OldSmoothie was boasting last night to just a couple of us in the clerks room about his latest sexual conquest. Apparently she was not only his opponent last week but is also twenty years younger than him. UpTights walked in on the conversation and said: “You really are a sad, lonely and dirty old man. What is it they say? Only two things are certain in life: death and a certain fat old barrister who’d get up on a crack on a plate.”
“That’s a bit rich coming from someone who’s been cocked more times than Davy Crocket’s musket.”

This seemed to hit home as her face turned into a boiled fist and she started shaking with what I can only assume was pent up rage at the pompous silver fox who was looking particularly irritating and smug today. But has completely lost it and was unable to speak and so just stood there stamping her foot and shaking some more. Then OldSmoothie took on a nasty look and bent down towards her and whispered: “I had a dream the other night UpTights. I saw a young girl building a gilded scaffold. Somewhere she could climb up and hide from the world behind her empty smile. I saw her clambering ever higher, her bony fingers stretched to the sun. Then I saw the noose tightening around her neck and heard her solitary scream as she jumped from the same scaffold she had erected to help her survive.”

UpTights had stopped shaking and was silent. Then she started crying uncontrollably. OldSmoothie looked at her and as if it was the most natural thing in the world took her in his arms and hugged her. UpTights by this point had turned catatonic and OldSmoothie pushed her away slightly, held her by the shoulders and looked her in the eyes. He then smiled almost flirtatiously and said: “You know, I could charge good money for therapy like that.”

With which he was gone.

December 29, 2015 · Tim Kevan · Comments Closed
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