Fifty Shades of Grey, a Brentford perspective

July 6, 2012

Going back to what I was saying yesterday, I am a bit surprised by how so many women seem to want sex following the publication of  Fifty Shades of Grey. It’s a great shame it wasn’t published 20 years ago when I was married to the Peacock wife who seemed to favour abstinence most of the time.  Not having a lady friend at the moment, I can’t really comment from a personal perspective, but it may account for the rise in middle-aged men suffering from heart conditions in Brentford.

I don’t know about you, but I find standing in queues can provide a fascinating insight into the workings of the human mind. Pop in to Tesco for a chicken breast and you leave with enough information to write a novel (well, okay, a blog).  The supermarket cashier, a plump sullen looking girl with fingers the size of sausages was “ooohing” at the dreadful situation of the woman in front of me who apprarently was buying aspirin because her husband had collapsed on top of her, seemingly having had a mini heart attack, following a bit of bed time rompy pompy.

“It’s not as if I ask him to do it all that often”, complained the woman (who funnily enough, also had fingers the size of sausages). “You’d think he’d be able to oblige now and then.” As she reached into her bag for her purse, I caught a glimpse of the source of trouble – a dog-eared copy of Fifty Shades of Grey.

No wonder the poor man had a heart attack, although I suspect he feigned one so as to get out of having to tie up his sausage fingered wife every night.

I am sure that if the Daily Mail were to run a survey on the habits of the suburban middle classes, they would find that women now have fewer headaches than ever before.

Survey anyone?


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