Burnin' love...

There's nothing better than floating down the river on a sunny Regatta afternoon while a middle aged Elvis impersonator belts out the King's hits.  Let me set the scene.  A two level boat which has seen better days, filled to the brim with ladies and gentlemen (some of which also fall into the 'seen better days' camp).  

There was alcohol of course.  Let's face it, once you get past sixty or so, red wine takes on the same category as a glass of milk or lemon barley, and boy, was it flowing.  So by the time Elvis hit the upper deck (where I was sitting enjoying the swans and geese on the river) the crowd were fully fired up and ready for anything.

Now I have seen this Elvis on many, many occasions and every time I forget just how rude he is.  As he walked up the stairs, I realised to my horror that I was sitting completely at the front with nowhere to hide.  I was the subject of some banter regarding fake tan and some rather lewd jokes headed my way too.

Speaking of nowhere to hide, the other issue I had was that I was on complete eye level with that area of his lower half which liked to gyrate...quite enthusiastically.  He was dressed as 1970's Elvis.  Red jumpsuit, rhinestones and goldish jewelry and I'd hazard a guess that he'd had this suit for some time as it was fairly snug in places.  Too snug in one particular place I'm afraid, and I had to blame my burning cheeks on the sun.  As soon as he went downstairs to the lower deck to entertain some more reprobates, I grabbed the husband by the scruff of the neck and hoisted him out of his chair (three rows back).  

'You can sit where I was.  I can't stand it anymore'.    

Now I didn't want the husband feeling either inadequate or embarrassed, so as I got myself comfy in his chair, I handed over some excellent advice.

'You won't be needing your glasses'....



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