Spud Hughes is over-excited. It seems the author of Fifty Shades of Gray is married to a man from Newry, Co. Down, Spud’s home town. Spud is sure that E.L. James picked up her filthy habits from her husband, and so he is trumpeting the border town of Newry as the love capital of the Western World. “At last” he says “Newry men have been recognized as red hot lovers. Women will be beating a path to our door”
“That’s not all that will take a beating” I tartly replied, for I have read Ms James’ book. I then went on to remind Spud of two well-worn Irish jokes:
What’s Irish foreplay?
I don’t know, what is Irish foreplay?
“Brace yourself Bridget”
What’s Irish pillow talk?
I don’t know, what is Irish pillow talk?
“Are you nearly done?”
I sent Spud out to buy some new undies, for he is to be a groom in late summer and I’ve told him that love gods must be well laundered and daisy fresh, with a thread count as least as high as their sperm count. Then I got to thinking about E.L. James’ success. Like me, she is a former TV executive of a certain age. So was Helen Fielding who wrote Bridget Jones’ Diary–indeed we used to share the same West London office before she went on to international fame and fortune writing about diets and big knickers. Note to self: must stop blogging about the garden, unless I can revisit a Lady Chatterly theme and get some welly action going.
Ahhh…welly action. Inspiration strikes. I shall write the definitive Irish erotica: Forty Shades of Green. The cover can feature two pairs of Wellington boots in a position approved of by the missionaries (one pair of toes pointing at a leaden sky and the others sinking slowly into a peat bog). People will spend a lot of time bleaching their kitchen tables, boil-washing their sheets and there will definitely be scourging. Food play will involve rhubarb rock, champ and plenty of Tayto cheese and onion crisps, renowned for their aphrodisiac qualities. People will bathe in Guinness and tin whistles will be brandished willy nilly. Draught excluders, pneumatic drills, mackintoshes and blackthorn hedges will all have a role to play. Novice nuns will be deflowered on Lambeg drums. The
Alliance Party and a Progressive Coaliton will take on a whole new meaning. Iris Robinson will be a cameo in cami knickers. The heroine will enjoy a little Ana-action every time it rains, always followed by a nice cup of tea. She will be red-headed. I need say no more.
E L James’ book, in the end, is very successful as a tale of yearning and wishing something or someone could be right. Luckily we Irish are very good at disappointment, loss and tortured longing and so I am predicting a great shelf life for Forty Shades of Green. Who wants to buy the movie rights?