The word "wanking" is an informal British English slang term for masturbation.
It is therefore not appropriate to use in formal writing or in polite conversation. However, it can be used in casual conversations with friends or in certain contexts, such as a comedic writing setting. For example: "I came late to the party last night because I was busy wanking off in the shower!".
It starts with the main character wanking in the shower.
Because, after all, it's not hard to be "better" than "owl-mask Scratchwood Services wanking man" or a Kavos bartender drinking a glass of urine as punishment from chums for sleeping with the same woman three times.
Her son damningly that Judy's generation were too busy "wanking into a chrysanthemum" to notice that Mrs Thatcher was making her entrance.
There's nothing like a typo when you're trying to write wanking.
To start at the bottom of the moral chain, in a trade which knows precisely what people want, a porn film of a woman masturbating is considered both erotic and inherently beautiful; a man wanking is risible and vile, conjuring images of the unsprung sofa, the scattered pizza cartons, the solitary sock for afterwards.
"Love again: wanking at ten past three/ (Surely he's taken her home by now?)," begins this rank dissection of jealousy, with its "usual pain, like dysentery" – and of the old wounds that lie beneath new scars: "Something to do with violence/ A long way back, and wrong rewards,/ And arrogant eternity".
Frederick Forsyth may be a "halfwit," while John Grisham's books are good only for wanking into: "I ejaculated between two pages with a groan of satisfaction.
Sit in your fucking armchair wanking off to Dancing on Ice?... Then go and spunk your wages on kebabs, fruit machines and brasses?
"Tear off your genitals, smash up your wanking headphones, because porn as we know it is over," Clive Martin wrote on Vice's British Web site, calling the measure "a kind of wanker's census".
But I want more from someone who spends their life creating comedy than barroom-level stories about wanking off dad and shitting in someone's guitar.
Despite some harsh entries - 'I see myself as a doomed species... snarling, wanking and wretched' - his diaries shine with as much brilliance as any review he wrote.
