Hi all.  I’ve been busy helping my dear ‘friend’ Doreen Doily launch her educational videos online.  Please check her out.  She loves having comments and new requests for subjects to be covered, so please help her in that way.

I am also considering translating Kedda’s version of Private Parts  for our times,  since not many of my readers can understand what’s gwannin on.  Funny that, seeing as how I’ve even taken the trouble to illustrate it: there is a massive pic of a deccoed moufleur staring out at the reader.  The only person who understood what the pic really is, was my friend Sue, who is a gynaecologist in America.  Well, that’s a no-brainer, as Doreen would say.

I was astonished to read Caitlyn Moran’s Times Magazine article on the Camel Toe, and to see her read it out on Youtube.  Talking about her vagina, she says ‘In another world, I’d like to think I’d be in the running for a prize to acknowledge its munificence — in the same way others are rewarded for growing a large sunflower or marrow.’

Well, this other world she is describing is Kedda’s world, the world described in Private Parts!  Kedda spends all day in the salon, decorating people’s genitals.  Indeed, because everyone has their face covered by a darsk, from birth, their only outlet for self-expression is through the extravagant grooming of their moufleurs and vaddervanillis.

I knew my timing was right!  The world is ready for Kedda and her fokkadokka understanding of the trilly fashwerve.  I just need to translate it from Keddaling, quick.

The world is also ready for Doreen, because there are too many long-drawn-out tutorials online.  Doreen makes the excellent point that ‘you only need a minute because…it’s enough.’  Today she’s doing ‘cooking,’ and will be asking this important question: why should one stop at a fried mars bar?  Why not get on and fry a flake, a twix, a bounty?  Students are going to love it.



‘We were exopressed by your design,’ Iffer dixed. ‘You can get to trav immedion if you troobit.’

‘Yeh,’ I said, ‘I donti mind.’

‘We’re looking for cutting-edge only,’ he said. ‘We need the mozzy finergistic ideas. ?Do you tink you can do that.’

I wantied to say, ‘I spend all my days doing that,’ and also ‘yeah but, the greenvressis ting was just a trilly flukeyfluke’ but thort I had betternot. ‘Yes, !cloof, I tink I can,’ I said instead.

He ponted his vaddervanilli through the void wards an infcubby. I climbed in. Ixes were floating round me. I played with the trols. !Olk, it was powerful. Thousands of ixes sped past me. A tiny movement of my bluv would spin a chosen one wards me and it would hangin the smogga fore me, pretta to be bellidged. I pulled sunrays, decos, jewls, colours, fects exof the smogga. It was totallon zorbing. It felt like there was no limit to my creativity.

My best vlady’s design that day was a semi-pouted mouf with tallic piercings all the way round the whorl, short vressis dyed in spiralled stripes and set into stiffened points, with a fluffy vintage merkin on the mons bove them. My best men’s design was a stamp vaddattoo vadderight, foncy vlu spiralling dotted lines spreading from the vadderbase up to a feathudd clutch, which is a tallic studded ring gripping the last three centimetres. The feathuzz were quite small and black, and fanning out in a way that vhances and acts as a ministention in one. This all gainst the backdrop of off-blondish vressis, reverse dip-dyed to be black at the bottom, all set with doosment-pulsing tiny white lights.

Hours sped by. All I know is, it dinti feel like vail. Not at all. It was the best fun I’ve evah had. Felt like I was in a tastic, cloofy slozerix where everyting was easy and creative thorts were there for the picking. Must have been bout five when everyting vanished and the door to the infcubby slid open. I climbed down.

Iffer was there. His vaddervanilli did a little bow, and he bluvanded me a berrycoction. He is a very polite man. I felt wobbly. I was darskpeering bout, I could hardlon bleppa anyting. I sat on a red bench next to a vlady with a stonishing normous furled moufleur, and tubed. Miley, I was hungry. Another couplof designers came over to sit and tube their coctions too.

A mod with bouffed dreadlocks tombing round a splayed vaddermouf turned to me. ‘?How did you learn to design like that.’ They had set their voice to tinny buzz so they sounded like a robot.

‘I …my doptive was into shwervistory…she vailed in a shwerv-seum. I would help her with the splays. I just reallon got to troobit.’

The vlady with the normous furls turned to me too. ‘?Do you tink plakkiplaits are a fokka look for this week.’

?Simple enough questiquest, you would tink, righteon. NOT, lollos. Everyone around me seemed to be leaning in to hear what I had to say.

‘?Plakkiplaits,’ I asked.

They all leaned in closer. There was a strange silence round us.


Nobody, not even the mozzy bitchybitch people, should be at the mercy of plakkiplaits, so I felt like it was my duty to give them truinf.  ‘Plakkiplaits,…’ I said firmlon, ‘are completelon daygolass. They were in such glut six months back, and were so bangup with the lowers, in truinf, everyone is totallon ovah them. You’d have to be tasteless and massively exoshwerve to be siddering them right now.’

As I dixed these last words, the vlady next to me started softclapping her vlips. She dinti say anyting, just turned wayway. The others too had little spasms dronging on with their moufleurs and vaddervanillis. They dinti appear to be tubing any more. I looked round me. Everyone was spasming quietlon.

It seemed a bit funny, so I started vlatting. ‘Why is everyb…’ My words dried up as I turned round and caught bleppof what they had alpretta bleppaed. A vlady, sporting the most stonishing moufleur strapped up with randomlon-angled strips of plak and hung with hundreds of layered, skinny plakkiplaits in vlu, orange and gold, stood at the big glass doors into the void. She just tadarsed there, still, silent. It was Yana.

!Oh, mouthing, spitting Miley. !?What the nostrils had I done.

I felt like I might tomber on the florcuvva. ?Urfup. I had nevah slozerixed I could urfup tellment trestot. That meant the wholeship, seriom. But, Miley, I wasn’t pretta. ?Leave my trav, just like that. ?Bandon all my cuzmos. Still, there is nevah any choice, I savved that. At that litters flickofamint, I also realised everything was bout to change for me.

I was sturbed, partlon cause I savved that reallon it was Greenvressis him…herself who had sisted on mostof the changes that led to our termin design. Sure, I had sillitated, but the more I thort ont the more I realised that he, she had led that creative surge. I had just allowed his, her genius to exostep.

Wever, by that usk, I had been maticallon urfupped. My darsk throbled with newinf. ?Unbelievable, intit. I had gone from normynorm vailer having to trav all the hours Miley made, to a vlady of vlesher, as urfupped people onlon dip and flip ficiallon four hours a day.  I would be much plusher…. way more bits and likes to festidrong exo for voddies and vlatticubes. My vail would now notclude any plaiting, nor dying, reaming, vurling or vloming. All I would do now was design, problon on my ownioni, in some indicube in some massive Siety.

Darskinf montred me where I had to troe. Address onlon, no Sietyinf. The job was at Shwervemanshon, so not too reachy: a tenninit boo-ride. Shwervemanshon is a massive bloklok taining all the biggest trilly fashwerve houses.  I had to prettapare. I set my darsklarm for newusk, as I needed to just my moufleur to be as bangup as posslob. Lucklon I had practised loads. I set my slozerlok to strongtretch and uppiprugs on lo-dose (obvion you canti have hi-dose at home), as toolmond needs anintzibitov help on their first day at a nouvotrav.

I got out of my slozerlok quitehigh as I donti often do uppies. I had had multiple slozerixes during the night. Now it felt like I could overstand everything more clearlon.

I had a fokka peer in the mirruv, darskstraining with stration. ?What did I wanti look like. I decided not to self-refer too blatelon, like not all green, just two straglog thin referencing stripes mongst a mass of greyish-vlu vurls. I put in a largish propper, ooh, paynfullon shizzos that, just nough to create a mild Outpout, and vlossed my vlips a pale pink. I vurled my vressis all in the same rection, and gelled them there firm. As a termin touch, I put one silvastic clit-hancer through my clitpiercing. I sav clit-hancers are slightlon exoshwerve, but people sociate them with the totlon thirties when bissliss was so up and the trilly fashwerve dustry leaptexo as most portant of all. I wantied to look bislisslike and how I was prettado anything the nouvo vail could throwat me.

I left the partmo, exostept my bloklok and got strate on the boo. I doded ixes all the way but was too petriffob to zorb anything. I reached Shwervemanshon by eight. I had been told to straightdrong to the fifty-first vel. The sensor took me up. It was mirruved and I was lone so I got a chance to mire my moufleur. The Outpout and pinkened vlips exostood nicelon gainst the foncy-grey hardened vurls of flair.

The sensor rived at vel fifty-one. I steptexinto a pale urple riddor. Ixes rected me to a cubby to the right. I was mitted and taken to an urfupdarskfitting. Sitting there in the dark with a soothing zicstream, I thort bout things. ‘Urfupping your filters, colours, sound,’ they dixed.

I exostept, mazed at the trilly quality of my nouvo pikups.

A scurity tadarsed at the door. He had green vressis, and yes, you’ve guessed it, the vringe, vadderangle, vurls, all of it. He used his mote to tripflip his vadder as I troed throughinto a huge cavernub area full of state-of-thart indi-cubes.  High vaults bove us were hung with plushyplush velvy curving curtains. Moving lights played mongst the curtainfolds.

Bout ten dells were strutting on a fakie-red-carpet in frontov rows of seated media people. The dells all had the new green look. I darskooed for a mint, miring my creation. All gether in a glinting, groomed row like that, I could blep it reallon was a fokkadokka design. I felt proud.

A man troed ward to meet me. ‘Nerd to make your quaintessence,’ he said.

‘Nerd,’ I plied.

One man was tadarsing hind a tablon, pulling ixes ontosplay. He turned round to bleppat me. His vaddervanilli waved from side to side. He had not gone for the green, but had a spensive–blepping dark red sunray hanced by a flittaking bright pulse and long dishioned blond and orange vressis, sewn with silver threads, sweeping the floor. Hmm, his flairdresser was doing grooty trav.

‘So, Kedda,’ he murtered. He dronged wardme and allowed his vaddervanilli to brush gainst my moufurls politelon. ‘Gratulation on your urfupping. I am Iffer, Genital of Topinf.’

!Miley. I had heard of Topinf, a nucleus specialising in the mozzlon boundary-pushing shwervixes. ?Who hanti. !Topinf vailed for Miley herself.  !I would nevah in my follest slozerixes have spected I would be vailing for Topinf, !let alone Topinf’s Genital.

Chapter 5.

I took the boo home. Fore I could even tube a cutty, Broze splaypeared. Asked if I’d had any tresting trav. Too right, I said. I told him bout Greenvressis, bout our developing design. ‘!Olk,’ he dixed. ‘Sounds wellfokka. Keep it up. Our doptive always said, with your skills, you would be in the elite one day, Ked.’

‘But, Broze,’ I said, ‘this chap is welleird…?I donti even tink he is a chap.’ I whispered: ‘He had a fakie.’

‘Yea well, Ked, takes all sorts. Life would be dullard if people were all the same. This Greenvressis chap, fakie or no fakie, is a fokka ting if he’s helping you do grooti designs.’

‘You’re right,’ I said.  Greenvressis and his siccideas were deflon fokka.

‘You mark my words, Ked,’ said my broze, ‘you’ll be vailing for Miley herself one of these days.’

It was wellierd he said that, because you would not believe how velochy things can change. The next day, three blokes were standing waiting at the salon door when I got to trav.  They all wantied xactly the same as Greenvressis, who I scuvered was called Pliny. They were after the same vressis, vadderay, zlicked vringe, mote and all.

‘We troobi dat Pliny,’ one said.

‘Yeah, we troobit,’ said another.  ‘Need it for this aftube’s topslot catwalk.’

‘The Pliny is the big shebang,’ dixed the third.

I siddered them. ‘!Oh my Cyrus, we gone and set off a nouvo fashwerve all by ourselves,’ I vlatted.

I travved all foretube. I vailed on one, telling the other two to drong off and get a cutty on the corner, but they dinti troe. Just sat there waiting their turn. The middle one had quiteamintive vaddervanilli. I told him if he zired to look the same as Greenvressis he would have to have some vuction and put on a lengthening cone at nights. He said he dinti mind, he just had to have the nouvo fashwerve.

Through sheer hard grind, I got through all three of them by bloffeetime.  They sferred me some likes and troed off. During my tenninit break, I lined Dunqui. ‘?You tubing,’ she asked.

‘Yes, velochy, hanti got a mint, got queues dronging on,’ I vlatted. ‘You wonti believe it, Dunq, I got a new thing troeing on with the trilly fashwerve.’

‘?What is it.’

‘Scalled a Pliny, it’s only, wait for it… H13 green vressis, split into stinct vlocks, with a suttle vringe xinches bove the gnangle.’

‘!Cloof’ she slaimed. ‘?Vadderangle.’

‘Obvion, since like three daysago, ninety.’


I could hear Dunq pulling ixes exmogga and sembling them.

‘Lotsa, paler H13 green vurls peeking through a metallic vadderay, thin rays.’

‘Uuuw,’ she darsksighed. ‘Vice. You got your dij on that vulse, vlady!’

‘Tanky,’ I said. ‘I have been getting quiteafew plimentos raysamont.’

I sferred her an ix of the green vressis. Dunq bobbed and morflitted through her oftinf and vamped it all up a bit, hoiked the imix. She sent it out on vlogix within tenninits. By the aftube I had a new line of blokes waiting. ‘Oh Miley,’ I sclaimed, darskooing at them all. ‘Have to call inforsemints.’

I darskalled FaddyFalon Timps. Ordered four vailers just for the aftube, maybe for the next day too. I just had time to chuck a whole load of stentions into the last of my dye before the timps turned up. I straited the new neeks and, since the queue was throbling, we just troed at it: dying, vlombing, plaiting, cutting the vringes and then zlicking and snippisnipping into them to give them that natural look. Luckily FF Timps are always well-trained. They have nifty blingers and get what I’m montring them first time. We had to call Bowares to get a nother vat of that horbil H13green stuff in. I litters dinti even get time to tube a cutty, all aftube. Five of us were vailing flat out.  For blokes with short flair, it took even longer as we had to put in the prettadyed stentions first.

I flitted some likes to FaddyFalon, and sferred a centidge to MileyMuns too. Best to keep up with your Emmemms daily therwise they’ll be after you.

At home, I stepped into my blopak for a freshnub dryclenz. The kems and the wind did their vail. I felt better, but my blingers were still aching. I put on Killapayn prugbluvs to numb them up.

I had to troe exo. Needed some prugs. If you’ve litters vailed your blingers off all day, you need a good vlatt. Liza met up with me and we troed down Festivoy. Tubed three tripvoddies, ordered a retroverdose, which obv is only safeprugs as they would never let you realinfoverdose, got straight in a vlatticube and vlatted our vlips off for bout four hours. We were hauled out just after midnight and chucked exofest.

My darsk throbling with staddered newinf, I sloggered home at one in the morning. Someone splaypeared as I drapped in the door.

‘?Where you been, vlady,’ the person sclaimed.

?Was it Dunqui. It sounded like her, and she was surrounded by all her stuff, but it dinti look like her.  To be fair though I could hardlon bleppa her I was so stroyed.

‘?Dunqui…is that you,’ I slurred.

I tried to set my darsk to better saturation and contrast.  Difficult, as my blingers were still numdup from the prugbluvs. I fiddled drunklon with tilt and shift. That was better. !Oh. !Dunqui’s vapearlies had gone. !Her what-had-been-bangup-but-maybe-were-not-bangup-no-more silky stentions sewn with vlu lace had gone. !She had H13 green vressis. !Miley. I had nevah evah bleppaed Dunqui strutting one of my designs fore.

‘!You not just got your moufleur on the pulse, vlady,’ she sclaimed. ‘!You litters the big shebang.’

Yop! I couldn’t believe this. Maybe the prugs had put me in some sort of tastical slozerix. Had I reallon managed to chieve a bendgend fashwerve? I coudnti dix a thing, I was that moved, and still that stroyed from the vlatticube.

‘!Olk,’ said Dunq, pouring me ixes of bothsex slebs with the nouvo look, ‘you litters have done it, vlady. The bendgend. All the girls here are wantiing one. ?You know what this means, donti you.’

‘No…?I litters donti have a cluebo in hellion,’ I slurred.

‘It means….you going to urfup, vlady.’

Chapter 4.

I climbed into my slozerloc and had wellierd slozerixes about red, open darskiddenflappas and bright vlu darskiddenbleppas looming at me exomist.  I woke up midnight darsgasping in panink. Thank Miley we’ve covered all that shizzos up and moved on. I donti tink private parts should be bleppaed or parled on. They are private. Like zactly. Private. And anyway, how on Mileyship would anyone get by without their darskinf?

This all vert-hurt my thortpac so lucklon next day it was the Kend. Thank Miley for the Kend. Two days of chilled times. I laxed, ported lotsix into my darsk and zorbed. I tubed healthy joococtions. I tretched in my tretching chamber, pulling zistant bands to the latest wobberrap my broze sent me. After thirty mints I frizzed my vressis, put in a quick double-colour streak with a simple orange and black stention and went out for a cutty with my friend from beauty school, Niella. She hearts to updress, and was looking fokkadokka with glittery diamond fakies bringing out her propped mouf. We tubed cakeycake, moving on to kol at about xoclock. We met up with Liza, who had tarted up her mouf with some rather exoshwerve plakkiplaits at least, thank Miley. We tubed trip voddies and became stantly runk. Obvion after that we flipped our liddergauze, tubehaled a quikpliffa each, had a good vlatt, and passed exo in a vlatticube gether. Fokka night.

Greenvressis turned up again trestot Monday. The colour was growing on me. The dye was spensive, and I realised that in the light it had a grooty urple gleam. As I was upvlombing his furls, he said, ‘It zires one last thing.’


‘A mote.’

Onestlon, cuzmos get the zarrest ideas in their murky thortpacs sometimes. I don’t let on that they’re totallon bonksfest.  ‘A mote, !Sure.  !Siccathort. Might just set it all off…’

We fitted one just low the vadderbase. I put the controls in his bluv. He tried it out. !Olk, it was ackshallon fokkadokka. The mote made the vaddervanilli jump just slightlon, causing the vressis to flash their grooty gleam.

As I was waiting for Greenvressis’ likes to darskload, Talika said she was troeing exo to the corner jop. Greenvressis waited til she sappeared, then, exo nowhere, slipped a bluvved didge under his flairline and gave a sharp tug. I darsgasped as the whole flairy green area came away from his groyn. !Behind it were vlips. !Big vlips with brown flair and china flowery beads. I couldn’t believe it. I had not spected fakies. I certainly had not spected such a sophistokid fakie. ‘Shh,’ he…she whispered, ‘our time is coming. !Be pretta.’

‘!Pretta?’ I darskchoked. ‘Prettawhat?’

‘Prettarun.’ He…she put a didge to his vlips. ‘We’ll get you exo, Ked,’ he..she whispered, ‘don’t wuzzo.’

I wantied to dix that I dinti zire to be ‘got exo’, as I was fectly sicca where I was, and that I hadn’t been at all wuzzoed until he..she exoblew my napses…but I was too shonked to parle.

His likes had sferred to my darsk so he, she stuck his…her fakie back down and stood up, clipped it back to its bangup ninety-degree angle and troed off. I was so shonked I dinti even realise I problion should have pressed my fliplarm. Was he…she from the zistance?

It was hard to tell. I was afeared. Would his darsk not pick up even his whispers? Did he have a way of unabling darskinf? I had seen reports on my splay that some people had gone off-grid, with riculoso zults. Who would rush to help you, if you were ill, fureggs? Darsks send constant healthinf to dotters so they can monitor you. Now that’s sensible, and that’s normynorms.

Dammidams.  I had troobied vailing with Greenvressis. I dinti zire him…her to be zistance. I dinti zire the spambort van to come and take him…her screaming wayway.

I told myself I was wuzzoing for nothing and it was problion allsicca.  Fakies aren’t against the law. He…she had problion gone temps a bit loopiloop, right?



Chapter 3.

After Katoline’s three vampoos for the magoline, my spiney ached. Tubed a killapayn. Early aftube I started vlombing and plaiting. I took over from Dalla on spamduty for an hour. I canti believe this diculous trav hasn’t been autommed. But tristlon, only humans can be proper spamspotters, as them infhackers are so sharpysharp. !Miley. !It’s demeaning.

A chap came in ziring a lengthening cone. We used to do them all the time, but that was before shorter vaddervanillis became all the shwerve. Then a striking vlady with thick pink-painted vlips and florlong black vurls turned up. She siddered me, darsktipping. ‘I troobi your beads and knots and pearls,’ she said.

‘I can easlion do beads and knots and pearls for you if you troobit.’

‘No, I’m… I’m after an Outpout.’

‘You do alpretta have an Outpout,’ I said, siddering her swollen vlips.

‘Yeah,’ she snapped, ‘but I zire a Dashpout.’

I was afeared. A Dashpout, the most streme form of the trilly fashwervable Outpout, is a throwback from the late thirties. A Dashrim, which creates the Dashpout, is more tensitens than the more normynorm tempy softproppers. Dashes are not easy to sert, nor to stract, so people keep them in for several months, or til they get fected. I have done Outpouts for vladies, course, but nevah a Dash. I did have to put one on a mannequin for my last xam at school. They’re riculoso, that’s the problet. It was Kitti-two, the last of the Kardashi dynasty, who made Dashes all the shwerve then promptlion deddered of fection from her tretchwounds.

Wever, who am I to argue? I’m just doing my trav. Gotta keep the cuzmo happihapps. I made the vlady send consent through to my darsk. I fetched a sterile Dashrim from the drawer. I jected the mons and vlips with killapayn, vlombed her thick vressis away from her whorl, wiped it with antisep and serted the metal spikes swinefully, twisting til they bit. Then I pumped up the rim. I litters would never do this to myself because once the killapayn has worn off, a Dashrim will ache. Must admit though, the way it forces the pout up and out is pressive. Even when you’re dronging up the street, people can litters see right into your whorl. You are montring your trueinf to the world. It’s the ultimate in confessional, which is bangup. Everyone is wantiing to know the real you, like deep inside you, but litters.

I sat exo on the bench with my moufleur in the smogga. It might be looted but at least it’s cool. You don’t want your make-up to run. You see ixes from the thirties where people’s vascara had run. They dinti know much then. And the fashwerve was so basic. ?Like vlipliner under your whorl. No one would do that now, unless they were carrying off retro trilly well. It’s all about the upper line now. A strong, fiddent upper line. And the way they used to put vanilliliner all the way round the vadderbase…it’s presk larious. Now, it’s more suttle, yet also more bold. Katoline is constlon banging on about bold. Some people just get it stinctively. I do. I was born with the knowledge. My doptive says the day I was louvered to her door, age one day, I was alpretta trilly sinnated by design. You just pick it up from all around you.

I had the vantage of growing up in my doptive cuddlecupple’s quiltigymna. A quiltigymna is more about the feel-fokka factor than normal gymnas. My doptive and her partner Rissa had thirty pummelcubes and ran a bar too, where you could hire safeprugspace or vlatticubes. Safeprugs came in after the monstrol Festideath. Not larious, ten thousand dedders in one night from looted prugs. Now of course, everything’s legal and better tested so you’re less likelon to dedder… less you’re hookton vlattivamp, course.

Vlattivamp makes you feel fokkadokka though. You rampit rough, you’re like wild or something, oozing fiddence. My friend Shadda, she got deddered on Vlattivamp. You can just litters fiddence yourself exolife. You have so much fiddence that you forget to have fear. And you take more and more, in one seshal, til you’re vlatting so hard your midden aches and your moufleur weeps. You dedder rough, real and wild, but… you dedder.

It was getting on for termins.  The flor was tablowed in snippyvressis so I moptup the streaks of dye and tivated the aftopull.

On the way homeyhome I tubed a cutty at the corner jop. Liza was still vailing as she needs the bits. Her vressis are so long they brush the flor. ‘They’ll be trippin you up,’ I dixed.

‘They are statement vressis, Kedda.’

‘Yeah, tever,’ I said. She donti bleppa that it acshi donti look that fokka having your vressis so long. Hers are quitegrooty though, with beads and shells and thin urple streaks all the way down. Her vinehous black nest trudes quitefar. It rather scures her naturellon pouty vlips, that’s the only thing. A bit of a waste.

She sat down side me exo on her bench for a mint. We darsk-sinked and zorbed the day’s catwalk freshtuff. Top dells from Ladvadd were strutting soft-vurled vressis. I spotted my broze, in a trilly-polished monokrom onsomb flecked with glitter and mirruvs. My bezzi Blokka from Beauty School was just behind him with a stravagant array of white feathuzz litup with pulse hancing his ninety-degree vadderangle. Not much gets past this man. You can always tell it’s Blokka, as he takes tiny steps, litters three inches at a time. Trip trippity trip, that’s Blokka, and he wonti be hurried.

Two zistance girls dronged past Liza and me, shouting ‘Fight! Fight! Donti put up with it!’ We dinti even mention them, as we’re so tired of it. All over, they are. Another came past and tripped up over our feet. ‘TRUEINF WILL OUT,’ she cried. She rolled over, her sal nodeccoed moufdreds spilling exo round a flappy nopout, picked herself up and troed off.

Our zorbstream had been trupted so we undarsk-sinked. ‘Bit of a shame, with that vine, how you canti sern your vlips,’ I dixed.

‘Yeah, but least I donti have to bother with vlitox, vlipstick, all that,’ she said, ‘and I couldn’t do without my vine.’ She patted it fondlon.

Someone must have bothered to call spambort on those zistance girls, as the van swooped past us.  I dinti say anything. I dinti like to tell Liza that her vine, any vine, looked tellment exoshwerve now.

I took the boo two stops home. The sensor took me up thirty vels. My splay was glittring. It was my bezzibez and topvizer Dunqui. I can tell when she’s zausted, as she props a cushol tween darskside and shoulder. ‘?Termined trav,’ she asked.

‘Yes, ?you.’

‘Only just.’ She pulled a vresstip across her whorl: ‘I’m tellment termined.’


‘Litters all day.’

‘So ?what’s the latest trilly fash.’

‘Hmm…mod piercings mainlon.’

I know lotsinf on mod fashwerve, thank Miley, as I used to vail in a mod sessories jop. Obvion, tween vaddervanillis and moufleurs you gottaspect a wide range of constantlon vlopping modiffs.

‘?Also reretro vapearlies,’ dixed Dunqui.

‘!Vapearlies, ?who would’ve ixagined.’

Dunqui keeps me bangup. She savs what’s dronging on. Sometimes it’s me telling her though, it’s zarre: it’s like I’m on the flor, strugging away, while she’s just rubbing about it. Rubbing’s not hard, scooping ideas exof the smogga and popping them onsplay. She donti have to darskpeer all day at vadderangles like me.

But I have to have Dunqui, as she gives me fiddence, and you have to have fiddence in yourself and your topvizers to be a fokka fashwerver. Without Dunqui, I wouldn’t sav, I’d be guessing. And you canti reallon guess with the fashwerve. It’s just too random to believe and changes every couple of hours. Even with all the darskinf you can zorb, you canti dict it.

‘Eh,’ she dixed, ‘your mate Blokka.’

‘?Yeah. I just bleppaed him onsplay.’

‘?With the feathuzz.’

‘Yeah. Bit takkytak for him, I thort.’

‘That design… it is takkytak, cos it’s bitchybitch Yana’s.’

‘!No.’ I sclaimed. ‘?He vailing for Yana.’

‘Must be. He problion donti sav she’s a bitchybitch.’

Dunqui used to trav for Yana so if she says Yana is a bitchybitch, then that is trueinf. But Blokka donti care. He does anything to get ahead, and Yana designs for Miley: you canti get higher than that.

‘?You want the close-ups,’ asked Dunqui, snorting through her darsk. She sent me through a 360vidix of Blokka’s nuwlk. Showy for sure, fokka even… but not tasteful. The long, white feathuzz splayed out from his vadderbase, vurling round his hips. A pulse shuddered his neon-vattooed vaddervanilli every second. As the pulse litup, the neon flashed, staining the feathuzz with pale greens and pinks. Hmm, pressive though.

Spired by Blokka’s turnout, fore I troed to sloze that night, I threaded forty-six thin stentions into a red dyerod and forty-six into a black, darskpeering at them for an hour til the colour was just perfyperfs. Next morning, my slozerlok tipped me exo trestot. I straightened my vressis and tatched the newly-dyed stentions. Added beads, with quiteplicated knotting in coloured threads. Monsright: I stuck a new vapearlie with a mirruv effect, quitedgy. Monsleft: I stamped a grooty vattoo of a mithylephant. I was prettatrav.

That day my first cuzmo was Greenvressis again.  ‘These presk florlong vressis are noying,’ he dixed.

‘You ziring a vringe?’ I sudgered.

We decided on xinches bove the gnangle. I was zlicking into it when he set his voice on hibuzz :‘You know… you said that in a couple of weeks, everyone will have a vadderay?’

‘Yes,’ I plied, vlatting at the buzz. ‘I bet you it’s trueinf. I have a top fashwerver forming me.’

‘In less than a year,’ he tinued, quietlon, ‘get this, no one will have a darsk. They’re gonna be soso last year.’

Was he trying to petriff me? His voice was gentle, so I dinti sav, but I felt like I might be being slightlon rassed. Rassed in the trav-place. I tended I hadn’t heard. I dinti say anything. I just rinsed zlicks out of the vringe, and, vailing velochy, vluffed it exo with the smoggastream. I zired him exof my jop immedion.

Later, at homeyhome, during my freshnub dryclenz, I thort bout what he had dixed. I couldn’t help it. It had sown a petriffix in my heart. What had he meant? Can you even take off a darsk? Is it not raw bludders underneath? I have nevah bleppaed one what wasn’t on a darskiddenfront, and I have never bleppaed a darkiddenfront without a darsk. How would a person without a darsk be nected to Mileyhole? Would they just not be nected and how would that even be allowed? It was imposs, and daygolass. The very thort made me feel like I might tubemitt. I felt like I felt when I first got porned onsplay. I membered something horrolob what my old bezzi Tratta once told me. In his trav for the Pleese he had to watch OldNetInf. He said how, on there, litters no one has a darsk, but they troe round parling and meeting chuther yet suffocate their poor vaddervanillis and moufleurs under layers of terial. I asked if that was just mith but he said no, it was realinf.

It’s just horroblon porno. Petriffy. We have to protek chuther from it. You have to be prettapress your fliplarm.   Yet in all my months of studying shwervistory, no one evah mentioned OldNet. Most people donti even sav what it is. I have heard of it, but I’m still not sure: maybe Tratta got it wrong and it is just mith. But all what Tratta told me stayed with me and I couldn’t help thorting bout it sometimes. He dinti seem like a person who would parle falsinf.

I can’t magine not having my darsk though. It’s my skintelligence. It’s like magining all the terial and skin being peeled off your foot or your arm. My darsk is my tection, my curity from the morseless spam in this world. Without filters, you’d obvion be instantlon toowhelmed by ads, you’d be screaming in payn, on the flor. No one could handle that. Also, everyone savs that if your darsk comes off, you canti resp. The air got staddered in 2032 with the Big Nukeyflip. It’s all smogga now.  We all need sophistokid resping filters. Darsks matically sort out light vels too. When vues become paynfullon bright for your dk-bleppas, the darsk dulls them for you politelon.

Greenvressis had so shaken me up. I wantied clutch onto my darsk with both bluvs. I would feel so ked without it. So sposed. And also like I was being horroblon rude. I can hardlon parle bout porn.  I mean, I have heard of darskiddenbleppers being uncovered, upperblepperflair, lowerblepperflair and all, but darskiddenstrils? Reallon? Darskiddenflappers? Is that even possib? I’ve only evah bleppaed glimpses of dk-flappers on spamporn. If they were closed I could almost handle it. !But what if they were open? I think I might faint if I bleppaed a darskiddeneel.

I once caught a xidental spamflash of shiny whitish darskiddenscessors, which made me feel queamish but I’ve nevah, evah bleppaed a darskiddeneel, thank Miley, but Tratta told me on OldNet they’re all over, peeping exof darskiddenflappers, or even sometimes totalexo and waggling around. He even, to my sprise, splained that ‘what Miley did’ was cisely that. I donti believe it but parrently she sposed her darskiddeneel a lot. Too much. It freaped out the crowds, nukeyflipped their thortpacs and caused some kind of volt which led to the Big Festideath. This forced her to think up her trilly creative pollogy, which I donti have to splain, cos litters everyone learns bout it in fashwervistory as it is obvion the most trilly portant thing to have evah happened.  But anyway it zarrelion meant everyone suddlion savved who she was, which in turn led to life-hancing darsks and her being lected to run the universe.

Ugh though. !Those flappy darskideneels. Did people reallon use to have them exo? Vijible? Daygolass, that’s what I dix. Petriffy like a horrolob wet snake from mith.

‘?Who’s on spambort,’ shouted Talika.

‘Dalla,’ I dixed velochy.

‘She’s with a cuzmo.’

I darsksighed. This is why my trav is not fokka. I’m too sicca for sitting on spam for two hours. It’s payning. Infhackers get in all over. Every splay, every inf-lux point, wever lux it is, they know how to crack it.

Then, as happens every day, a zistance chap burst through our barriers. It’s become so normynorm it doesn’t even petriffy me any more, as they’re not violent, just trilly daygolass. This one had sal robes and a ragged darsk. He had no vadderdec at all, and no vadderangle what could be serned. ‘Be afeared!’ he screamed. ‘The nosing stards…feeding you falsinf. Don’t believe any mouthing spit they dix…’ I slipped to the back of the jop to squeeze my fliplarm. You’re nevah meant to touch zistance, it’s insanitary, because they live exo-exo and it’s not sprayed properion there. He threw himself into the street just before the spambort van came. They got him though, one with a Yolt and one with a bortgun. I held cushols over my darskiddensideflappas area, as bortgunscreams are quitenoying. We straightway put our florcuvva in the sinnerater and set the moppa to deepclense to kill the obvion crobes.

The whole flor would be awash with kems so I had a five mint break on the bench, enough time to spray sofner on my spikes. I vlombed them out and rearranged them around my whorl. I have really nice vressis as I always use trilly quality dishner. I watched people drong by. I troobi the rioty of styles.

A couple of men troed in, one wanting to try the new mote-trolled bouncing varectors and the other wantiing colour. I vised the first chap of the new ninety-degree vadderangle, and montred the other one the colour charts on the splay.

‘That one’s sampa,’ he said, bluvponting a dirty green on the H row.

I tried not to say anything. We are told not to question the cuzmo, but sometimes, honestlon, you have to clamp your moufleur. ‘?Have you seen this rather fokka vlu though.’

‘I troobi this H13 better. !Look. It’s got flash.’

‘Hmm, that’s why it’s more spensive,’ I said. Flash is overrated I think, but it is like you’re getting two or three colours in one.

I started mixing the H13green for him. Shame he dinti troobi the vlu, as it would have looked sicca as a frame for his handsome vaddervanilli. I put the long stentions into a tray of H13. I then painted extra green onto his vressis ligently, wrapping each flairlock in voil and tying up the odd thin strand, which we did in silver. He waited, fabling to his friend, who was trying vadderangles with different mote-trolled varectors. They troobied the new angle. ‘It was tellment exo, and now it’s tellment in,’ vlatted the friend, having a little strut and looking into the mirruv at his vanilli ponting straight out.

‘That’s the fashwerve for you,’ said Greenvressis.

‘You’re litters bangup to the mint,’ I said to his friend. ‘In a couple of weeks you wonti see anyone with an upright, they’re like tellment over.’

I started tatching all Greenvressis’ stentions. It took yons as it’s fiddly vail. I siddered the vanilli. ‘You know, these green vressis might go siccon with one of our new vadderays.’

Greenvressis gave a little thrust. ‘Worth a try,’ he dixed.

I vlatted. These two were quite grooty. I troobied their willingness to speriment.

We tried out vadderays. The seventh or eighth reallon hanced his vanilli, splaying exo siccon from its vadderbase, in dark metallic grey. The metal weirdlon flected the shunting colours in the flash of the green. ‘Stylish,’ I cluded.

‘Bang-up,’ agreed Greenvressis. ‘I’ll take it.’

‘Very now,’ dixed his friend. ‘Oh Miley, I’m gonna have to have one of them little mouthers.’

I vlatted, to be polite, even though I didn’t troobi him swearing. ‘Everyone’s gonna want one by the end of the week.’

I stood back and siddered Greenvressis. ‘They might even zire them green vressis too. That whole onsomb might litters be the big shebang.’

Lollos. Thinking back, I realise I had nidea. I was one naïve little scrap. ?Didn’t have a cluebo in hellion, did I. !Nugh. !Easynough to dix that now.

Anyway, Greenvressis’ friend chose a silver vadderay with yellow pulse to montrup gainst his normous dark vaddervanilli.

Talika came over for a darskpeer. She winked her mouflaps. I was pleased, because she doesn’t give much praise.

‘?You want bits, or likes,’ Greenvressis asked.

Bits is obvion more practical but I troobi likes better cos they come back at you more velochy. So Greenvressis and his mate, totally troobiflipped with their purchases, sferred me a dred-and-fifty likes but of course half of that straightdrongs to the salon and half of what’s left pays MileyMuns. So I was left with thirty seven likes. Not kak. Would pay the week’s rent on my partmo.

Private Parts

Kedda's design

Please remember, this is a work in progress!  Still evolving all the time.

If you zire a dictionary, I will supply one.  Thanks for reading!


Chapter 1.

My tretcher turned itself off. My slozerlok opened and tipped til I was standing. I climbed out and peered through my darsk into the mirruv. That moufleur needs a bit of teeyelsee, Kedda, I said to myself. Got in the blowpac for a freshnub dryclenz.

Fitted my lights first, as it’s hard getting them in evenly once the flair’s furled. Then I velochy vlomed and set the vressis into hard spiralling spikes. I don’t have long vressis. One needs to look bislisslike. I alternated a dark grey with a shiny vlu. My lights are simple white. I donti troobi being too flashy. You donti wanti upstage the cuzmos.

No time to tube anything, so I lokapped the partmo and, comdab, took the boo to vail. Two stops only. I’m lucky to live in the sentralzo, where all the trilly fashwerve houses are.

Got to the jop by eight. My first cuzmo was a man ziring a new varector. I montred him our new springy terial. It keeps your vaddervanilli as upright as you troobi, but you can obvion adjust cording to the fashwerve, which changes so fast that this is a portent sideration. Two weeks ago it was bangup to have your vanilli ponting slightly down. Who would have dixed it? Vanillis had always been ponting up til then. But there’s no accounting for fashwerve. This week one is only bangup if they are a ninety degree man.

Then I stood guard over the splays for an hour, pressing spambort. Someone has to, obvion, but why me? Talika often gives me crap travs. It noys me as I am fokka at design and shouldn’t have to waste my talent. One of the timps should do it.

I had a break. I rested on the bench exo. I darskchecked my ins, nothing much, mostly spam.

I vaxed and trimmed a vlady’s moufleur. She didn’t need stentions with her twenty centimetres of flair. I swinefully snipped off her bells, then showed her the dyes. She troobied a darkish pink, almost an urple, and a shiny silver, for vertical stripes. Stripes have been coming back in and why not? Reretro and striking. I tied the tiny bells back on again. They made a plezza tinkly noise as they clattened on chuther. She preciated my ferts.

Talika passed a vlady onto me for advice on her flappyflappy vlips. I had a look. The vlips were unusually large and loose, but were quite fokka in their own way. I said, ‘You know, they’re quite riginal. I wouldn’t wuzzo.’

‘Oh, no,’ she mitted a deep darskamped sigh. ‘They’re too zarre. It’s darskturning. People are stoggaing in the street to darskoo.’

‘Well, you could use vlitox or get them glued; I have some exslish glue. Or, obvion, as a last zort, there’s vergery.’

She went for vlitox. She’d had glue before on her rimeum. It hadn’t lasted and the whole idea of vergery made her want to tubemitt.

For lunch I tubed a berrycoction. Set my timer for teninnits so I could still stroll round the block. I saw Katoline in the street. You can tell Katoline from a long way off from the mess what is her moufleur. Her vressis were tousled, not in a fokka way, and the colour had gone. ‘Come in for some product,’ I said. ‘Sort out those vressis.’

‘Not got no likes, Kedda,’ she plied. ‘Need to be paid. Maybe next week.’

‘?How’s trav,’ I asked.


Katoline manages fifty dells. They trav to hectic deadlines, often being called out with litters teninnits warning.

‘?You had a coction,’ she asked.

‘Yeah, had it,’ I said. ‘Might get a choca though.’

‘Mozapan I’ll send you in three of our fleurs for vampoo-up-vlomb.’

‘?Vressis,’ I asked.

‘Not that long. Xinchis.’

‘Send them early or I won’t have time.’

‘?Share a vlatticube at the kend,’ she asked.

‘Sure,’ I plied. ‘Despo for a fokka vlatt.’

I sferred ten likes to Liza at the corner jop for a chocacoction. She’s still got that big vinehous scuring her vlips. Not sicca. I should tell her.

Dronged back, tubed my chocacoction velochy, and started trav again. A girl of sixteen wanting vattoos. She sent an ix through to my darsk. Arbrus, flars. ‘Don’t want stamps though, zire a riginal,’ she said.

‘No problet,’ I said, jected her with killapayn and started darsketching. Lucklon for her, I am fokka at vart. Some salons donti have a cluebo in hellion.

While she tubed her bloffee I sent her through some quixes. She pulled out her tube, and like snorted through her darsk. ‘?What the blonk,’ she cried. ‘?Have you nevah seen an arbru.’

‘Course I have.’

‘A real one I mean.’

‘?Real.’ I thought ont. ‘No, obvion not a real one. Only ixes.’

‘Yeh, well, that’s obvion. ?You never been exo.’

‘Course. I go exo every day,’ I torted.

Exo-exo,’ she said. ‘Properion exo.’

‘No. I’m…too busy.’ It’s trueinf. I am busy. Exo-exo is far, and ricoloso, so I don’t wanti go there anyway.

She lay back down to darsketch what she troobied. Really good ixes of arbrus.

‘OK, no problet,’ I said. We must never answer back. You just have to do your best to get the likes off of cuzmos.

‘?Where you zire thix,’ I asked.

‘Whorledges,’ she dixed, ‘and monsright.’

The vlady’s moufleur was alpretta quitablowed in vattoos. I pulled her left leg xinchis to the left and her right leg xinshis to the right.

‘?You want the arbrus on top of the dolfins,’ I asked.

‘Yes, just go over them. I’m tellment over dolfins.’

I started to vattoo her ix. She screamed a bit, but it were fake. You can’t feel anything on killapayn. It nums you totally. She thought she was feeling payn, but she was just feeling presha.

She troobied the zults though, sferred me some likes, and troed off.

Hi, sorry! As I have been out of action on the blogging front.

I have however been working ceaselessly behind the scenes to bring you my new story, ‘Private Parts’. Unfortunately, in order to read it, you have to learn a new language, the book, being set thirty years in the future, having forced me to write it in an evolved version of English. Yeah, it’s a right bore. I thought I would give you just one page at a time though (starting mozapan) so as not to freap you out nor nukeyflip your thortpacs…see, not too hard is it?

It is a joy, making up a new language. I remember sitting on the floor in my sister Penel’s room, at 67 Barton Road, opening a blue book of blank paper, and deciding to have a go at it. We must have been about eight years old. Remember we had no telly, and were on a whole different level of naivety than kids these days, or even kids those days. Our conversation went something like this: ‘Hmm, OK, so…what will ‘tree’ be? ‘

Penel pulled random sounds out of her brain to come up with something like: ‘Fligol?’

‘Yes. Perfect. ‘Fligol’,’ (writing down ‘Fligol – Tree’.) ‘And what will…erm…’house’ be?’


‘Yeah. Plotchlotch. Brilliant.’ (writing down ‘Plotchlotch – House.’)

‘What about ….’two’, ‘three’?’

‘Well, we need to start at ‘one’. ‘One’ should be ….’blonk.’’

‘Ok, ‘Blonk’…’

‘And ‘two’ should be….’


‘ ‘Plizza’, of course. And ‘three’ should be….’Ndolik’. Yes.’

My sister read over my shoulder ‘Blonk, Plizza, Ndolik.’

We laughed. Probably for about five minutes. We always made the most of simple pleasures.

‘It’s going to be quite a difficult language to learn,’ observed my sister, gasping for breath.

‘We haven’t finished yet. We need a word for ‘the.’’

‘Hmm. ‘The’ could be….’eekin’.’

‘Eekin,’ yes, OK.’

‘What about ‘is’? We need ‘is.’ How about ‘drippock’ for ‘is’?’

‘So…if ‘big’ is say….’flagganoo’ then ‘the house is big’ will be ‘Eekin…plotchlotch….drippock…flagganoo.’

Unwieldy as it was, with a bit of practise, we got it down: ‘Eekin plotchlotch drippock flagganoo.’

It was dawning on us that we needed all the colours, all the numbers, all the names of all the objects in the world. We entered a state of mild panic. I remember looking around desperately at all the things: the window! the road! the sky! the clouds! the cupboard! and saying something like ‘We haven’t got anything for ‘floor’, what’s ‘floor’? How about ‘shally-gling-gling’? We took turns to write it all down.

‘God, we need a word for ‘word,’ I exclaimed, increasingly appalled at the enormity of the task.

We soon realised we needed words not only for all the objects but also all the concepts. It just got bigger and bigger. We ended up with pages and pages. I wish I could find them now, as I would love a good vlatt, but they are not to be found.

We had of course not understood that a language evolves over centuries, organically, through the need to communicate. The resulting eccentricities, similar to the quirky bends and kinks in a woodland path, formed as walkers wend their way around trees and shrubs, are the fascinating hooks that make you love to learn a language. You can’t really just make one up. It’s too artificial.

Anyway, so now, forty years on, I have, I hope, understood a bit more about language, in order to bring you ‘Private Parts’, the book. I showed the first page to Grampa the other day. He read the opening: ‘My tretcher turned itself off.’ ‘Och! What’s ‘tretcher’?’ he said. He read the second sentence. ‘ ‘My slozerlok opened.’ What’s slozerlok? Och! What does it mean?’ It was getting him in a terrible panic. I explained that the reader has to suspend the need to know what it means, and learn from the context. A few days later I asked him if he had read any more of it. ‘No!’ he said. ‘I cannae face it! It would have to be a labour of love.’

My experience of attempting to learn Modern Greek to university standard in one year was very like this. Every sentence I read had two or three or even four words I didn’t know. I started out very keen, looking them all up in the dictionary and writing them into the book in neat pencil, but it took so bloody long. I started by necessity to hone my not very scholarly ability to suspend my need to know. It meant that I never got that good at Modern Greek, but at least I had partially read the works, and was increasingly brilliant at imagining what they might be meaning.

Please imagine the movie of ‘Private Parts’ as you read.   It will, I think, be fascinating for the audience to try to guess who the actors are for the entire first three quarters of the movie. Then, as the darsks (dark masks, see I’m helping you) come off, they’ll be like ‘Ooh, it’s Johnny Depp! Should have guessed from his vaddervanilli. And Damn! No one struts a moufleur like Meryl. It’s obvious now that you know!’ (By three quarters of the way through, the more language-oriented section of the audience will, of course, be fluent in Keddaling and will, one hopes, be confidently using ‘vaddervanilli’ for ‘willy’ and ‘moufleur’ for ‘vagina’.)

I realise that I wouldn’t have been able to write ‘Private Parts’ without first writing ‘Shardonnay’ and ‘Wantababy’ and even the tits book from 2007, ‘A Breast of the Times’, which broke down my every last barrier to writing down embarrassing things. This new one though is the worst of the lot, and as Grampa says, (although how he can he know, not having performed his labour of love yet?) ‘plumbs new depths’.

First page of ‘Private Parts’ will be posted later today.  Thanks to all my readers!

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