Every time I go to the hairdresser's there are always two little old ladies there. Nothing strange in that, you may think, but I have never actually seen them having a hairdo. They seem to be a permanent fixture on the sofa, sipping tea and putting the world to rights. Let's call them Mildred and Enid.
I wasn't being nosey (honestly!) but I couldn't help overhearing their conversation. Enid is onto her third husband - 'The other two were right bathcubes,' she said.
Mildred had recently been to the doctor's and got some cream for a rash on her back. She was having difficulty stretching her creaky old bones to get the cream in the right spot so she asked her husband, Eric, to help. Eric duly obliged and, according to Mildred, started to get a bit...and then the hairdryer was on and I was unable to hear the rest. As soon as the hairdryer was switched off, all I heard was Mildred's voice saying, 'For fluff sake, Eric, you're 85 years old. You're far too old for sex!'
Well, the shop went quiet and all eyes were on the two old dears on the sofa, who were now sitting cackling and laughing like a couple of old witches. My mind hasn't boggled that much since the builders, who were doing our extension, sang a Pussycat Dolls duet.