Not for those easily offended….

Today Trent showed me his cock and balls.

Apologies for the lack of euphemism, but given that this is a farm and therefore specialises in food and plants I thought ‘meat and two veg’ or ‘twig and berries’ might be a touch misleading. Similarly, ‘spam javelin’ and ‘love truncheon’ were dismissed on the grounds that they refer only to part of the collection displayed by my transatlantic colleague.

And besides, I wanted to convey a little of the shock I experienced.

Rest easy, he didn’t mean to, but it was still a shock.

Run he shouted as he reentered the polytunnel.
I ran.
Why am I running?
Wasps
Ok
I carried on running.
80 metres away we stopped.
I pretended not to breathe heavily.
What happened?

Trent had been tipping another barrowload of weeds that we’d pulled up from the floor of the flooded polytunnel. on to the compost bin behind the polytunnel.

He’d been doing it all day, but only now somehow disturbing the rather sizeable wasps nest therein. I don’t seem to be having much luck with our winged friends this summer.

Jeees, that was close, I was lucky to get away with th AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH ….bastard bastard bastard

A wasp must have latched on to Trent’s clothes and allowed him to take it for a run while it used the few moments to force its sting through what must be the fairly dense weave of Trent’s favoured canvas work trouser. But find a way through it surely had. Half way up his leg, give or take. He started to hop around (Trent, not the wasp) in obvious pain shouting ‘get off you bastard‘ loud and long. It got worse. Not only could he not get at the sting, it seemed like wasp had actually found a way into his strides. Down came the lower garments. He carried on with the repeated ‘get off you bastard‘s, but was now also slapping himself amidships trying to kill, stun or otherwise disarm the little bugger. I should mention that Trent’s had rather large boots on, so his clothes were gathered at his ankles, making the simple act of staying on his feet rather problematic, never mind while trying to slap the wasp senseless at the same time as not permanently damaging his organs of reproduction. I flapped around behind him, not knowing quite how to help while also hoping to remain unstung.

Since the age of 12 or so, whenever I’ve been presented with the sight of the male organs I can’t help but point and shout ‘It’s like a cock only smaller‘. Sad but true. This time however, I was rather more concerned by how this scene might look from the dozen or so houses that overlook the field. Slowly the full horror dawned on me: they….couldn’t….see….the….wasp. What they would see was a man with his trousers down, appearing to be country dancing around the field, slapping at his mid-region, genitals swinging in the breeze, shouting ‘get off you bastard‘ while being chased by me with outstretched arms. It didn’t take me long to figure that this may not be doing much for my standing in the local community.

I pushed him with rather indecent haste into the other polytunnel, where I was tempted to turn the hose on him in any attempt to water cannon the little jasper off and bring this sorry saga to a close. He displayed an impressive grasp of Anglo-Saxon in requesting me not to, which was fortunate as I’d forgotten that the opaque plastic side of that polytunnel was wound down, exposing the full scene to the neighbours through the ventilation netting. I’m not sure that being seen hosing down a semi-naked American with a shaven head and a goatee beard would’ve been anymore easily explainable than the outdoor scene to those blackballing me at the village fete.

Think I’ll go for a walk out back with the wife in a minute, arm in arm. And maybe drive the tractor about a bit, do some wood chopping, that sort of thing.

(The irrelevant pic is a cabbage thistle)

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  • I'm sure I recall reading on your blog that you had started writing for a genteel gardening magazine. The assignment could be short lived. The "ladies who lunch" readership may not be able to stomach the vision of a wasp v. genitals battle.

    p.s. excellent photos as usual – what kit do you use (so to speak)

  • Great story. Great sensitivity to feelings of others, you did warn them not to read further if …

    But I suspect that those who want to be offended will take the warning as the opposite.

    Not disgusted of near Tunbridge Wells

  • PS While this incident was happening, were you thinking "Oh my God, this is going to make a fantastic blog post" ?

  • I wish the phrase "Like a cock only smaller" had come to mind on the three occasions I got flashed at in my teens. The last was in a municipal gardens where I was sketching with a school friend. Suddenly she came over to me and said "Come on we're going" and when I protested I hadn't finished my sketch she said "Well put HIM in your picture then!" Ha ha! The fact that we were laughing at him didn't stop him frantically getting on with his business so-to-speak.

  • Thank you all, very nice to see i havent alienated everyone! Arabella – what a story….a story is always better when there's a chance to use 'municipal', similarly 'derisory'. I cant help thinking that getting flashed three times in a maximum of six years is a pretty high score, or am i blissfully ignorant of the commonness of flashing?

    James AS – I felt a little like the guy who was playing golf near Bing Crosby when he died on the course and just happened to have a camera handy….on the one hand very concerned, on the other not entirely unaware of the upside. Shame on me.

  • W.r.t. getting flashed at 3 times in 6 years – I lived in Wales. Ha ha!

    I think pretty much every girl in my peer group got flashed at at least once – but in 'those days' everyone thought it was par for the course.

  • Oh my. I must stop drinking coffee whilst reading blog posts – it's no good for the keyboard. Wonderful story.

    With regard to flashing, I too have been flashed at, but only twice. Both in the same place, and both times I had a riding crop in my hand but foolishly didn't use it (I was on a pony both times, nothing weird…). The key thing I remember of both incidents was the colour of the socks each chap was wearing – pale blue in the first instance and grubby white in the second.

  • I think i must be entirely ignorant of the commonness of flashing….but thank you HM and all others – best thing about writing a blog is the comments

  • Oh this was so funny!
    Reminded me of an incident when I was just in my first year of teaching! I shared a flat with another yorkshire gal, we shared a bedroom. We knew the lady in the flat below was of a sexual leaning towards women. Twas the winter of 78 very cold….I had an electric blanket…Jan didn't so being broad minded yorkshire lass I saig "OK hop in!" Now I do not like feet in any shape or form…..Jan stuck her feet into my back….I shout "Put them away or get out of my bed!" and jumped out of bed…..realised what it sounded like! lol! My what interesting days followed…..I found myself changing my high pitched voice whenever neighbour spoke…..I sounded butch and so worried! lol!

  • i have a close up photo of his nipple on my camera. its big, its not that hairy, and it looks very american. if i could post it on here i bloody would!!

    any requests??

    owen gleeson (his irish friend)

  • Part of me's wondering why you have a photo of his nipple on your phone, part of me really doesn't want to know! Im starting to wonder if he doesn't engineeer occasions on which to become semi naked. Time to draw a dark veil over this one i think…..!