'Jazz mags' stuffed in hedgerows
Discussion
With regard to the often-mentioned heyday of porn mags being bundled in to bags and stuffed in to hedgerows, I have been pondering the reason behind the phenomenon.
Would any 'stuffees' of said material care to come out from the shadows to explain why magazines of this nature were amassed and then stashed, seemingly in a haphazard manner which could easily lead to its ultimate theft?
Was it because the other half busted your loot, so you had to hide them offsite? Or was it a ploy by local authorities to save teachers' blushes by way of an alternative sex education for teenage boys?
I await to be enlightened.
Would any 'stuffees' of said material care to come out from the shadows to explain why magazines of this nature were amassed and then stashed, seemingly in a haphazard manner which could easily lead to its ultimate theft?
Was it because the other half busted your loot, so you had to hide them offsite? Or was it a ploy by local authorities to save teachers' blushes by way of an alternative sex education for teenage boys?
I await to be enlightened.
Once, as a 12 year I was fishing on the canal and a car pulled up on the bridge, the driver got out and proceeded to depost a huge quantity of printed porn into the water.
Despite our protestations he wouldn hand them over and we were forced to fish them out of the canal - must have been well over 50 publications.
We then had to have a 4 man drying rota at our parents house before we then sold the somewhat crumpled spoils around school.
Happy days. I still have a cursory glance into the hedgerows as a 38 year old to see if there are any hidden treasures - force of habit I suppose.
The other method was to nick them off the top-shelf as I packed my paper bag at the newsagents in the morning - although I did get busted by my dad flipping through a copy of Fiesta during my rounds as he drove past on his way to work
Despite our protestations he wouldn hand them over and we were forced to fish them out of the canal - must have been well over 50 publications.
We then had to have a 4 man drying rota at our parents house before we then sold the somewhat crumpled spoils around school.
Happy days. I still have a cursory glance into the hedgerows as a 38 year old to see if there are any hidden treasures - force of habit I suppose.
The other method was to nick them off the top-shelf as I packed my paper bag at the newsagents in the morning - although I did get busted by my dad flipping through a copy of Fiesta during my rounds as he drove past on his way to work
I saw one last year on my way to work when cycling, made me nostalgic, but even nostalgia is not a powerful enough motivator to touch a pre-enjoyed porn mag.
Reminded me of a moment prior to last Christmas, middle and youngest were in our bedroom and we were sorting presents out, getting them off the wardrobe, youngest says "There is one still up there" and middle son stands on the bed frame and using his superior height, grabs the "present" and goes "That aint no present".
No sir, it was a very, very dusty pron mag, bought when away with work in a hotel with no wifi
anyway it got lashed up there and gathered dust, so they realise what it was and I get a chorus of "Ewww, dad" and "that's disgusting", I just said "Well, you two can shut up, I have seen your internet history" and they shut up PDQ and just to shut the missus up who was tutting I added "I only kept it as its the one that has your mum in"
Reminded me of a moment prior to last Christmas, middle and youngest were in our bedroom and we were sorting presents out, getting them off the wardrobe, youngest says "There is one still up there" and middle son stands on the bed frame and using his superior height, grabs the "present" and goes "That aint no present".
No sir, it was a very, very dusty pron mag, bought when away with work in a hotel with no wifi
anyway it got lashed up there and gathered dust, so they realise what it was and I get a chorus of "Ewww, dad" and "that's disgusting", I just said "Well, you two can shut up, I have seen your internet history" and they shut up PDQ and just to shut the missus up who was tutting I added "I only kept it as its the one that has your mum in" When i was young (late 80's) i quite often found specialist material in hedges, or at the local dump.
Years later when i bought my own place and was moving out of mums, i found a shoebox full of grot mags. Rather than bin them i put them in a carrier bag and stashed them in tree stump on Horsell Common (Woking) where me and my mates had spent many an evening drinking booze underage, hoping that some young rascal would find them. Went back a few days later - gone: MISSION ACCOMPLISHED.
I felt i had done my duty to the next generation.
Sadly its a dying phenomenon - who on earth would buy a jazz mag now?
Years later when i bought my own place and was moving out of mums, i found a shoebox full of grot mags. Rather than bin them i put them in a carrier bag and stashed them in tree stump on Horsell Common (Woking) where me and my mates had spent many an evening drinking booze underage, hoping that some young rascal would find them. Went back a few days later - gone: MISSION ACCOMPLISHED.
I felt i had done my duty to the next generation.
Sadly its a dying phenomenon - who on earth would buy a jazz mag now?
I recently documented an experience of finding hedgerow Art Pamphlets on another thread...
8Ace said:
I grew up in a small town that was bisected by a big A-road. I had some mates that lived in a village about 3 miles along this road so we used to cycle to each others houses over the summer holidays. We'd then spent the day on our bikes / in the fields / getting covered in mud before coming home for a bking from our respective parents.
About once a week along this road, we used to find a ruffled copy of a gentleman's periodical, winking at us from the grass verge. As an impressionable thirteen year old before the internet, this was of great import and taught me an awful lot. I never looked at the husky shells of coconuts in the same way again.
One day that will be forever seared into memory was the day that we left our bilkes at one of the lay bys and wandered off into the fields. We came back along the hedge and about 50 yards from the gate to the layby we spied a cardboard box shoved into the undergrowth. It was a big box, sturdy and strong, about 2 feet wide, 1 foot deep and about a foot high. The top of this box had a load of dried grass on top, as a swift attempt at camouflage. Being naturally curious we pulled out the box for a closer look.
The only comparision I can make is something that happened a few years later. I was in Kings Cross in London, wating for a late train and decided to go for a walk around as I was bored and had about 30 minutes to wait. I didn't know London that well and was unaware that at the time it was a bit dodgy. Within 20 seconds of leaving the caring warmth of British rail's lights, I was approached by a lunatic that asked me if I want a fight, threatened to fk my mother and all the time had his hand inside his coat holding something, whcih I assumed was either pointy or shooty. I was terrified and dived into the first open doorway, which to my horror was of a purveyors of specialist literature and films.
The contents of the box have, in my lifetime, only had one serious competitor for the amount of complete filth concentrated in one place and that was the shop in King's Cross. While that shop gave a valiant effort at competing, I was older at the time so nothing comes close to the shock value of what the three pairs of thirteen year old eyes gazed upon that day.
There was well over 200 magazines, of pretty much any specialism. We were used to finding copies of Razzle, Escort etc, so had an idea of what we thought we should find inside. The contents of, and I'm misspelling this deliberately as I'm at work, Alan Biker were something else. Other magazines had titles that brought forth the ideas of Windsurfing or Water Skiing but the photographs inside were so very different. I had no idea. Even that tamest ones contained things I had never before believed possible; I remember thinking "It only started off as an office party. Does EVERYONE have to join in?"
The three of us went a bit pale and wordlessly shoved the box back in the hedge. Whenever we were feeling brave we went back for another look. The box lasted another month before mysteriously disappearing.
Who knows where it went? That was the day my innocence left.
About once a week along this road, we used to find a ruffled copy of a gentleman's periodical, winking at us from the grass verge. As an impressionable thirteen year old before the internet, this was of great import and taught me an awful lot. I never looked at the husky shells of coconuts in the same way again.
One day that will be forever seared into memory was the day that we left our bilkes at one of the lay bys and wandered off into the fields. We came back along the hedge and about 50 yards from the gate to the layby we spied a cardboard box shoved into the undergrowth. It was a big box, sturdy and strong, about 2 feet wide, 1 foot deep and about a foot high. The top of this box had a load of dried grass on top, as a swift attempt at camouflage. Being naturally curious we pulled out the box for a closer look.
The only comparision I can make is something that happened a few years later. I was in Kings Cross in London, wating for a late train and decided to go for a walk around as I was bored and had about 30 minutes to wait. I didn't know London that well and was unaware that at the time it was a bit dodgy. Within 20 seconds of leaving the caring warmth of British rail's lights, I was approached by a lunatic that asked me if I want a fight, threatened to fk my mother and all the time had his hand inside his coat holding something, whcih I assumed was either pointy or shooty. I was terrified and dived into the first open doorway, which to my horror was of a purveyors of specialist literature and films.
The contents of the box have, in my lifetime, only had one serious competitor for the amount of complete filth concentrated in one place and that was the shop in King's Cross. While that shop gave a valiant effort at competing, I was older at the time so nothing comes close to the shock value of what the three pairs of thirteen year old eyes gazed upon that day.
There was well over 200 magazines, of pretty much any specialism. We were used to finding copies of Razzle, Escort etc, so had an idea of what we thought we should find inside. The contents of, and I'm misspelling this deliberately as I'm at work, Alan Biker were something else. Other magazines had titles that brought forth the ideas of Windsurfing or Water Skiing but the photographs inside were so very different. I had no idea. Even that tamest ones contained things I had never before believed possible; I remember thinking "It only started off as an office party. Does EVERYONE have to join in?"
The three of us went a bit pale and wordlessly shoved the box back in the hedge. Whenever we were feeling brave we went back for another look. The box lasted another month before mysteriously disappearing.
Who knows where it went? That was the day my innocence left.
markmullen said:
Dan_1981 said:
As a paper boy I may or may not have borrowed said magazines that we were meant to be delivering
I'm amazed and intrigued that anyone would have their grot delivered. Not just Fiesta & Penthouse but proper hardcore stuff like Climax.
Worked out about 1 every 2 days.
daddy cool said:
When i was young (late 80's) i quite often found specialist material in hedges, or at the local dump.
Years later when i bought my own place and was moving out of mums, i found a shoebox full of grot mags. Rather than bin them i put them in a carrier bag and stashed them in tree stump on Horsell Common (Woking) where me and my mates had spent many an evening drinking booze underage, hoping that some young rascal would find them. Went back a few days later - gone: MISSION ACCOMPLISHED.
I felt i had done my duty to the next generation.
Sadly its a dying phenomenon - who on earth would buy a jazz mag now?
Horsell Common eh, isn't that where War of the Worlds was set, at least in part,Years later when i bought my own place and was moving out of mums, i found a shoebox full of grot mags. Rather than bin them i put them in a carrier bag and stashed them in tree stump on Horsell Common (Woking) where me and my mates had spent many an evening drinking booze underage, hoping that some young rascal would find them. Went back a few days later - gone: MISSION ACCOMPLISHED.
I felt i had done my duty to the next generation.
Sadly its a dying phenomenon - who on earth would buy a jazz mag now?
"But still, they Come...."
About 6 or 7 years ago I used to regularly stay in a family run B&B when away with work, one monday evening I checked in and whilst unpacking found a sizeable stash of fairly new but well thumbed porn mags under the bed... Lots of specialty stuff, leather and chains etc... I had no idea this stuff was still printed - how many perverts were there left without a computer and internet connection? I was caught in a dilemma (no not that of course I knocked one out and had a shower) did I take them down and hand over the articles to the owner or leave them there? For fear of embarrassment if they were found between me leaving and coming back a week later I took them down to reception and gingerly handed them over to the owners daughter (she was a grown up), explaining my innocence and reasoning.
Anyway the B7B owners never spoke to me again on subsequent visits, the wife was especially sheepish and I developed the theory they were hers.
Anyway the B7B owners never spoke to me again on subsequent visits, the wife was especially sheepish and I developed the theory they were hers.
daddy cool said:
Years later when i bought my own place and was moving out of mums, i found a shoebox full of grot mags. Rather than bin them i put them in a carrier bag and stashed them in tree stump on Horsell Common (Woking) where me and my mates had spent many an evening drinking booze underage, hoping that some young rascal would find them. Went back a few days later - gone: MISSION ACCOMPLISHED.
I felt i had done my duty to the next generation.
Frank Skinner once said that when he first got a proper job and could afford to buy such things he felt it was his civic duty to leave them in hedgerows for the next generation as the previous generation had done for him I felt i had done my duty to the next generation.
When I was at 6th form college I walked down the stairs to find a massive stack of jazz mags - probably 20 odd. Someone had obviously needed to get rid of them from their house. They duly went in my bag and I took them home!
Also once I went out to a posh hotel with my Girlfriend and family. We sat in this drawing room awaiting to be seated for dinner. I sat in this single seater leather chair and could feel something down the back digging into me. I felt with my hand and found about 10 dvd discs of hardcore filth! Had to leave them there as wouldnt of gone down well with the family!!!
Also once I went out to a posh hotel with my Girlfriend and family. We sat in this drawing room awaiting to be seated for dinner. I sat in this single seater leather chair and could feel something down the back digging into me. I felt with my hand and found about 10 dvd discs of hardcore filth! Had to leave them there as wouldnt of gone down well with the family!!!
FredClogs said:
About 6 or 7 years ago I used to regularly stay in a family run B&B when away with work, one monday evening I checked in and whilst unpacking found a sizeable stash of fairly new but well thumbed porn mags under the bed... Lots of specialty stuff, leather and chains etc... I had no idea this stuff was still printed - how many perverts were there left without a computer and internet connection? I was caught in a dilemma (no not that of course I knocked one out and had a shower) did I take them down and hand over the articles to the owner or leave them there? For fear of embarrassment if they were found between me leaving and coming back a week later I took them down to reception and gingerly handed them over to the owners daughter (she was a grown up), explaining my innocence and reasoning.
Anyway the B7B owners never spoke to me again on subsequent visits, the wife was especially sheepish and I developed the theory they were hers.
It was probably a test. The wife, or daughter, planted them in your room to gauge your pervert levels. If you didn't say anything and kept them they would have assumed you were making full use of them and probably would have invited you into their debauched orgy.Anyway the B7B owners never spoke to me again on subsequent visits, the wife was especially sheepish and I developed the theory they were hers.
As you handed the in a reception, seemingly in disgust, they assumed you were square and moved on the next customer.
Hard luck mate, missed of there eh?
ETA - Unless they were both rough, in which case you dodged a bullet
daddy cool said:
Rather than bin them i put them in a carrier bag and stashed them in tree stump on Horsell Common (Woking)
No one would have believed in the last years of the nineteenth century that this world was being watched keenly and closely by intelligences greater than man's.Now i see why the martians came, George Orwell it wasn't about blood and materials it was for jazz mags.
All i could imagine is a young lad burying porn with this in the distance...
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