The world just isn’t what it used to be.

Once upon a time, there was an old man called Mr Grumbleflick, and he was very grumpy. He grumbled around all over the town, with his strangely coloured dog. One day, he was wandering along a street in his home town of Thong. Thong was in Kent, and everyone thought it sounded rude, but weren’t sure why.

Mr Grumbleflick shambled along messily and tripped over something lying in the street. He fell face-first into a banana flan someone had dropped and got goo stuck up his nose. He stood up and sneezed the goo out, then turned to look at what he’d fallen over. Some ruffian had discarded a dirty magazine in the street! Mr Grumbleflick was ever so angry, this kind of thing shouldn’t just be dropped in the street for anyone to find. Firstly, it was littering, which was wrong, and secondly, it was a dirty magazine. It was very unsavoury. Filthy, even. Mr Grumbleflick put it in his pocket so nobody else would see it, like a small child or Mary Whitehouse.

When Mr Grumbleflick got to the park, he was getting angrier and angrier. Dirty magazines, indeed. He sat down on the bench and pulled the disgusting thing out of his pocket. It was horrible. He threw it in the bin and set fire to it, but it wouldn’t light. Mr Grumbleflick took it home to work out what to do with it.

Eventually, Mr Grumbleflick got home and showed his wife the dirty magazine. Far from being disgusted, Mrs Grumbleflick was excited by the magazine! Mr Grumbleflick was shocked, how could his clean and sensitive wife be interested in something so awful? He wobbled off to the living room and drank half a litre of scotch to try and understand this modern world, and the kids with their dirty magazines, and their Pongs, and their eye pads, and their Wand Erections, and their skateboards and their Pokemon and their listening to urban hip hop and their dreadlocks and their drugs and their pierced everythings and their widgets and their cans of soup and their underpasses and their tattoos of Witney Huston…

Mrs Grumbleflick was very pleased. She wiped the dust off the copy of the Radio Times her drunken husband had brought home and saw that Question Time was on tonight, hosted by the dishy one of the Dimblebys. Lovely.