LEFT A BIT (bolt)
Grandmother was getting twitchy.
Sunday afternoons were always difficult, especially when the family came to visit. There were vegetables to prepare, pressure cookers to set, and the ungrateful stare of her grandson to deal with when, once again he decided that he "didn't like" whatever it was she'd prepared.
Still, another "family lunch" had been survived, and, as we all settled down to watch grandma's favourite programme, we noticed that she'd mysteriously vanished without saying a word.
"Hello" said Bob "Who's calling "The Golden Shot"…?"
Grandmother's familiar voice crackled down the line and through the television, and, as the familiar banter was exchanged we looked at each other in dumb amazement before Dad suddenly realised that the TV company had no idea that she couldn't see the television from where the telephone lived in the hallway, as, on the television, Bob ominously intoned…
"Bernie... The bolt…!"
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