Saturday, 1 October 2011


Whenever Caroline and I get together we spend most of the time laughing, or crying about things that have come and gone in life. Last time we got together we dared each other and our husbands that we would spend an evening playing the game of Tarts  and Vicars.

This is how it went
We dressed up with back combed hair, dangling Bet Lynch ear rings, torn back stockings with suspenders peering from beneath  indecently short leather skirts. Cleavage jacked as high as possible and a false tattoo on one crinkly breast. Red lips and purple eyeshadow, finished off with white sling backs and a matching, brass trimmed handbag. Oh, and I forgot of course the red painted fingernails. Just to say we are neither of us slim, trim little things,indeed we could be described as Rubenesque or maybe voluptuous so just picture the scene. I should add, I am sixty seven and my darling friend Caroline is nearly fifty.

Dressed up and raring to go we venture out to the posh hotel bar down the road. Husbands are of course dressed as vicars and we agree to meet up in the Kings Hotel on the main street. Unfortunately, we are so full of ourselves we didn't hear wether it was King or Queens hotel we were supposed to meet in,  so determined were we to follow this game through.

Wandering into the posh interior of the five star Queens hotel bar and accepting graciously the open mouthed stares and the gasps of horror as we struggle to  heave ourselves onto the high bar stools.
I went one step further and ask a smirking customer if "he fancied a good time". Too polite to answer the man slips back to the safety of his wifes disaproving gaze. Caroline orders two pints of bitter and asks the young bar man if he's got any nuts, sadly he doesn't seem to understand as he is transfixed  by the expanse of Caroline's exposed chest struggling to escape from her half cup bra.

While we bring the bar to a standstill with our cackling laughter I  realise that we are surrounded by vicars drinking tea and delicately sipping wine. It transpires that we have wandered into a vicar's convention whilst our unfortunate husbands are down the road looking to crack off with two tarts.

(this is a work of fiction for fun)

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