When he was playing Marley Park a couple of weeks ago I took the opportunity in my capacity as a Howaya reporter to interview Tom Jones about the nature and quality of the underthings that are flung at him during every show.
“So Tom” I said brightly. ”You’ve ended up with quite a haul there! There was a woman with arms like a shotputter – she was aiming them at you all night.”
“I know” he said, resting his weary pelvis on velvet chair, his leather trousers creaking. My eyes were unwillingly drawn to his crotch area and I wondered to myself what kind of padding was going on down there.
“None” he said reading my mind. “It’s all Tom”.
While I went as red as a Catherine Zeta Jones lipstick and pretended to shuffle my notes I blurted out “So how do you rate Irish women’s knickers?”
“Not well” he replied nudging the pile in front of him distastefully with a patent leather boot. ”Have a look at this. Grey, snapped elastic, stretched – the Vincent de Paul wouldn’t take this crap”
“But surely you get some decent scanties?” I insisted.
“Not really” he said, holding up a shredded looking g string that had definitely seen better days. ”This has been wedged up someones valley a fair few times”
One of his assistants wordlessly handed him a tub of extra strength hand sanitiser.
And as we selected a few other examples from the massive pile of knickers I was forced to agree with his opinion.
So what about you? What do you think Tom would make of a poke through your knicker drawer?
I know what I’d be. MORTO!