Whilst BebBek continues to naval gaze, I would like to keep my sights set firmly ahead. Provided ahead of me struts the bearer of a firm male backside. Granted, the barer of a firm backside wouldn’t go amiss either.

British Boys don't have butts. Zero ass. Zilch bummage. No trouser-back filler. Their legs grow straight into their backs. It's the oddest thing. So BekBek, if you do happen to make it across the pond this Christmas we'll be hard-pressed to fill your stocking with a yummy British... correction (I've been given enough crap about this lately)... ENGLISH bottom. So much so that upon moving here, I was warned that if I were to spot a well-built hottie on this island, he'd likely be an Aussie or a Kiwi. The English Arse, in a manner of speaking, remained a mystery.

I have since discovered the Rugby bum, (or Sweet Sweet Ass.) It's funny what lengths a Welshman will go to when you deny him his bottom. But hey, if an entire team of rugger buggers feel the need for me to squeeze in order to make their point... who am I to argue? We'll leave the glory that is the Scottish kilt for another day. (And the Dublin accent is still my weakness.)