Fred, he’s 92 ..
.. and he’s standing in the hotel passageway, basking in the winter sun with his back against the wall. Every now and then Fred pats his pockets, checking that something that is supposed to be there, is there. Fred looks like he was a bigger man once and probably a lot better dressed than he is today, given the state of his elastic waisted duds and old sand shoes, but his wide-brimmed hat is all class.
Fred waits, he pats his pockets again. So a man has to walk over and engage the old lad.
’How you goin’ mate?’ Sez I.
A minute later we both know our names and ages, that’s when Fred told me he was 92 and he’s waiting for his wife to exit the hotel toilet.
’You know what I reckon, Fred, a bloke your age must have spent about fifteen years waiting for the little lady to come out of one of those places.’
Then she joined us.
’G’day,’I said, ‘I’ve just been told by your husband that he’s spent about fifteen years waiting for you to come out of the .. ‘ I could only nod at the ladies door, ‘one of those places.
I left them, both laughing.
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