One of JF’s colleagues, we’ll call him Fred, has been working on the farm at home here on some joinery projects.
We returned to find him enjoying a fag having done a beautiful job on the joinery, but were puzzled as to why he had a bottle of ‘sheath cleanser’ next to him and the remains of his sandwich lunch.
‘What have you been using that for Fred,’ asked JF, a huge smirk developing (me, a little distance away, mouthing ‘WTF’?)
‘Oh, yeah, I needed something round to draw round, and this was in the tack room.’
‘Do you know what that is Fred?’
‘It’s for cleaning the sheath male horses pull their willies back up into after they’ve had a wee, sex or just a little rest with it blowin in the wind mate. Oh and it was used yesterday.’
If Fred’s face could have been described as a picture, it would have been ‘The Scream’ by Edvard Munch.
Meanwhile JF is emitting pant-wetting barks of laughter, uncontrollable and alarming. He’s very red in the face.
Then the killer from JF. ‘Did you wash your hands before you ate your lunch?’