Grandad fantasy dirtified

Imagine me, walking to work. The sun is shining and I'm feeling generous with my positivity; like in a I could probably hug puppies and pat toddlers on the head kind of way. I have my headphones on which I did think were cool and if I'm honest, a little street, up until a day ago when L asked me if I had stolen them from the plane.

So I'm powering away when I see four little boys running over the pavement, trying not to step on the cracks. 'Oh how sweet', I think as I am pretty much high after four straight days of English sunshine. Then I spot their 60 year old (give or take), grandad, ambling behind the little monkeys. I decide he looks like a good old sport, and probably even whittles some soldiers out of wood in his spare time while whistling old show tunes.

I begin to think about how kind it is that he's accompanying them to school. I imagine him telling the boys stories from his youth, most probably by some kind of fireplace and him slipping them chocolates before dinner time. I'm totally caught up in this wholesome fantasy until I walk past him and he slurs 'hell-oo sexy' in the most dirty, I need to go home and wash myself kind of way.

Sleazy fucker.