vastly greater cost than a heavyweight railway, let alone a metro line, years overdue and still not a single passenger ever carried).
Sunday, 27 March 2011
Onwards and upwards
This sort of hunched-up pose where the face can't be seen almost invariably reminds me of that delightful Flandrin painting:
But there's really no time to explore that idea further since there's only one image left...
And these two were both intended as stop-gaps, to see you through the disappointments that are in store with the next post.
Deep breath, now...
But there's really no time to explore that idea further since there's only one image left...
And these two were both intended as stop-gaps, to see you through the disappointments that are in store with the next post.
Deep breath, now...
Went the day well...?
When I saw this image at the start of a photo sequence I was very excited... he looks like just my cup of tea.
So imagine my horror when it turns out he's shaved himself as bald as a baby:
I do like the photography -- the hand reaching out, the foreshortening effect...
It's just that I can't help being distracted by that oh-so-bald pubis...
It just screams out at me, about how freakishly unnatural this man/boy is:
I'm sure he's delightful in every other respect, but in this depilated form I find him completely unerotic.
Possibly my most disappointing photosequence ever. Bummer.
So imagine my horror when it turns out he's shaved himself as bald as a baby:
I do like the photography -- the hand reaching out, the foreshortening effect...
It's just that I can't help being distracted by that oh-so-bald pubis...
It just screams out at me, about how freakishly unnatural this man/boy is:
I'm sure he's delightful in every other respect, but in this depilated form I find him completely unerotic.
Possibly my most disappointing photosequence ever. Bummer.
Network benefits
Unbelievable though it may seem today, there was a time when the city of Norwich was the second or third largest and most prosperous city in all England. Hence the simply vast cathedral and the imposing Norman castle:
Today, Norwich is a long way away from the emerging map of English super-cities, assuming we think proximity to high speed rail lines is a key criterion:
In fact, that schematic doesn't show the half of it -- here's southern-ish England showing existing rail lines and the proposed HS2 route:
Note those times: Birmingham, substantially further from London than Norwich, can be reached in 1 hour 24 minutes today; Norwich is more than two hours away. Birmingham has four trains an hour, Norwich one.
Forgive me: my international readers may have no idea of the geography (and why should they?). Norwich is in the county of Norfolk, which is marked red on this map:
Although it's worse than that, since Norwich is squished over on the eastern side of Norfolk, even further from the action -- it's certainly not on the way to anywhere much:
Oh, you can find Holt on that map if you want (that's the location of Old Town clothing, about which I was banging on yesterday).
In the late nineteenth century Norwich's position didn't much matter since there was a pretty comprehensive network of railway lines:
But let's look at the twenty-first century equivalent of the rail network -- here's the motorway network in East Anglia:
Er... The old joke used to be "what motorway is closest to Norwich?". The answer given was "the Amsterdam ring road". I don't think that's true, but confirmation came a few days back of the absolute isolation of Norwich with the government announcement of the construction of a stretch of dual carriageway on the A11 -- until it is finished, Norwich will remain the largest city in England that is not connected by motorway or even dual carriageway to the rest of the country.
A scene from happier times -- the 1970s at Norwich's Thorpe railway station:
I'm in two minds about all this: HS2 will help bridge the North-South divide in the UK, but there is a risk it will create a new isolation for those areas in East Anglia and the West Country, which both look a long way away from the connectivity offered by the emerging HS network. Should that matter?
Today, Norwich is a long way away from the emerging map of English super-cities, assuming we think proximity to high speed rail lines is a key criterion:
In fact, that schematic doesn't show the half of it -- here's southern-ish England showing existing rail lines and the proposed HS2 route:
Note those times: Birmingham, substantially further from London than Norwich, can be reached in 1 hour 24 minutes today; Norwich is more than two hours away. Birmingham has four trains an hour, Norwich one.
Forgive me: my international readers may have no idea of the geography (and why should they?). Norwich is in the county of Norfolk, which is marked red on this map:
Although it's worse than that, since Norwich is squished over on the eastern side of Norfolk, even further from the action -- it's certainly not on the way to anywhere much:
Oh, you can find Holt on that map if you want (that's the location of Old Town clothing, about which I was banging on yesterday).
In the late nineteenth century Norwich's position didn't much matter since there was a pretty comprehensive network of railway lines:
But let's look at the twenty-first century equivalent of the rail network -- here's the motorway network in East Anglia:
Er... The old joke used to be "what motorway is closest to Norwich?". The answer given was "the Amsterdam ring road". I don't think that's true, but confirmation came a few days back of the absolute isolation of Norwich with the government announcement of the construction of a stretch of dual carriageway on the A11 -- until it is finished, Norwich will remain the largest city in England that is not connected by motorway or even dual carriageway to the rest of the country.
A scene from happier times -- the 1970s at Norwich's Thorpe railway station:
I'm in two minds about all this: HS2 will help bridge the North-South divide in the UK, but there is a risk it will create a new isolation for those areas in East Anglia and the West Country, which both look a long way away from the connectivity offered by the emerging HS network. Should that matter?
Saturday, 26 March 2011
Studying hard
A rather startling quartet from the same photographer + model, starting with a shot I always love -- the delightful foreshortening just does something to me:
This next pose is rather less commonly seen...
Ah, but you can't beat the old "stand up and put your hands on the back of your neck", here enlivened by the interesting shadow detail and, of course, the sheer humongous turgidity of the Massive Mutant Winkie hanging heavy between his legs...
But let's end here, with a simple and engrossing study, all quiet gentleness:
Not wild about the bedspread, frankly (or the rug in image number 2), but I think the model is more than capable of transcending such bourgeois concerns, don't you?
This next pose is rather less commonly seen...
Ah, but you can't beat the old "stand up and put your hands on the back of your neck", here enlivened by the interesting shadow detail and, of course, the sheer humongous turgidity of the Massive Mutant Winkie hanging heavy between his legs...
But let's end here, with a simple and engrossing study, all quiet gentleness:
Not wild about the bedspread, frankly (or the rug in image number 2), but I think the model is more than capable of transcending such bourgeois concerns, don't you?
Shopping
I hesitated before posting about this because one of the reasons it's so delightful is because it's small scale and non-industrial, but, you know, I'm a sucker for blabbing, so here we go. Today saw what I think of as my pilgrimage to lovely Fournier Street in London's Spitalfields for the annual visit here by Norfolk workwear makers Old Town.
Usually based in a tiny shop and workroom in the tiny but exquisite Georgian market town of Holt (yes, it's miles from anywhere and you will likely never have heard of it), Old Town makes great clothes. Being a Norfolk boy I've visited Holt many times, of course, but Old Town is most generous in descending to London from time to time.
They produce nothing that is vulgar or ostentatious; their goods are all subdued and under-stated, using traditional English fabrics -- in fact the sign over the main shop window proudly lists "cotton drill, fustian, linen, serge, tweed".
The styling is utterly delightful: traditional English workwear, taking styling cues from the late nineteenth century through to the Second World War.
The colour palette is defiantly Austerity Britain: tans and Navys, blacks and greys, enlivened by an occasional sage green or pale blue. The silk ties (woven in Suffolk but that's good enough for me) provide the only real splashes of colour in the menswear:
The designer is a chap called Will Brown -- you can hear him here as well as watching an evocative slide show -- while the face of Old Town is the indomitable Miss Willey (I'm not joking), a flame-haired Geordie lass.
Can I say how much I love this traditional design of pull-on, collarless shirt?:
The trouser range includes what is, so far as I am aware, the only style of drop-flap trousers still manufactured in England (and delightfully named "The Dreadnought"):
As someone who despises The Fashion Industry, I am a huge, huge fan of Old Town's clothes: who needs vulgar changing displays of ostentation when you can wear magnificent Overall Coats like the blue number seen at the front of this rack (oh, alright, I confess: I am the proud owner of one of those):
I ordered another Overall Coat, in tan this time, and a collarless shirt of the most wonderful cream cotton. Now I have to wait five or six weeks for them to be made. It will be like Christmas when the big day arrives.
Usually based in a tiny shop and workroom in the tiny but exquisite Georgian market town of Holt (yes, it's miles from anywhere and you will likely never have heard of it), Old Town makes great clothes. Being a Norfolk boy I've visited Holt many times, of course, but Old Town is most generous in descending to London from time to time.
They produce nothing that is vulgar or ostentatious; their goods are all subdued and under-stated, using traditional English fabrics -- in fact the sign over the main shop window proudly lists "cotton drill, fustian, linen, serge, tweed".
The styling is utterly delightful: traditional English workwear, taking styling cues from the late nineteenth century through to the Second World War.
The colour palette is defiantly Austerity Britain: tans and Navys, blacks and greys, enlivened by an occasional sage green or pale blue. The silk ties (woven in Suffolk but that's good enough for me) provide the only real splashes of colour in the menswear:
The designer is a chap called Will Brown -- you can hear him here as well as watching an evocative slide show -- while the face of Old Town is the indomitable Miss Willey (I'm not joking), a flame-haired Geordie lass.
Can I say how much I love this traditional design of pull-on, collarless shirt?:
The trouser range includes what is, so far as I am aware, the only style of drop-flap trousers still manufactured in England (and delightfully named "The Dreadnought"):
As someone who despises The Fashion Industry, I am a huge, huge fan of Old Town's clothes: who needs vulgar changing displays of ostentation when you can wear magnificent Overall Coats like the blue number seen at the front of this rack (oh, alright, I confess: I am the proud owner of one of those):
I ordered another Overall Coat, in tan this time, and a collarless shirt of the most wonderful cream cotton. Now I have to wait five or six weeks for them to be made. It will be like Christmas when the big day arrives.
Good stuff
A trio of fun sent to me by a kind reader, starting with this lovely, utterly delightful-looking man:
I've always enjoyed the game of peek-a-boo, and this is a particularly fine capture of it:
And we end here, with a magnificent man. God, would it be possible for any man to be any manlier?:
These images are a little on the small side compared to those I usually post, but the quality of the subject matter more than makes up for them, I think.
Feel free to send me any good stuff you think should feature. And that would save me loads of work, too!
I've always enjoyed the game of peek-a-boo, and this is a particularly fine capture of it:
And we end here, with a magnificent man. God, would it be possible for any man to be any manlier?:
These images are a little on the small side compared to those I usually post, but the quality of the subject matter more than makes up for them, I think.
Feel free to send me any good stuff you think should feature. And that would save me loads of work, too!
Shuttle
Something a little different from the usual, transport-wise: an early example of integrated public transport.
That delightful-looking one-and-a-half-decker coach was operated by BEA (or British European Airways), one of the two nationalised airlines created after the Second World War (the other was BOAC, or British Overseas Airways Corporation) which would eventually be merged into British Airways.
BEA had a fleet of these fine beasts that shuttled between Heathrow Airport and what was known as the West London Air Terminal -- a vast check-in area in South Kensington on a triangle of land above Underground railway sidings (it's now occupied by an equally vast Sainsburys).
The idea was that you would go to the WLT and check in, go through Customs and dump your bags, go through passport control, and then join the coach which would whisk you to Heathrow (or, rather, which would grind along the congestion of the A4 and reach Heathrow an hour or so later).
BOAC ran a similar operation from their much more conveniently sited and very swanky Art Deco terminal at Victoria Station, although this BOAC bus is seen at Heathrow:
The Victoria Air Terminal was in the old Imperial Airways building, which is now occupied by the National Audit Office but outside which you can still see this rather glorious sculpture Speed Wings Over the World, by Eric Broadbent -- the "speedwing" was the symbol of Imperial Airways, and the call sign of British Airways jets is still "Speed Bird xxx":
That's one of my ancient photos, of which I'm very fond, but back to BEA.
They didn't just use those fabulous RF coaches:
And, obviously, there were a couple of livery variations, too:
All that has disappeared, of course, with the extension of the Underground to Heathrow Airport and, subsequently, the opening of the Heathrow Express. I still miss the opportunity to dump luggage early on in the journey to the plane (there was a shortlived experiment which enabled you to check-in at Paddington Station). The Swiss seem able to do this, so I wonder why it is beyond us?
That delightful-looking one-and-a-half-decker coach was operated by BEA (or British European Airways), one of the two nationalised airlines created after the Second World War (the other was BOAC, or British Overseas Airways Corporation) which would eventually be merged into British Airways.
BEA had a fleet of these fine beasts that shuttled between Heathrow Airport and what was known as the West London Air Terminal -- a vast check-in area in South Kensington on a triangle of land above Underground railway sidings (it's now occupied by an equally vast Sainsburys).
The idea was that you would go to the WLT and check in, go through Customs and dump your bags, go through passport control, and then join the coach which would whisk you to Heathrow (or, rather, which would grind along the congestion of the A4 and reach Heathrow an hour or so later).
BOAC ran a similar operation from their much more conveniently sited and very swanky Art Deco terminal at Victoria Station, although this BOAC bus is seen at Heathrow:
The Victoria Air Terminal was in the old Imperial Airways building, which is now occupied by the National Audit Office but outside which you can still see this rather glorious sculpture Speed Wings Over the World, by Eric Broadbent -- the "speedwing" was the symbol of Imperial Airways, and the call sign of British Airways jets is still "Speed Bird xxx":
That's one of my ancient photos, of which I'm very fond, but back to BEA.
They didn't just use those fabulous RF coaches:
And, obviously, there were a couple of livery variations, too:
All that has disappeared, of course, with the extension of the Underground to Heathrow Airport and, subsequently, the opening of the Heathrow Express. I still miss the opportunity to dump luggage early on in the journey to the plane (there was a shortlived experiment which enabled you to check-in at Paddington Station). The Swiss seem able to do this, so I wonder why it is beyond us?
Fetish fun?
There's too much "fetish" gear in this sequence for my usual pleasure...
I find it distracting and irritating rather than erotic and horny -- it gets in the way of the flesh.
But this sequence also has lots of very lovely flesh.
So, on balance, I decided it was much more of a turn-on than a turn-off.
And I chose to regard images such as this last one as being just a bit of fun...
Who thinks chains are erotic? I mean, come on! They're cold, heavy and clanky, they get in the way, and they hurt. I just don't understand.
I find it distracting and irritating rather than erotic and horny -- it gets in the way of the flesh.
But this sequence also has lots of very lovely flesh.
So, on balance, I decided it was much more of a turn-on than a turn-off.
And I chose to regard images such as this last one as being just a bit of fun...
Who thinks chains are erotic? I mean, come on! They're cold, heavy and clanky, they get in the way, and they hurt. I just don't understand.
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