Sunday, December 6, 2009

Noddy Holder's Cock


A week from now, I shall be running my fingers over Noddy Holder’s Cock.


This is the name I gave some time ago to the huge cardboard box of Christmas decorations tucked away in my attic. It’s written on the side in black marker pen, and I’ve even stuck some tinsel to the lid.

For what could be more festive than the mighty bird that graces said bizarrely hirsute 70s pop icon’s table every Christmas?

The only problem with naming my Crimble Dec repository thus is that I’m apt to be misinterpreted.

Picture the scene when I moved to Whirl Towers from my previous abode, Le Singe Du Jour.

A removal van full of burly men arrives — a trio of butt cracks to shame the dark void at infinity’s edge.

“I’ll give you a hand,” I say.

They chortle, in an openly dismissive neither use nor bloody ornament kind of a way — then fling the entire contents of the kitchen over their backs while I struggle with a wickerwork basket of manly scented shaving foam.

And so it goes.

Later, we arrive at Whirl Towers. I’ve helped the guys with a fridge magnet, a carrier bag of clothes pegs and some loo roll. I feel great.

The biggest of the guys thrusts a chest of drawers in my face and says, “where do you want this?”

“Bedroom,” I reply.

The hairiest of the guys stuffs a fridge-freezer in my chops and says, “where do you want this?”

“Corner of the kitchen,” I reply.

Then the boss guy — the one who looks like a perfect genetic fusion of Oliver Hardy and Freddie Mercury circa the Bohemian Rhapsody era — sticks a big cardboard box smack between my eyeballs and says, “where do you want this?”

It’s the Noddy Holder’s Cock box. The one covered in tinsel. That says NODDY HOLDER’S COCK.

A frisson of amusement plays my facial muscles into hard-to-conceal twitch. I feign a sneeze. A fly. A degenerative nervous condition.
“It’s OK,” I reply — reassuringly, like a nurse taking the pulse of someone just about to die — “I’ll take that.”

I can’t think the guy’s won a single Yuletide game of Pass The Parcel since.

11 comments:

Scott from Oregon said...

It isn't just the cock BUT THE WEIGHT OF THE BOX...

Kerrie said...

What a great headline. That really got my attention but I am not sure what that says about me! I love a bit of Noddy's cock maybe. Or prehaps not, I have just remembered what he looks like. enjoy putting your coc up for Christmas.

Whirlochre said...

Scott
Thanks for pointing that one out. And nice to see your Tardis-in-the-forest thingy.

Kerrie
Beats Dave Hill, I suppose (though not literally, of course).

Bernita said...

"A removal van full of burly men arrives — a trio of butt cracks to shame the dark void at infinity’s edge."
- superb description, Whirl!

Whirlochre said...

Unfortunately, it is.

I'm still taking the tablets to calm my nerves.

pjd said...

Oh dear. I think I need to make a policy of not reading your blog posts early on Monday mornings. Now I feel ashamed. Ashamed, that is, of not knowing who Noddy Holder is.

Whirlochre said...

Hey, you're missing out.

As for logging on here first thing on a Monday morning, you're a braver man than me.

McKoala said...

Oh I wish it could be Christmas every daaaaaay...

Whirlochre said...

A more sequinned cock...

McKoala said...

omg that was wizzard...I am a Christmas wahoo...I must make amends...

Whirlochre said...

I'll get on the blower to Roy Wood right away...