Off the other evening to see Chelsea-Liverpool on a big screen in a village bar in another valley. Coming down from the pass on an old walled stone track, I turn a corner and there’s a flock of goats nibbling the hedges. In the middle of the path, the cloth-capped ruddy-faced goatherd in classic caganero pose, his trousers round his ankles, a great sea of shite pouring out of his arse. He sees me and rapidly pulls his trousers up his boney white legs.
What to do in such circumstances? Introduce yourself and hope you don’t shake the shithand? Farmer JM, when told, laughs himself sick: he hasn’t seen something like that for 20 years; even goatherds are usually more discreet. I detour through the field and forget even to get a photo, so here’s a replay:
- Wesley Willis
Has got to be in there somewhere: Lyrics: Suck a polar bear’s funky ass! Suck a racehorse’s cock with Heinz Tomato Ketchup! Suck a donkey’s
- Killing the pig
Jayne’s got a photo here, and here’s an old joke which is told in Spain and probably in other places too: A
- Cats vs porcupines: Gramsci’s view
Mistress Puss has departed for the hill, so it’s time for another beast to abuse, kill and eat the 5-6cm American
- Family album
The best photos I’ve ever taken.
- For drone-hunters, a walk westward from Gatwick airport to Ockley station
Dedicated to those at Gatwick considering tracking down and killing the source of their stasis. Features two good drinking establishments, the