Peter Powell's Y-Fronts
Emma came round today. We went round Selfridges looking for makeup. She bought hair gel with glitter dust in and I bought some black nail varnish. When we were passing through the gent’s underwear section, who should we see but that that Peter Powell! You know, the DJ. He’s much smaller in real life than he sounds on the wireless. I tried to get a look at what he was buying but he caught my eye and then moved over to the socks department. Emma says she thinks he looks like a boxer-shorts sort of guy. But I reckon he goes for Y-Fronts. He looks as though he’d benefit from the extra support, if you know what I mean.This afternoon we went down to The Barbican - the arts centre they opened down the East End somewhere. Proper dump if you ask me. Worse than that place on the South Bank where they have that National Theatre; that was where they did that play, The Romans In Britain - you know, the one that there was that court case about after Mary Whitehouse moaned about it. I wish I’d gone to see it! Mrs Whitehouse reckons one of the actors got his wotsit out and wiggled it at the audience! But the actor claims it was just his thumb. How can you mistake a thumb for a willy, that’s what I’d like to know? Emma says she’s had some boyfriends that you could make that mistake with! I laughed. I’m not really sure I understand what she means though….
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