I recall a time back in the Sixties, when I went to the beach at Felixstowe with a school-chum we called “Peanut”.
Now Peanut was a geeky, unattractive sort of youth – while I was considered quite handsome. And so it was that upon arrival we split up, to try our hands at the local talent (I didn’t want Peanut cramping my style).
But after a bit he returned to me, looking somewhat downcast. “What’s up, Peanut?” I queried.
Oh, it’s all right for you,” he said, “You have boyish charm and a buff physique – but I can’t get the girls to LOOK at me.”
“Hmm.” Thinking for a moment, I ventured, “Look – why don’t you nip over to Charlie Mannings? He’s got a market running today and you could buy a few small potatoes and slip them down inside your Speedos – some girls go for that.”
“Okay,” he said, looking a bit doubtful. And off he went.
Twenty minutes later, he came back. “Thanks a LOT,” he whined, “Now, when the girls see me, they scream and run AWAY.”
“Well,” I said, looking at him, “When I advised you to slip the potatoes down your Speedos – I meant the FRONT.”
(That was a LONG way to go for THAT one!)