This blog is full of Wee Fictions (and poetry, too)
Friday, 2 November 2012
We're all getting on now. Late forties. Donald's in his fifties. I remember when we had hair. Jet black and ginger. Flat tops and mullets. And designer stubble. We thought we looked cool. We don't look cool now, though. We look like auld jakeys that couldn't be bothered to shave. Apart from Donald. He looks like yer grandad.