Saturday, 30 July 2016
In which One really is a nasty old bint...
That's me, that is, Dear Reader, with the Admiral, or at least it will be in about nine hundred years time...
And lo, the evening of pork pulling and giant marbles arrived...
The Admiral biffed up on his mobility scooter just as One was ironing an evening outfit of chiffon trousers, with lining, of course, and a three layer chiffon top with an elaborate tie back to show off me tan from all that gardening.
'Er, you're not wearing that are you?' says he removing his tartan blanket from his arthritic knees to reveal a pair of shorts and flip-flops.
'I was going to,' retorted One, 'It is an evening out after all.'
'Haven't you got anything a little more casual?' went on he, 'It's a pulled pork evening at the Bowling Club.'
After due consideration One emerged from the boudoir sporting cigarette trousers, pink suede sandals and a little black and white blouse.
Upon arrival One was glad that One had been advised to dress down as it was crimpelene and cardigan city out there, Dear Reader.
We opted to sit outside with our incredibly low priced drinks (One couldn't take advantage though since One was driving)
No sooner had we alighted on the bench than we were ordered back in by some hirsute cove who had attempted to kiss One upon One's arrival, to sing Happy Birthday to some aged sort.
Re: the kiss, One recoiled in horror when confronted by the type invading One's space. One doesn't get out much and is at a disadvantage in polite society. Anyway, in One's burgeoning career at the Shit-Face if someone gets a bit too close they are apt to bite One.
It has to be recorded that pulled pork is scrummy. However, whacked into an Asda Smart Price white bread roll and eaten with a plastic knife and fork does detract from it somewhat.
In the distance One could see the party taking off and the old codgers 'Agga-doing' themselves into a frenzy.
'Gosh, it's awfully cold out here,' complained One interrupting The Admiral who was holding forth with a sea-faring tale, having the assembled company in his thrall.
'Do you want to go inside then?' enquired he.
'I don't think I'll ever be that cold,' said One casting a glance in the direction of the Agga-Doers.
But, the time came for the raffle and we were ushered in, carrying our own chairs, and joined the assembled throng.
One took up residence next to the prize table and perused the pickings...
A boot organiser
A glittery knitted hedgehog
A book of funny bowling anecdotes (not a massive tome)
Some tiny scented pillows to make yer drawers smell
Excitement abounded and when the draw was over a group of elderly matrons biffed onto the dance floor and began Rocking around the clock.
'One, two, three o'clock, four o'clock, drop...'
AND ONE OF THEM DID
There she lay in a heap of manmade fibres, support stockings and moist Tena discreet pants One gasped with undisguised glee. (One is a horrible person)
Hauled upright by her chums she was last seen being plonked unceremoniously into a bath chair shrieking about her bad knee.
The Admiral, espying the look of glee upon nasty old One's face, intoned that it might be fortuitous to leave with some haste, but, it has to be said, even though One is absolute shite at making small talk with persons One doesn't know, and even with the lack of Vodishka, One was warming to the throng and requested another J20 (whatever the feck that is)
One and the Admiral's immediate company were all under 65 and rather good sorts, but the wives were all so tiny One felt like an overdressed Bison sitting next to them. One has never been fortunate enough to meld into any crowd what with being able to see over everyone's heads! One stuck out like a sore thumb!
As the evening drew to a close One could no longer disguise One's horror when a v small octogenarian approached One proffering a bag of wine gums and a half chewed pack of mint imperials. One politely declined, chortling, and was ushered out with indecent haste by the Admiral who stated...
'I think I'll try and sell the tickets to the New Year's Eve do.'
A wise move.