
It’s hard to remember, but I think it all went tits-up when Grandad took his teeth out. The vicar’s wife shrieked, as if he’d exposed himself, or sunk the gnashers into her ample rump. Grandad, perhaps to be seen to do something, grabbed the picnic hamper and flung it over the railings into the river. The florist swung a punch. Soon, all the wrinklies were one brawling mass.
When the bizzies arrived, they’d surely blame me as the only young ‘un. A pub at the end of the walk sang siren songs of refuge (“Wasn’t there, Guv”). I legged it.
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Friday fictioneers is a weekly challenge set by Rochelle Wisoff Fields to write a 100-word story in response to a photo prompt. You can find other stories here

Excellent!
Ye cannae whack a good rammy!
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aye, richt eneuch
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Dear Neil,
I think I need a translator for this one. 😉 Chaotic and fun.
Shalom,
Rochelle
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Thanks so much, Rochelle
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Loved your take.
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Thanks so much, Maggie
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Egad. What did I just read? 😀
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a tale of everyday folk
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Oh I loved this!
Read it more than once and still laughed.
It reads like a scene from Hyacinth Bucket’s dinner or picnic parties.
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Thanks so much
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Neil, I don’t know whether to laugh at the wrinklies or cry at the lost lunch, but the young’n made the right decision. Loving the lexicon in this.
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Thanks so much, Lisa
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You’re very welcome.
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I’m thinkin’ the youn’un was right to leg it outta there!
Nice to see the wrinklies still got that spunk!
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Nothing meaner than a wrinkly with their dander up
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Oh, I hear ya! I had my 85 year-old mother and her 82 year-old sister over last night. Good grief, keeping up with them is something else!
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