Hello Kiddies! You know, several years ago now - about ten, in fact, I bought a pair of boxer shorts from Marks and Spencer's (in their glory days) which were as 'Just Right' as Kelloggs 'Just Right' breakfast cereal. That's right, they were not too heavy, and not too light. I'd been in Y-Fronts continually since coming out of nappies in 1965 right up to the day I clapped eyes on the aforementioned Just Rights. Different ones, naturally. (Which reminds me, mother once brought home, from Chesterfield market, what must surely be The Worst Pair Of Pants Ever, for me and my twin brother - they were Y-Fronts, Jim, but not as we know them. It'll keep......). Anyway, these M&S boxer shorts represented a great leap forward for me. They were not too tight, not too flappy, and were decorated with a not too gaudy vertical stripe design in various shades of blue. I had discovered moleskin trousers around the same time and, when I wore both the mst's and my new boxer shorts, I felt a right bobby dazzler and no mistake. I remember once nipping down the road to the Spar in Brigg for a packet of Eccles Cakes feeling like James Bond himself (Sean Connery, naturally).
I wore the boxer shorts as often as possible. I was teaching in a mainstream secondary school at the time, and I truly felt that on the days I had my 'just rights' on, my teaching ability was definitely enhanced. My discipline was not too firm, not too fair, and my sarcastic wisecracks were of the highest calibre. In short, everything was 'just right'. Best of all, my darling ex-Mrs Snooty paid me extra special attention of the 'first floor' kind when I was in my favourite undergarments. (I gave of my best too, naturally).
'Age shall not wither them, not the years condemn' - if only this were true. By the end of the 'nineties, my 'just rights' were approaching the end of their service career. The stripes had faded and the spring had gone right out of their step. Appropriately enough, my liason with my darling ex-Mrs Snooty had also become threadbare, and as I left Brigg for the last time on an inexorable course to my mum's house and divorce proceedings, I knew it was nearly time to send my M&S Just Rights to the great underpant dustbin in the sky, (naturally)..............or was it???
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Lord Snooty has been rehabilitated into the community.
TMI? It is my duty to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but. And I really think it's time you got some (whispers) professional help for your Privet fixation. By the way, there is more to this story - brace yourself, it gets a lot worse!
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Lord Snooty has been rehabilitated into the community.
Slightly off topic but how many men on here buy there own underwear?
It occured to me the other day that i have never purchased any,when i was younger it was my mum,then my wife,now my girlfriend buys it for me,occasionaly get some for xmas from relatives but never bought any for myself,am i unique?
Originally posted by LordSnooty TMI? It is my duty to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but. And I really think it's time you got some (whispers) professional help for your Privet fixation. By the way, there is more to this story - brace yourself, it gets a lot worse!
I'm bracing myself LordSnooty. Don't keep us forummers in 'suspense' for too long though!
Originally posted by Gordie OS1 primark essential boxers are the best.
and yes i buy my own.
my mum got me some for christmas that were HUGE just coz they had a funny logo...
but for the ladies it has to be white cotton mmmmm
I'm currently wearing a pair of primark essentials,i agree they are an excellent boxer,very comfy
Snoots, if I may call you that, for I am of your stock, I am non other than Sir Boppin' Bruce of Farley Hill, Luton, but denounced my title after the closure of Vauxhall Motors, but may now reinstate it after Luton are Coca Cola Football Div one champions. A game called football Snoots, you may not be familiar with. You take a size 5 round object, in my day leather ball, pumped with air and laced and let the commoners kick it about a bit. Non of this namby pamby 16 ounce football that you can bend from a free kick OH NO. In my day, in the wet you were lucky to move it 5 mtrs and if you headed it and caught the lace on your forhead carried the imprint for weeks, but as normal I digress........
I would complain to M and S that under the sales of good act of 1893, yes it does exist, and the sales of good act 1974, that also exists, the said garment (s) did not meet the expected requirements of wear and tear.............hold on a jockey y-front cotton picking minute......I assume you changed them occasionally. If not, scrub previous statement.
It is a question that needs to be answered in the interest of the public. Did you change them or not.
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Here Comes Summer, School is Out Oh Happy Day
OK Kiddies, strap yourselves in for Part Two...... Through no fault of my own (naturally), I was doomed, at the age of 33, to spend a few months back at the ancestral seat with my dear mother and father, plus my layabout brother. Being an independent sort of chap, I took great pains to ensure that while I was enjoying my parent's hospitality for an unexpected second time, I took care of my own catering/personal hygiene etc and other domestic necessities. Not an easy task when you have a mother like mine, who, not for the first time, failed to recognise that I was no longer 11 years old and helpless. By now, my Just Rights were completely 'shot through' in what the demands of verisimilitude compel to me detail as the 'crutch' area. Fond as I was of them, I had to bow to the inevitable and store them away at the back of my underpant drawer. They were out of circulation, but not forgotten.....
After a hard day wrapping up lumps of metal very neatly in waxed paper, I returned home to find that in my absence, mother had tidied my pant drawer and had removed what was left of my Just Rights. This would have represented a severe infringement of my civil rights - in fact, I can see that to some eyes it could even have looked a bit sinister, had it not been driven simply by a desire to please and to 'mother'. On the dining room table, however, I discovered the full horror of what she had been up to while I had been away enjoying yet another day of joyless, artisan toil to pay for my darling ex-Mrs Snooty's fridge freezer.
She had 'repaired' my Just Rights. Using what?.................
My mother has many fine qualities. She can sing like a bird, for instance and has a great sense of humour. She is also a marvellous cook - even now, her rock cakes are supernaturally delicious. And she radiated love to a large family as warmly and evenly as the sun. But she is rather large, and her taste in underwear has been, by necessity, somewhat unsophisticated over the years (the weekly washing line told me this - nothing more, Freud fans). A staple of her underwear has been what are colloquially known as 'White Swans', you know, those great big white Airtex things that start under your armpits and end just above the knee. It is my sad duty to inform you that she used a section of a redundant pair of White Swans to repair the 'shot through' section of my Just Rights.
That's correct, I was, surely, the only man in England, nay, the world, who had underpants repaired using a section of his mother's own knickers. Feel free to reel in disbelief......
Though not squeamish by nature, I could not find the strength to wear my restored boxer shorts ever again. I took a commemorative transparency of them using my vintage Pentax, then discretely threw them away. In the bin. Forever. But their memory remains, and who knows? Maybe one day, perhaps not so far away, I'll find another pair of................well, I can always dream, can't I?
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Lord Snooty has been rehabilitated into the community.
He bought them not in market fair
where sagging crotch and onion mat
Could only support the smallest pair
of testicles, hanging like a bat
Down from his royal pelvic gait
And swings with painful agony.
So his love and life and mate
was off to M and S with a bag and he
Could hardly keep form jumping round
Although his love plums were very much still
Unsupported and his pound
of flesh moved irratically at will.
Oh but yay did Snooty rejoice when she returned
A bag with propper fitting keks
His tackle as snug as a star that burned
as perfect as Posh and of Becks.
And up the high street he would stride
with his shopping bag from seven / eleven
His mole skin trousers he would hide
his weapon just like 007.
But even Bond is brought to book
A villian is never all that far away
And because Snooty now 'couldn't give a F..damm'
His Glory pants had started to get in the way.
He wouldn't go out and became obssessed
without his 'just rights' on his arse
His lady, who, at first impressed
now thought the whole thing was a farse
And even though he, to the manor born
could not sustain his magic crackers
His pants grew thin and his pants grew worn
And an uncomfortable feeling in his knackers
Told our lord that the end was nigh
His lady too had left her love
she became tired of getting high
From the smell arising from Snooty's duds.
So good gentle folk a lesson here
to take with you to your coffin
Change your pants at least once a year
And wash you goolies twice as often.
A fellow poet! What a larf! (Er, that's more than quite enough about my 'love plums' though, thanks all the same!) Will you be turning your quill to a critique of Part Two, I wonder?
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Lord Snooty has been rehabilitated into the community.
No Luck there Sire, just a snuff box full of wilsons snuff, a packet of Spangles, some PK chewing gum, a model of Joe 90 and a betamax recording of 'Triangle'
Do you wish to claim any before I let those below stairs to fight amongst themselves for each item.
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Here Comes Summer, School is Out Oh Happy Day
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