Story Number One
Horace and two girl friends decided upon a weekend away and booked a self-contained flat on AirBnB. In the flat, they had a choice of a double or twin bedded room. Her friends were kind enough to let Horace have the double, while they shared the twin – I wouldn’t dream of suggesting that this could be because of her snoring.
They had a lovely evening out, feeling old for the first time as they watched the night clubbers and agreed that they had grown out of such passtimes. At the end of the evening, the three returned, somewhat tipsy, to fall into bed.
The following morning, Horace was pottering around her bedroom enjoying the fact that she did not have to rush, when a panicky text arrived from one of her friends in the bedroom next door. Help! I can’t get out of our room. Something’s wrong with the door!
Ever the helpful one, Horace hurried from her room.
In the hallway, she was puzzled to note that her friend’s door was ajar. She pushed it open to see the ditzy girl struggling to escape…
into a cupboard.
Story number two
This happened several years before story one. Don’t ask me why I’m telling it in this order.
It involves the same friends, I think. They are all pals from university; the best friends to have in your thirties in my opinion.
On this occasion, Horace’s husband, Kerching, was also away – probably on a stag do, it was about that time in all of their lives.
Kerching arrived home before Horace.
The first she knew of this was another text message with an accompanying photo: I think the cat’s upset with me!
…
…
…
S..t faced!