Under-the-ground Never accept sexual advice or information from a butcher is a maxim I live by. I did once, from a red faced, filth obsessed butcher with giant forearms and was deeply disappointed with the outcome. I’ve made it a point to ignore them ever since. I went out with a hippy lass in in the 90s. She used deodorant, smelt lovely like a spring morning and you could eat your dinner off her fanny.