GILF

Many moons ago God how I hate that phrase! Twenty years ago, when I was taking LMF to nursery, I used to stop off to pick up her wee pal Jimmy (or whatever the feck his name was, come on, it was twenty years ago).

Jimmy's Mum could, I suppose, have dropped him off herself, but it was really no problem for me. I was glad to help out. It gave her time between getting Jimmy up, fed, watered and out the door and getting herself dressed.

Because regardless of how well turned out her little boy was, er, Suzie never seemed to have the time to even don a housecoat over her see-through negligée. Not that I ever complained. I'm not one to complain, as you know.

After leaning waaaaaaay over to kiss young Jimmy on the top of his head, she would turn and flounce back up the stairs as the front door slowly swung shut.

Did I mention she was drop.dead.gorgeous?

Then she moved away.

Last week, Mrs Farty and I were shopping in The Gyle when whom should we see coming towards us but Mr and Mrs Suzie? And as Mrs F pointed out when we engaged them in conversation, Suzie hasn't aged a day. Like Goldie Hawn in that film, but without the hole where her guts ought to be.


Anyway, she's a granny now, but I still would.