dribbling out of his trousers. "Curse these inferior plastic Taiwanese bicycle clips" exploded the Colonel. "Time was they were finest Sheffield steel"
He reflected ruefully over the lack of foreplay these days, musing to himself that it was all chop-chop, hurry-hurry, Hari-Kari, with barely time for pleasantries, let alone full tantric dissipation.
In the quiet of the drawing room (named after the carefully concealed articles of mild torture secreted amongst the taffeta drapes) he refreshed the under-garments of last night's mannequin and prepared the After Eights in readiness for tonights onslaught of self-flagellation.
"I'll show them how it should be done", he determined, "gout or no gout!", whereupon he reached, trembling, for the plasticine out of the naughty cupboard and fashioned for himself a lifesized replica of a....