Reasons to visit Watford: no.1 in an occasional series

Because they have the most homoerotic war memorial of any town, anywhere, ever.

That fig leaf just reinforces the focus of our attention, wouldn't you say?

PS: A reader has referred, in the Comments section of this post, to this sculpture in the ground of the Scott Polar Institute, Cambridge:

Alas, I have no idea how to add photos to Comments, so you get to see it here instead.

Mighty fine sculpture, I would have said. According to the web, the model was the younger brother of Lawrence of Arabia. That must have been some family.

PPS: Someone else has now nominated this delightful Washington DC statue, apparently the Boy Scout Memorial:

Thanks for the hot tips, but I'm not adding any more: they'll go in a new post if I like them.

The Joy of Socks

I generally prefer my clothes to be dowdy and unnoticeable. I am certainly not a clothes-dandy. But I do make an exception for hosiery:

I confess: I am that wanker who likes violently-coloured and patterned socks.

And, being that wanker, I have no option but to buy the deleriously mad products of the Duchamp house of sockery:

Duchamp may be better known for their startling ties and even more startling shirts, but it is their socks I buy in quantity.

Although I have also been known to buy the occasional scarf.

I'm not ashamed to admit that I own most of the designs of sock displayed here for your pleasure:

Plus quite a few more (especially in their vibrant pinks and lilacs).

As affectations go, it is one of the least harmful to society, I would have said.

But then, it is easy enough to find excuses for our own personal foibles, isn't it?

PS: I confess, the only reason for posting this right now is because I could no longer put off using that punning title. I've been wanting to do it for ages...

Where was I...?

It's time to stop teasing you and reveal the location of the pastoral idyll I featured the other day:

Just savour the bucolic tranquility for a moment or two longer: you can almost hear the birdsong in these images:

As the title of the first post hinted, it is, in fact, the Grand Union Canal, and these first few shots were taken about 3 or 4 miles from central London.

Here's the canal about a mile from Paddington, looking eastwards at Willesden Junction, the Great Western Railway running parallel.

And here it is a little further inland:

Where it is not passing through delightful green space, the main buildings backing onto the canal are dirty light industrial users and cheap social housing. In glorious sunshine even these can look faintly romantic:

In early Victorian times this was, obviously, a superhighway, and the few buildings from that era have a glorious purposefulness about them (I don't know why that one house needs quite so many satellite dishes, though):

And there's one part where the curves of the canal are mirrored in the curves of the Westway, overhead:

But those are the exceptions. For the most part, walking on the canal towpath is to experience verdant green and utter peace:

London is just full of surprises, isn't it?

Burly babe

A quartet sent to me by a kind and generous reader who asks if I'm interested in ancient Playgirl images. Too right!

This hairy lovely would, of course, be disqualified today on several grounds, including his delicious hairiness and the (relatively) minuscule proportions of his magnificent todger.

Whereas he is pretty average in the cocklet department, today all porn stars must have a minimum of at least ten inches flaccid, and thirty inches erect. I think those proportions are correct, but perhaps I have under-stated them.

In my book Burl (my God, is anyone called "Burl" today?) is a Sex God. Utterly magnificent.

Well, yes, alright, he may have a bit of a scowl, but who wouldn't want to play with that body?

My thanks to my generous reader.

Homer moment

At London's St Pancras station I encountered this travesty:

No, not the fact I'm such a poor photographer that I cut off the feet of the woman in the green skirt: I mean the restaurant.

In search of lunch, I was so, so thrilled to find a restaurant specialising in pork chops (or possibly lamb) that I literally began salivating. Imagine my shock and horror when the "chop" referred to is, apparently, the chopping of fresh ingredients in salads. Not a proper chop to be found anywhere.

Devastating.

Ain't it Grand

Very exciting news (for me, anyway): I've found my jpeg loader so I can now share lots of my exciting new photos with you. Lots more to come later, but here's a trio of images to whet your appetite:

Idyllic, huh?

Any idea where this is? A small, non-transferable prize with absolutely no cash value* might be available to the lucky winner...

* The prize has no physical existence, either, and is awarded at the sole discretion of LeDuc whose decision is final no matter how obviously perverse.

Very nice indeed

Not being a particularly religious man I'm a bit hazy about some of the details of the Easter holiday (sic), but I'm aware some others like to celebrate -- so I felt I ought to show willing:

I can't quite remember how Easter is associated with rabbits and, hence, bunny ears, but I'm sure there's something.

Happy Easter.

Teeny tiny winkies. Again.

I posted this miraculously sexy image the other day:

His teeny-tiny winkie reminded me, of course, of the extraordinary beauty assigned to such proportions in Ancient Greek art:

In this civilised world, only barbarous tribespeople (and naughty Gods) are depicted with enormous wangers:

In the rest of their world, everything seemed to revolve around the tiny wee pricklet.

Of course, the Greeks were into some weird shit including all sorts of man-to-man loving. The homoeroticism extended everywhere, as evidenced by this next delightful image of two youths wrestling. Note the casual placement of the hand of the chap on the right. And note at extreme right where one of the odd sticks happens to be pointing...

Today, of course, we do not approve of the whole man:boy thing they had going on (something I always found a bit creepy myself, which was possibly a reflection of my unsophisticated market town origins):

But, for me, there was no denying the overwhelming sexiness of imagery such as this:

Given that these sorts of images were my number one visual stimulation as a pervy kid, you can see how that hippy in the first photo might represent, for me, the ultimate sexy fantasy. Oh yes.

One good turn

Not just one but two kind readers have supplied these images for our delectation and pleasure:

In that one it was the ancient building and the lovely colours which made it, but this next one is solely dependent on the sheer lustiness of the subject and, my God, I want to just drop to my knees and, er, worship him:

Continuing the hippy theme...

No, that didn't work at all. Let's change themes. Quickly now. Yes, here's strange angles:

And now we've recovered, let's go all-out for arty:

And, to bring up the rear, this lovely shot from, if I'm not mistaken, my favourite pornographer.

Well, now, there's lovely.

And my thanks, as always, to those of you who so generously send me Good Stuff to post here. It's very much appreciated!

Multiple interiors

I stumbled across this fistful of fun -- someone had taken shots showing the changing design of high-density commuter/suburban/secondary trains over the years, starting with this wood veneer paradise in a Class 104:

That was a type of diesel multiple unit mainly used around the North-West and Tyneside, constructed in 1957, whereas this was a Class 302 a 25kv "overhead line" AC electric multiple unit, used mostly on the London-Tilbury-Southend line, built from 1958 onwards:

That design of fabric is, I seem to recall, known as "Trojan", and it was near-ubiquitous for a few years.

The next generation of multiple units was derived from a prototype known as PEP, and the Class 313s were constructed from 1976 onwards. Notice how the warm incandescent lighting has been replaced with fluorescent tubes:

The 508s were in the same family (although 3rd rail rather than overhead electrics), manufactured from 1979 onwards. They had the same low-backed seating, but the lighting power was doubled giving a harsh glare to the interiors:

Alas, that harsh lighting was here to stay (apparently there is a minuscule number of people who can barely see unless everything is floodlit, and the rest of us have to sit in starkly lit conditions just in case one of them happens to be somewhere on the train. The fact that a much higher proportion of us is light sensitive seems to be irrelevant to the Health & Safety Czars).

Anyway, the green check fabric from the previous train can also be seen in our last multiple unit, the spectacularly ugly Class 455, another 3rd rail job, under the floodlighting:

I was rather taken with those photos, too, actually: the way they are mostly out of focus but that just adds to a dreamy sense of hyper-reality (does that make any sense at all?).

Not much else to add, really.