Whips, Bats and Handcuffs

Also gas masks, clothes pegs, shackles, bondage chairs (straps included), strait jackets, sex toys, gimp masks, S&M outfits, shackles, cattle prods and car batteries used to power the toys (batteries included, for once),

Also "various electrical vibrating" items and - get this, these dudes are my kinda dungeonaires - a recording studio complete with computer equipment and mixing desk.

Boggle boggle, eh?

Gahd - where is that cartoon when I need it? The one that so infuriated readers of The Oldie ~ prison officer standing over a con all wired in and telling him,

"Your screams may be recorded for training purposes."

Or was he wired to the chair? Chair goes much better here.

I adore stories like this, saayy English:

The Filth turning up in a suit and being ushered in. But of course. It's bums on laps they're after, gotta keep it movin'.

But the chappie I want to meet is the sweetie who turned up despite all them police vans and cars and fuzz all milling and *still* ringing the bell and sticking to his appointment.

Mind you, a heavy police presence round a sex emporium shouldn't ring any alarm bells. Why not?

Why shouldn't they get their jollies same as anyone else?

Come to think of it, most of the cops I've got to know have THE hardest time getting any satisfaction ... must be the job and all the insults from the weirdos they deal with. Mind you, some of their wives ... hard to tell the difference between some of them and the attack dogs they use to clear those SW1 squats.

Yes, indeed - even PC Plod needs stimulus like the rest of us ... well, not me, of course, but I have this friend ya know? who, like, ...

These stories must be such fun to cover: it's always a *dungeon*, isn't it? And all Devon villages have to be 'sleepy'.

Unusual behaviour ... strange sounds? We need to know more ... someone get it up on youtube and put me out of my misery.

The 'Devon sound' ... has a definite ring to it. Remember when it was all this sound and that sound, as long as it wasn't the Liverpool sound? What was 'Glad Over'? The Tottenham Sound?

"Thump thump! - Glad All Over, yes I'm - thump thump - Glad all ovah"

There was this club in Harrow that I'd go to in the school hols and try to score with the local girls. I remember one - Jessica

("'ere Jess - your fellah's here" "'e's not my fellah" "Well, you know wot I mean" "Hello Jessica" "Yeah, 'ullo Chris - wot u been up to?" "Oh, you know, the usual." "Yeh, same wiv me. Wanna dance?")

And I always did because Jess had THE most spectacular pair that never seemed to droop and when she jumped up and down to the thump thump ... well, all I wanted to do was get her home to Granny's garden shed.

But I digress.

Battering Ram - so much of this reads like an Ealing comedy.

The fuzz turn up with a battering ram but because one of them is in a suit he's invited in and the gang follows.

(Bad luck on the rugby forwards who were looking forward to splinters everywhere and knocking the flying ducks off the wall)

Can't you just see Kenneth Williams opening the door and starting to shoo them away with a

"Not today, thank you very much" but then glimpsing the ram and his eyebrows shooting up "Ooh, very kinky ... quick inside with you - and mind where you swing that thing."

Good old Kenny.

I have a friend who lives somewhere in Devon - can never remember where, somewhere very remote that she and her bloke - her husband, actually, but I'm still in denial - they motor down there when they're sure the weather will be vile and the heating gone splat at the other end. I can never remember where so every time someone tells me they live in Devon I chirrup "Ooh, I have a friend who lives just round the corner - do you know Lady Trowel?"

"Not sure, how do you spell that?"

"Something like Träul or Trãoul ..."

"Let me check - darling, do we know anyone called Trowl or Troll or something?"

"Is she the one who's moved into the Old Manor?"

Me: "That'll be her - with her Argentinian male-model boytoy racing driver 'companion'.

Which reminds me - damn'd good idea for the cottage, a sex dungeon, except it wouldn't be a dungeon, would it? Sex Cottage but pronounced 'cottahje' with a soft 'g' like them Frenchies pronounce it.

Good excuse to stock up from the sex shop in Sirroco Square - do you know the one? Third floor so you have to look above eye level for the sign.

The stock's a bit dated - they need to change their German supplier and make sure their Baby Doll fabric's stronger so it doesn't rip at the first bodicing.

But very nice accommodating staff, excellent English, and quick to introduce fellow customers if they sense there's a spark there.

Actually, some evenings it's like Piccadilly Circus - simply everyone who's anyone comes trotting up the stairs. The staff know them by their tread -

"Here comes 'Farmer Jones' ... and there's Lucinda ... 'ullo 'ullo, do I detect La Contessa back for more of those twirly things?"

I've a good mind to offer a write-up to Island magazine - just up their street and I *know* the guv'nor would take oodles of advertising to lure those Kassiopi kinks down south.

Did you see that advert in the Speccie for Kassiopia Estate? Oh. Em. Gee. *That* is how I should be copywriting my des rez adverts:

A myth that became a legend (best muttered in movie trailer voice)

Ticks all the boxes

Unashamedly "wow"

The ultimate hedonistic pad

And next to it, 'an extraodinary rental opportunity' - mind you, it's only opportune to 'a few discerning guests'.

Honestly - either it's for rent or not, and while we're about it,

"Darling - be an angel and call Kosta in with that bloody great chest of spare money you make him lug around in case of extrah-ordinary rental opportunities."

"There you go, mate - Mister Rental Opp - that discerning enough for you? Thought it might be - now hop it and next time spell 'translucent' right."

Late-breaking item just in from Sinbad - techno toys. Witty reference to a doll having a pulse, that being the ground zero (and moan) for many men.