In this glacial, hearthless age, peat worriers must stick together. While obviously, being a traditional sort of gent – I don’t wholly approve of the innovations these tyro
“peatcutters” have plucked from their flaughtered imaginings – the peaty connection is sufficient to sever any doubts I might have about the appropriateness of their new-fangled methods. Whether they practice the ancient art of peat
worrying or no.
That being so, and in the spirit of spreading the huffy peat about a bit, I feel honour bound to alert those of you not already in the know about the decadent, peat-eroticising mischief afoot on the Hebridean isle of Lewis. Jock Murray has contrived to make peatclods sheepish (no tart urban jests at the expense of the sexual peccadilloes of the rural, if you don’t mind) in aid of the Paul O’Gorman Leukaemia Research Centre at Gartnaval Hospital in Glasgow and the Anthony Nolan Trust. How, you ask? By enforcing near and chastening proximity between the aforementioned clod and the dangly bits of trouserless horny-handed sons of the isles. A bracingly earthy take on the Calendar Girls brand, Murray is aiming to net £15,000 for these two charities. I found the peat-exalting specimen (above left) on the website of the photographer, John Maclean. You must admit, although it is hard to make out an expression on their faces, the stacked peats do look a little worried…
In this glacial, hearthless age, peat worriers must stick together. While obviously, being a traditional sort of gent – I don’t wholly approve of the innovations these tyro “peatcutters” have plucked from their flaughtered imaginings – the peaty connection is sufficient to sever any doubts I might have about the appropriateness of their new-fangled methods. Whether they practice the ancient art of peat worrying or no.
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