To boldly go where no White Van Man has gone before.

Day 183

It was book club this week, but I won't bore you with my thoughts on this month's choice as I wasn't that impressed. We did have a really good discussion about a local van that someone had seen though. It advertised - of all things - 'Mobile Fanny Piercing', which made us all feel old and out of touch and very glad to be so.

God! Can you imagine that being parked outside your house for every curtain twitcher to witness? And though the lady who told us about this didn't remember the fella's name, (it not being one she had any reason or desire to remember, obviously), she did note that it was a man. I don't know about you but I prefer a nurse to do my downstairs check-ups - someone who could feel my pain, so to speak.

I don't think I'm being sexist - I know there are many male gynecologists as well as female, but they at least all started out as doctors. Whereas this fella, well, I just think that any man who spends all day basically looking up girls fannys would need to be about 105 years old not to look pervy. And can you imagine if he was your new boyfriend and you took him home to meet your folks for the first time. The subject of occupation is going to be the first thing asked. What kind of parents think he's a catch and can't wait to introduce him to Granny? I just don't know what to think.

Perhaps he has nothing whatsoever to do with piercing any body parts. Perhaps he's a misogynist who takes money from bitter ex-husbands, cleaned out by divorce, to park outside the ex-wife's place until she comes out and pays him more to go away. That would be a nice little earner, and he could deliver groceries at the same time (you see, I've thought about this - let no-one call me lazy minded).

So Bath has it's own local pube puncturer on wheels. What is the place coming to! As another of the book club girls said, "If I'd seen it in Midsummer Norton, I wouldn't have blinked an eye", (and it definitely says something about the times we live in, that it is more acceptable to let everybody on the school run know that you are having your clit pop-riveted, than to be seen with last seasons handbag and no perma-tan).

The yuckiness of the whole idea was more interesting, and elicited more concordance of opinion than the book we were supposed to be discussing had. Suddenly, having a united front, we became the Bath Grumpy Old Women massive, with Bombay Mix and biscuits. Can't wait for next month.