Tag Archives: Arse fur

There are many ways to have an excellent evening. Eating caviar from the rampant cleavage of a Nepalese maiden. Drinking single malt with a brace of witty Scots. Standing at the highest mountain point in the UK and yodelling New Model Army’s “Vengeance” backwards. I, however, have spent my time shaving the arse-tufts from my long-haired collie dog, so she won’t poo in her own fur. Class.