Hello, this is Geoff here.

A few weeks ago, Giles asked me if I could transfer his blog to New Blogger as he felt he needed the company that Blogger afforded him at the end of last year.

However, when I updated his blog, as you can see I have become the owner of Giles' blog.

I have helped him set up a new blog, however, with the same title with all the old posts . It can be found here and Giles has told me he will start to post pretty soon.

I apologise to Giles and to his readers for all the inconvenience. I really need to go on some kind of course for technologically challenged bloggers.

Taking It Easy

I'm just off to bed.

We had an early start this morning, fresh water fishing, and me and Peregrine are absolutely knackered.

Who would have thought that sitting down with a rod in your hand for eight hours would be so exhausting?

Peregrine's asleep upstairs and I'm just about to join him.

"The Hooded Claw"

This is a picture of "The Hooded Claw In Silhouette" as emailed to me by HP of Bradford.

Well HP, if you think I'm doing this blog as some kind of a joke, you can take your so-called cock and stuff it somewhere unmentionable.

This is not a childish blog. This is a blog for mature cock-loving adults.

I'm sorry, I'm so angry I just frightened Peregrine and now he won't come out of the wardrobe. You see what you made me do, HP? I hope you're proud of yourself.

Cock Number Six

It's the 7th anniversary of a landmark time in my life.

My heart attack.

I first thought it was a bout of indigestion. I'd eaten pickled onions before going to bed and I woke up unable to move. I lay prostrate for an hour before my cock moved up to my chest and stared into my eyes. Peregrine looked at me with such a degree of sympathy that I knew something was seriously wrong. I knew I was not getting any better and I needed to call an ambulance.

The paramedics made it just in time and to cut a long story short, the doctors and nurses at Sleaford General were absolutely fantastic. Especially one nurse.

You may know her now as a celebrity who is building a career in show business. But back then, Abi Titmuss was an unknown nurse.



I must stress that she never acted in the way she is now portrayed in the media. She was just a beautiful breath of fresh air and I never got to see even a glimpse of her now famous bosoms. This was, after all, a cardiac ward.

She was such a fresh faced young girl with a girlish sense of fun. And a real lover of the animal kingdom. When she told me she liked nothing better than to lie on her front in the countryside in anticipation of animal behaviour, of course I did not hesitate to whip out the picture of my cock that I keep with me at all times.

Abi told me how much she loved my cock and would love to go home with me and stroke it. Of course this kept me going through the darkest hours.

Abi never got to see my cock in the flesh but I am forever grateful that at the lowest point of my life she gave me a reason to look forward to a healthy future.


*******


Today's cock is The Hooded Claw from Bradford. The owner wishes for himself and his cock to remain anonymous and I fully respect his wishes.

Cock Number Five

People often ask me when I first became interested in being a cock carer. I always point them to one incident:-

One night when I was seven years old, I crept out of my bedroom on a voyage of discovery. Early the previous day, I'd heard my father talking to my mother in the kitchen.

"That bloody fox has been round again."

I wanted to see "that bloody fox" with my own eyes.

So I crept behind the bins and waited.

At about two o'clock I noticed the form of an animal. It was the fox! As he moved into the moonlight and turned towards me, I saw as clear as day his mouth was moving. He had my father's cock in his mouth! He was gobbling my father's cock!

I jumped out from behind the bins.

"Shoo!" I said. "Leave my dad's cock alone!"

He dropped it and scarpered pretty sharpish.

From that time on, I promised myself that when I grew up I would take care of my cock, protecting it from danger and never letting it out of my sight.

The early loss of his cock killed my father. He was never the same man. I don't blame the fox, he was only doing what comes naturally. But my father was not vigilant. And vigilance is imperative for us cock lovers.


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Today's cock belongs to Jez Butler from Hertford. Jez is a big Arsenal fan and says he likes to "take" his "cock up the Arse."

I think Jez is having me on as I don't think animals (with the exception of guide dogs) are allowed at football matches.

Jez is a satellite tv engineer. His cock, George Graham II, often accompanies him as he clambers over the rooves of houses. Jez's cock certainly has a head for heights.


Arsenal fan, George Graham II

Cock Number Four

Thank you for your kind thoughts concerning my uncle and his poor cock. As Uncle Frank's only surviving relative, you may think I would be more supportive of him at this time. But the old man was guilty of cock abuse for many years, not only his own but others', and in my book a real man does not damage his or any other cock without some kind of cosmic revenge being meted out to him. May he suffer the way Mickey Rooney, Al Capone, Winston Churchill, and countless other cocks suffered at his hand. If there is a God, let's pray he or she is a chicken.

This week I have been studying my stats and to my great disappointment, they seem to be falling. I asked my friend Geoff how he got to be so popular. He said there is only one way and that is to toot your own horn by leaving comments on other bloggers' sites.

Well, I would do so as I enjoy a lot of other blogs. But my blog is a bit of a one-trick pony, and if you're not a cock-lover you won't like my blog.

How, for instance, could I bring my cock into a discussion about global warming? Global warming hasn't really affected my cock and my cock can't do anything about global warming. And if I tried to put my oar in, the other commenters would just dismiss me as a man who wants to show his cock to everyone.


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Today's cock is unusual as it has been submitted by a woman, Marjorie Banks, 57, of St Margarets-on-Sea, Kent. Marjorie and her husband Ken, 57, retired from the civil service a few years ago and have since thrown themselves into the local amateur dramatics scene. They are currently performing in a production of Shaw's Pygmalion.

Ken has been feeling a bit down recently after being diagnosed with depression. But Marjorie, good old sort that she is, has sent a beautiful picture of Ken's little cock for my readers to enjoy.

In her own words, "I love my husband's cock and would like to share it with other cock connoisseurs. I know Ken would never do it himself because although he is immensly proud of his cock, he has a fear that if others were to see it they would poke fun at its size. Yes, Ken's cock is small, but it is beautiful and has given both Ken and myself countless hours of pleasure."

Well, Marjorie, I do hope this post cheers Ken up, and tell him from a man who knows: it's not the size of your cock that counts. If I had a pound for each time I've meted out that piece of advice I'd be a very rich man now.

So here's Ken's lovely little bantam cock, Big Daddy...




What a sweet little cock.

Cock Number Three

I'm so glad it's the weekend. I thought this past week would never end.

Last week I got a phone call from my uncle in Southampton. My uncle hasn't been well for some time. He's 84 and he has been a smoker and a drinker all his life so I suppose you could say he's had a good innings, but last time I saw him at Christmas he really did look old and ravaged by time.

So I got a call from him last week saying that Mickey Rooney, his little old cock, was looking like he was on his last legs.

Of course, I dropped everything. I'm of the opinion that however ill my uncle is, it's all his own doing, but when it comes to his poor, innocent little cock, who has breathed in years of cigarette smoke, listened to my uncle's drunken rants and raves, occasionally been kicked and slapped after one of my uncle's mindless benders...

I got there at midnight last Saturday. My uncle looked in a bad way. His cough was so bronchial I thought he would hack up his internal organs.

Uncle Frank led me to the bedroom. I wasn't prepared for the sight I saw.

Uncle's cock was lifeless. So old and wrinkled and lying as limp as an old rag doll. The smell in the room was putrid.

"You could at least have opened a window," I said to Uncle Frank, but I could see there was a deadness in his eyes. He knew his cock was on the way out.

I then realised I was only there to witness the end of a life, not even to nurse the poor thing through its last few miserable days but to merely watch, watch, watch as the light slowly dimmed from what once was a proud, shining cock.

I put one hand on my uncle's shoulder and stroked his cock with the other. There was no response from either, just a low wheeze from Uncle Frank's chest. Mickey Rooney was barely breathing.

He lasted another three days. I left my uncle bereft and drunk. I couldn't do any more for him. I don't think he'll make it to Christmas.


*******


But life goes on, and on returning from Southampton I found some lovely messages from my readers in my inbox. Tom has promised me a picture of his cock which I am looking forward to with anticipation. And Ziggi has correctly guessed the location of this week's cock. Yes, it's Manchester, the cock capital of the North West.

Today's cock belongs to my old school chum, Jeremy Larkson. Jeremy's a vicar! You would never have guessed it if you'd have seen him fifty years ago, but Jeremy got into the religion lark in his mid-thirties and he is now extremely popular with the little old ladies of his flock. They love it when he parades his cock, Sir Cliff, in front of them each Sunday. The highlight of the service is always when Jeremy's cock's head peeps over the pulpit as he rouses the congregation to sing All Things Bright And Beautiful.

"My cock is a gift from God," as Jeremy says.

And I think you'll all agree.



Sir Cliff and his "congregation"