From girth to approachability: penis qualities, ranked by the Mash sex columnist

IN the horn-free light of day, nobody’s patting a penis on the head and giving it a little stroke. They’re even more repulsive than hairless cats. 

And yet they inspire an inexplicable fascination, largely among the men who have them but also to their sexual partners. But of the many qualities a dick possesses, which is most important?

Odour 5/10

Sniffing a dick is like sniffing Marmite: even if you can’t get enough of it, you’re still faintly disgusted. Whether mildly pissy or full-on childhood hamster cage after three weeks without cleaning out, there’s no olfactory delight to be had.

The only acceptable smell for cocks is soap, but unless you’ve ruined the moment by sending him off to wash himself, it’s likely the stench of his member will have overridden all hygiene. And he’ll come back from the bathroom flaccid.

Attitude 3/10

All dicks seem pretty pleased with themselves, especially if hard, but their attitudes do vary. From charmingly approachable to aloof as the Mona Lisa. Worst are the arrogant shlongs who think they’re all that: waving themselves in your face and your fanny like they’re the solution to global warming and the cost of living crisis, all rammed into one pipe of overexcited meat.

Size 7/10

They say size isn’t everything, and that’s true as long as it’s big enough. Too small and you’ll find yourself thinking wistfully about your dildo. Too big and you’ll be preparing yourself mentally like an Olympic athlete. Where is the elusive Goldilocks penis, neither too big nor too small nor freakishly misshapen, but just right?

Consistency 9/10

You’re no use as a knob if you can’t reach a certain level of hardness and, crucially, sustain said consistency for the duration. Otherwise it’s like making an omelette and realising it’s turning into scrambled eggs: satisfaction becomes panic becomes resignation to wedging it in your mouth and hoping for the best.

The man attached 8/10

It’s just a tool, and it’s all in the skillset and mindset of the user. Which depends on factors ranging from how much he’s shagged about in the past, how much porn he watches and believes, how bloated he is after a meal, how pissed he is, etcetera. Frankly they’re unfit to be in charge of a penis.

Familiarity 10/10

In the end, what really makes a dick stand out from the crowd is whether or not you’ve already met it. There’s nothing worse than a new cock pressing up against you eager for an introduction. Give me one that I’m used to rather than getting to know the foibles of a fresh helmet any day.

Let's move to a town so relentlessly dull it has a museum dedicated to carpets! This week: Kidderminster

What’s it about? 

In the heart of Britain’s least-visited-on-purpose county, Worcestershire, Kidderminster is an innocuous little settlement to retire from society.

Nothing ever happens here to threaten the status quo, so long as you don’t piss off the incumbent community of hard-as-fuck travellers. Even the football club only threaten to be giantkillers occasionally.

The town’s nearest thing to a claim to fame is Led Zeppelin singer Robert Plant living close by. It really is that mundane.

Any good points?

Everything has fascinatingly bizarre names. The football team are called the Harriers. The local paper is The Shuttle. The carpet museum is called the Museum of Carpet. Okay, not everything.

The Harriers themselves are a perennially under-achieving non-league side who nearly knocked West Ham out of last season’s FA Cup but cocked it up in injury time. They even won a title and didn’t get promoted, back in 1994, because their ground was too wooden and shit.

Otherwise? There’s a decent railway network and you’re a stone’s throw from the M5, so escape is possible. Beyond that you’re pretty much fucked.

Beautiful landscape?

Architectural historian Nikolaus Pevsner described the town as ‘uncommonly devoid of visual pleasure and architectural interest’, and the snobby Nazi supporter had a point.

But while the town itself is an utter shithole, it does have the benefit of being on the verges of the undeniably stunning Severn Valley landscape. It’s the terminus of the steam Severn Valley Railway, pumping noxious coal fumes into the air as you enjoy stale sandwiches and views you can barely see through the tiny fucking windows.

Hang out at…

You may have heard of the carpet museum? An excellent place to meet septuagenarian singles or to simply curl up and wait to die. On the upside it does provide an opportunity to snigger at phrases like ‘rough shag’ and ‘deep pile’.

Want to see how exotic animals from equatorial climates like shit British weather? At West Midlands Safari Park lions, elephants, rhinos and giraffes stand about shivering, wondering what the hell went wrong.

There used to be monkeys but they all died overnight from a mysterious virus, which had no connection to insurance claims lodged against the park from visitors who’d had their wing mirrors ripped off by the evil little bastards.

Where to buy? 

Brave as you are skint? The Horsefair, where you can rub shoulders with the traveller community, is powerfully affordable.

Rich? The hamlet of Wolverley is so posh Led Zeppelin singer Robert Plant lives here, enjoying relative anonymity and definitely not to be seen most nights of the week propping up the bar in the Queen’s Head pub by the canal.

From the streets: 

Hannah Tomlinson, aged 18: “Not only is there fuck all here, it’s not even near anywhere. It’s suspiciously like a long-running experiment in despair.”

Robert Plant, aged 74: “I’m not Robert Plant. Fuck off.”