Summer evenings & tiny feathered rear ends

I was just outside in the garden, sipping my glass of wine (Clock Tower, delicious and expensive) after dinner. We’ve got the wooden chairs out now that summer’s approaching in earnest and one of them is still covered in, hmm, excreta from various birds who relieved themselves on it last summer.

So I sat there and told poo jokes to myself. And fart jokes, too.

And then I thought: if we didn’t have an anal or excreta taboo, there’s no way we could have fart jokes because they just wouldn’t be funny. The transgression makes the humour.

So thank christ, in a way, for one particular taboo!