28 January 2013

The Legend of Porno Hollow (Cheadle edition)

Let me tell you a tale from the now distant days of my heady youth. Some names may of been changed to protect the identities of those involved.

It was a summer much like any other. The sun burned high and long as one afternoon melted into another. Towards the end of the previous School term a rumour spoken only by a knowledgeable few in hushed frantic whispers regarding a hidden stash of 'adult' publications came to my attention. Indeed if the story were to believed, Cheadle was sitting upon a veritable Aladdins Cave of x-rated material.

So it came to pass one weary Tuesday that myself, 'P' and 'M' embarked on our quest for the towns low rate 'Holy Grail'.

The rumours spoke also of a code of gentlemanly conduct wherein should said nudie mag stash be discovered, upon leaving the site it must remain as you found it in order that future generations are able to enjoy its fruit. Probably sometime around tea-time later that day.

Our research had pointed us to a secluded tree lined spot on the edge of Cheadle High School grounds. The air of menace as we tip toed cautiously through enemy territory was noted, but P's encouragement of "eyes on the prize boys" egged us on further.

In the distance we saw small pieces of paper dancing along the ground carried by a gentle breeze. The clouds began to thicken and the sky turned ominously grey.

Something cold flapped at my face. Instinctively my hand jolted to wave away the face invader but I met only air. With a grim realisation I peeled the offender from my face. In my hand I held a torn piece of a magazine, no larger than my palm. picturing what looked like a badly kept beard. M came over to check over my mystery assailant, turned a sickly shade of green and refused to go no further. P had ran on ahead and was busy poking a stick into the base of a tree excitedly. He motioned us over, I obliged leaving M shaking his head and muttering incessantly to himself.

What greeted my arrival at that hallowed Oak I shall never forget. A good Catholic boy, I was totally unprepared for the raw, naked truth of late 80's pornographic material. Page upon page of fake tanned, big haired and unpruned females lay scattered about the ground. Those glossy plastic smiles haunt me still.

We left hastily, vowing never to tell the awful truth of our discovery (though I suspect P went back later that day for another gander).

What became of that cache of sin no-one really knows. Some say concerned teachers gathered it up and condemned it the fires of hell. Others say "you know ...druggies" in an unconvincingly accusing tone.

Me? I like to think that even though that area may now be a housing estate, the planners kept that tree and that little piece of urban folklore now takes pride of place in some unknowing householders garden, treasure and all.

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