The old lady downstairs from us is in her late 80s, and, since the water tap for both flats is under our hallway floor, I give her a set of our keys whenever we go away, in case she needs access while we're away.
After one particularly heavy weekend away we were absolutely hanging, and immediately changed into dressing gowns in preparation for crap telly, toast and tea.

The doorbell rang, and there's Peggy with my keys. She's a proper owld East End gal, and looking at me in my dressing gown, asked "Awright Vaga, 'ere's ya keys. Goin' ter bed, are ya, my love?"

"Yes" I replied, "It was quite a weekend!"

"Gaw! Gimme ten years an Ah woulda joined ya!" she said chuckling, slapping my arm and winking.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Mon 10 Dec 2012, 12:12, Reply)