I Give You: The President

Well loyal thonglateers, your friendly neighbourhood Chipster has decided to take your sagely advice and accept the high honour offered to him and become the new Chairman of The British Thong Society.

Your messages of support had me firmly convinced but my decision was hardened even more by this weekend's phone message from Fern Britton. I thought I better get in there before she tries to outdo me and promise them the earth and Philip Schofield. And to be perfectly honest about it, I began to realize that this might be the only honour coming my way in the near future; what with the Blog Power awards now slipping from my slightly oily grasp. Unless we can stage a recovery, I think James will be presenting himself with the award.

Knowing I wouldn't be able to go up and pick up a Blog Power, I turned my attention to the BTS over the weekend and was very pleasantly surprised with what I discovered. I’m to be the head honcho of one of the most well established and respected societies in London. They have some quite auspicious links. Wikipedia doesn’t throw a damn thing up about them (I'll have to see to that) but once Gabby noticed that they'd provided a web address at the top of their letter, I began to see that I was onto a winner. Did you H.G. Wells was one of the founding members?

They have a rather poor website, which I think it would be my first duty to improve, and a proper domain name might help them connect with the younger generation. However, that’s all for the future. For the moment, I just want to mention that Gabby has decided to mark the occasion by destroying a little more of the planet.

She’s bought me an air conditioning unit the size of a small fridge. Because of the orientation of the flat, the main living room and my office get intolerably warm during the day. During the summer, I can barely sit down and write for more than five minutes without getting frustrated with the heat. That's why last summer I did most of my posting from the local library, full as it was with the winos in their Bermuda shorts and wearing straw hats. Gabby says that the President of the British Thong Society needs to take more care of himself and his thong. Which is why, though the heat is splitting the concrete outside my window, the thong between my thighs is barely body temperature and as for my body temperature, it is 'oh-so-cool-thank-you-very-much’.

Lovely.

I Need You Advice

I should really be doing other things, but instead of that, I here, now, with you, doing this. My devotion to you sometimes amazes even me. I’m sure you recognise it, as I’m also sure that you remembered to vote for me today in what is turning into a tight battle between myself and James Higham (I'm currently trailing by just a single vote). Yet I have to confess that I’m here with another motive other than a cheap appeal for your vote. I also need your advice.

You see, this morning, I received in the mail a large brown envelope. It was addressed to the Chipster and contained not one but two thongs. There was also a letter printed on high quality paper and embossed with a large silver seal. It’s not unusual for me to receive thongs in the post. In fact, it’s almost a daily occurrence. It’s rare, however, to find that they’re clean and accompanied by a letter which doesn’t involve graphic descriptions of how the thongs came to be so soiled.

Dear Mr. Dale,

I am writing to you on behalf of the membership of the BTS, which, as you might know, represents all lovers of thonglewear. The British Thong Society has been in existence for nearly seventy years now and we have established ourselves as being at the forefront of research, design, and promotion of thongs, V and G strings, and their derivatives, throughout the UK. Recently, our honourable chairman, Sir Thomas W. Jones died after a long illness unrelated to his lifetime spent wearing thongs and we are now in a position where we are looking for a new honorary chairman. Your name was mentioned.

We’ve been reading you blog for a while now and have followed your rise to the top tier of Welsh stripping with interest. We now feel both able and well justified in offering you the place at the head of our table. As honourary chairman, you will be expected to officiate at our yearly general meeting and to allow us to use your name on our stationary. There may be promotional work for which you will be suitably renumerated. The job is not salaried but, due to our close connections with the garment industry, we can provide you with complimentary thongs throughout the year. As you can see from the two pieces included with this letter, the thongs are of the highest quality and would be a credit to a man of your particular size and curvature of buttock.

I hope, Mr. Dale, you understand high honour we do you by offering you this post, and the honour you would do us should you accept. To be the symbol of British thong wearers is an honour only shared by two other men in the last century. You will be the first chairman to rise to that station in a new millennia and would be in a position to influence thong wearing for centuries to come.

If you would like to speak about this offer, please call me. We can make arrangements for a meeting and, if you could travel into London, you will find a welcome at our official club just off Shaftesbury Avenue.

I remain your most humble thong wearing servant,

Eliot P. Barnacle, Vice-Chairman

So, there you have it. I’ve been asked to become the Honorary Chairman of the British Thong Society. Do you think I should accept?

Gabby said yes, almost immediately. She thought she’d be able to call herself Lady and it took me a while to explain that I hadn’t been made a knight. Then she said I should only take the job if they could make me a knight and that just led to a more convoluted conversation explaining the role of the monarchy. I don’t think she fully understands and I swear her and Monica have nipped into town to have the word ‘Lady’ etched onto the blade of Gabby’s machete.

Personally, I’m tempted to say no, but I’m also aware that fate has made me the most well known proponent for thongs in the country. If I don’t symbolise the sheer beauty of the thread of silk clenched in a well-aired rump, then who does? Oh, I suppose there’s Fern Britton but do you really think she has the time? I'm sure she's too busy to devote herself to the kind of work the Society would require of its chairman.

I have the weekend to consider the offer. If you think I should or should not accept, I’d be grateful if you sent me an email or left a comment. I’ll take your silence as your disapproval and if there are more silences than there are comments, I’ll reject the offer and remain a humble Thonglateer.

Sometimes, one is born to greatness, while other people just have greatness thrust upon them. In my case, I believe I was born with a great thrust and what happens next is just a matter of letting you decide.