Music: THE PARTING GLASS || The High Kings

"Well, Betty, whae div 'e think's comin' the day?" Grace asked her friend, handing her a tupperware box filled with sandwiches.

Betty poked through the offerings before lifting out what looked liked a ham and pickle triangle.

Sitting back on the bench she glanced over at the arrivals. "Ah, well, ah heard aul' George wuz aboot due a visit," she replied, sinking her dentures into the stale bread. Her mouth twisted in a sneer. "Fur gidness sake, Grace! Ur ye tryin' to kill me?" she exclaimed holding up the offending titbit.

The two women cackled loudly then continued to view the people pouring in through the gates.

Grace produced a thermos and a hip-flask next. She held both up in front of Betty. With a roll of her eyes, her friend indicated the obvious choice.

Grace readily agreed, quickly putting away the thermos before taking a sip from the hip-flask. "Ah guess yer right enough, Betty. There's that floozy he's been seein' fur a year," she said, pointing at a slightly stooped woman with fiery-red dyed hair. She was wearing a pure new wool charcoal coat over her stick-thin frame and the fabric seemed to be weighing her down.

Betty took the flask. "So it is! Mercy, she husnae weathered weel mind, huz she?"

"No, and by the looks o' it, she might teeter off soon."

Betty guffawed. "Aye, but nae doot she'll no' be fur giein' aul' George peace even then, now wull she?"

The two women slowly shook their heads - a vote of sympathy for aul' George.

Betty took a sip. Her eyes widened. "Now this certainly stands the test o' time. Better than thay sandwiches onyway."

"Aye. Quite why Shirley insisted on including them, ah'll niver understand." Grace shook her head and sighed.

"She kens ye like yer picnics," Betty offered with a soft smile.

"Aye, but honestly..."

Betty sat up straighter. "Wheesht! Here comes George."

Aul' George shuffled over to the two spectators, with something resembling mischievous mirth written on his heavily lined face. "Ladies," he greeted with a guffaw.

They said hello back with a chuckle. Betty offered him the flask. He took a long draught; a stain forming at his feet. "Steady!" Grace whined.

"Wish mine hud thought tae include a hip-flask," George said, handing it back to Grace.

"Oh aye? Whit did they gie ye insteed?"

George chortled. "Ah well, that son o' mine hus a wicked sense of humour, Betty," he said fumbling in his pocket. From the lining of his only expensive suit he produced a city map and a few foiled packages.

Betty and Grace peered a bit closer. The words Amsterdam and Durex loomed up in front of them. They stared back at George.

"Tried to git me to gan fur years, he did," George explained. "Said it wid huv din me the wurld o' gid an' wud've got me away frae the harpie, intae the bargain." He gestured back at the red-haired woman. Betty and Grace nodded agreement. "Ah wiz a' ready tae gan ana', when - bang! Me bloody hirt gave oot, didn't it?"

"So?" Betty asked, nodding to the map and condoms.

"Oh, the laddie reckons ah'll jist be a tourist here in the afterlife cos ye cannae keep an auld rogue doon fer long, he says. These are fur when I git another go at life." He winked.

Betty roared with laughter. "Well, here's hopin' they dinnae gan past their use by date like Shirley's gift fur Grace hus."

Grace scowled a little as she opened the tupperware again, offering it to George. "Sandwich?"