Some years back, I was chatting with a local in a rather quaint gay pub – the Fox & Hounds – in rural Essex. He was recalling a previous evening where one of the local leather queens was sat up on the bar wearing a leather and chain thong. Surely the chain must have tweaked uncomfortably and cleaning it must have been a challenge – boldly going where Brasso had never been before!
A couple of weeks back, I heard that a neighbour of my parents (who live on a nondescript 60s estate on the outskirts of Leicester – fairly middle class but not genteel) had been woken, one night, by a noise coming from outside. Upon tweaking the nets, she observed a ladette (who had, with her mates, recently rented the house across the road) stood across the road, wearing a thong, shouting to her mate, ‘Wait a minute, I ain’t fucking dressed yet!’ What made hearing it even stranger was that it was my mother who was telling the story and it was the first time I’d heard her use the f word. Standards aren’t what they used to be – there goes the neighbourhood!
In case anyone is in any doubt, I’m certainly not a fan of either thong or thang! (Mercifully, I have no photos to illustrate this post)