I have jumped a few years now; just to prove that those rumours about my having short term memory loss are a complete fabrication; as spread by myself when I forget someone’s birthday.
A year after I lost my pretty wife to cancer I started going out and mixing with other people.
I had not frequented the Bag 'o' Rats public house since my bachelor days.
My old school mates were still using it because most of them were either lifelong bachelors or divorcees.
Gorgeous George (so called because he thought he was!) was in there; his wife divorced him because of his roaming eyes. I had my own squint operated on when I was 15 years old and it is now straight, but Georges are uncontrollable; unless the surgeons took them out all together. However, he would still have his roving hands and a good excuse to touch every woman who spoke to him - accidentally on purpose of course-. Anyway, we got talking about his favourite subject - women -.
George has his own stalker...you may think he would like that, but if you saw Blodwin Sprig you would see why he wasn't happy about it. Although there weren't any women in the bar, his eyes were roaming as he spoke to me; In between checking the bar mirror to see if his quiff was covering his bald spot, he was watching the car park through the window, in order to see if Blodwin’s red Mini arrived. She wasn't too bad for her age but she smelt like a cheap scent factory, she plucked her eyebrows until they were nonexistent, and replaced them with pencilled ones that arched up into her forehead she had green eye shadow on her eyelids ruby red lipstick smeared on; to make her lips look thick; so that she could pout like Marylyn Monroe, false giraffe eyelashes with sparkly bits sprinkled on her rouged cheeks, all topped off with her thin hair died orange so as to look 'with it' like a young chick. Instead she looked like she had been caught up in a paint factory explosion.
To George she resembled a clown and he had a phobia about clowns; they didn't make him laugh they gave him nightmares as a child.
Blodwin once walked into a Bank to withdraw her pension and they brought the security shutters down on her arthritic hands because a young desk clerk thought that she was an armed robber wearing drag and a clown’s mask.
George told me and Phony Tony –the latter had just had an operation on his worn knee and told everyone that he was wounded in Northern Ireland although he didn't leave Aldershot in his two years national service - that he had a nightmare about Blodwin. He dreamt that she was chasing him around an old folk’s home; Tony and I were in there too. He couldn't move his legs as they felt like lead and she was gaining on him. He turned to see where she was, Tony stuck his walking stick out as she passed by him and she tripped up. She did a double somersault and landed in front of him legs akimbo and every thing on show because she had no knickers on. "Well," he said,
"I must admit that I woke up wet and I haven't done that since I was a youngster." Me and Tony said,
"What?" in unison.
"No, no!" he said in shock, at the thought of what we were thinking. "I didn't have a wet dream...No I pissed myself laughing!"