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Fruits of my labour

Fruits of my labour

I had absolutely no idea where I wanted to do it. So, I thought of the most unusual place I could think of. The London Eye. However, I stipulated from the start that I would only do it if the capsule was empty, although I would have no problem with people being able to see my pale, wrinkled arse from the neighbouring gondola.

The day arrived and after several enthusiastic attempts of wrangling with the London Eye staff, we were refused a private cabin (despite saying it’s Boris Johnson’s birthday and that he would be arriving shortly, therefore necessitating a private ride).

We were ushered onto the ride like cattle, and after surveying the crowd who’d unwittingly embarked with me, adrenalin started to pump; I believed for a nano-second that I had the stones to go through with it. However, mere seconds before our capsule doors slammed close, two seniors slid through the gap accompanied by……..two small girls.

So that was that. There wasn’t a chance in hell I was disrobing whilst being closely observed by two corruptible female minors because I’m afraid the long jail sentence and/or my addition to the sex offenders register just isn’t worth the hassle.

We perambulated dejectedly from the wheel when I remembered that my place of work has, much akin to the Eye, spectacular views over central London’s skyline.

Once arrived, we found that the location that would offer us these sumptuous vistas was simply impracticable so we waltzed into my boss’s office, locked the door, got my kit off and here are the fruits of my labour.

Anonymous  26/11/2006