An Afternoon Out at, “Our Mother’s Care Home.”

Just for a laugh, what-what?


In the grounds of a Gothic pile converted into an exclusive care home, an old man dressed in a navy blazer and grey flannels manoeuvred a wheel chair containing a fellow resident dressed in identical attire into a dappled and secluded clearing under ancient Beech.

‘Dashed good of you, old chap, wheeling this old codger around every afternoon.’

‘Steady on, old boy. I’m about the same age as you. Plenty of life in this old dog yet.’

‘Yes, but you’ve an advantage over me, old boy. At least your blasted legs work, what-what?’

‘A devil of a nuisance that, old bean. Strokes are dashed common at our age.’

‘We all have our cross to bear I suppose. Used to get a bit down in the mouth, old chap, but since you arrived at this establishment and we’ve become pals, I feel quite chipper. Sometimes wonder why we hit it off.’

‘We seem to have something in common, old bean.’

‘We have? That’s jolly odd. What on earth can that be.’

‘Belfast.’

‘What? Never been there.’

‘Well, of course, my dear chap. Neither have I.’

‘Can’t be that then.’

‘Precisely. We’ve both never been there.’

‘I say, I feel a breeze. Getting cold around the old nether-regions. Return me to the house, there’s a good fellow.’

‘In 1972, you didn’t get paid by the IRA to blow up a hotel full of Catholics in order to discredit the UDA, I suppose?’

‘Good Lord, no. I worked in the city.’ 

‘Yes of course, and my wife and children couldn’t have been in that hotel visiting me in secret, because I was a merchant banker sequestered to New York.’

‘Dashed bad luck for someone old boy. Look here, I need to tinkle, wheel me back before I have a mishap will you, old chap.’

‘And it wasn’t you they investigated and gave a top-level desk job to keep you quiet because admitting they had a double-agent was jolly bad show, what?’

‘Certainly would have been, had that been the case, old boy. Which of course it couldn’t have been.’

‘Of course not old boy, and they never took me off active service and buried me with paperwork in Cheltenham until they could quietly retire me.’

‘Not if you were in New York. Good heavens, is that the time? We really should be getting back, old boy.’

‘I don’t suppose I can remember the skill of killing a man and making it look like a heart attack since a merchant banker could never have been taught that, could he, old bean?’

‘My dear chap, I don’t know what you are getting at. I was never—’

© Guaj 2020
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Pronto

A very enjoyable farce (I hope that’s what you intended) I really enjoyed the read oh one small thing, look at cross to bare (bear)

Bhi

My dear chap, I didn’t read this, I wasn’t here and couldn’t possibly have left a comment.

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