My Membership Application Is Rejected

I'll be fifty on Saturday - aaaaarrrggghhhh!!! It looks so bleak written down. Fifty. 50. The Big Five-Oh. Think I'll stick with thirty-something.

Any road up. With Old Age impending, I thought I should apply for membership of the Society Of Dirty Old Men, or SODOM. But somehow this tale had already reached their big, hairy ears.

For our twentieth wedding anniversary, five years ago, I took Mrs Farty out to South Africa to visit her Eldest Daughter and our son-in-law, Fat Bastard. We did the Grand Tour, ya-de-ya, if you're very good I might tell you about it someday. But not this day.

We ended up, the four of us, spending a long weekend in the Court House, a bungalow owned by, and overlooking, Morgan Bay Hotel. But perched on a hilltop, with even better views.

Mrs Farty was down in the hotel with FB, when she remembered she'd left her camera by her bedside. So Muggins was sent to fetch it. Up the steps in the sweltering heat, into the Court House, kick off trainers, pad across the cool floor to the large bedroom, pick up camera, turn, head for main door, something catches my eye.

Door to second bedroom is standing wide open. Sprawled face down across the double bed, wearing only skimpy summer clothes, is Eldest Daughter. Fast asleep.

What was I thinking? I'll tell you.

"Oh, the poor thing looks exhausted. Better be careful not to wake her. Will she be safe here on her own? Yes."

*tip-toes out, picking up trainers on the way. closes the front door behind him really quietly*

I know she's my step-daughter and therefore technically family, but as a dirty perv, surely it was my duty to take some photos? Or to think about it? Or at least to think, Phwoarrr!

But no. Nada. Nothing. Zilch.

I'll never get that membership now.