Simon Le Bon...one time super stud of the group looking a little more jowelly and whiskery, sporting a large wart on the end of his nose, signed autographs and planted slobbery, toothless snogs on equally as toothless and slobbery grandmas.

John Taylor - another one time super stud had actually remembered to put his teeth in but was sparing himself the grannies, eyeing up the totty headed for the All Bar The Sheep Bar over the road, as was Roger Taylor...a late bloomer in the sex symbol stakes.

Nick Rhodes had lost none of his dandy and was treating the wife of the head of the Sheep Farmers Union to a sprightly little fox trot in the carpark...until threatened with a nasty dose of sheep shaggingby her husband.

Andy Taylor still wore his trademark primark sunnies and was huffing and puffing on a roll up in a pleasantly confused state.
A small posse of grannies who were wearing T shirts with "Convent of Divine Slappery" could scarcely contain their excitement at seeing their long time idols one more time before they were all too incontinent to go anywhere.
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"I say!" said Nick, "over there, to my 9 o'clock" Simon peered at his watch for orienteering purposes and attempted to shuffle his chair round for better look resulting in a startling close up of John's molotov cocktail which did look particularly evil.
"Where?" he muttered.

Nick stood up and spun Simon's chair to face the right direction....."There! Where's your specs?". Simon fumbled around in his pockets and fished them out. "Ah! There you are! Now then, what am I looking at?"
"Totty...lots of it, you know, big boobs, that kind of thing"
Simon promptly discovered an agility previously lacking due to too much exertion on stage the previous night.
"Good God!" as his eyes came to rest upon the chestal region of the divine slappers. John's bi focals by now were well and truly steamed up and he felt an urge round his loins as the molotov began to take effect.
"Bloody hell! That was quick," he muttered as he hot footed it at an impressive speed in the direction of the gents.
The four of them sat there adjusting themselves, "well?" said Nick, "shall we go and chat up these divine beauties?"
"I'll say!" said Andy,sliding off his chair clinging onto his brown ale like it was about to evaporate in his hands.
"Come on then!" said Roger, "bagsy I the Senior Sister!"
Simon, in one of his ever increasing senior moments was having a crisis of indecsion. He couldn't decide between the Mother Superior or Holy Mutha in Law. John returned, a load off his mind, "what's doing then?"
"Oh come on!" grumbled Andy, "me sciatica is playing up again I need to sit down before I fall down."
So our five unlikely heroes all stood up and tried to nonchalantly, with an air of Bryan Ferry cool saunter towards the table where the ladies were sat.

Simon promptly sat himself down between a T shirt called Mother Superior and one known as Holy Mutha in Law. "Ladies!" He boomed. Being a little hard of hearing he was inclined to shout these days, much to the embarrassment of his children when he insisted on giving a public oratory of his medical ailments of which there were quite a few and some quite unsavoury. "And what should we really call you?"

Mother Superior looked towards him and quite overcome by the wart on the end of his nose couldn’t for love nor money remember what her proper name was. That was beginning to be a bit of a problem these days. Only last week she had found her panty girdle and a pair of incontinence knickers in the fridge and had no idea how they had got there. She blushed, twiddled the ends of her blue rinse and giggled until her dentures threatened to go the same way as Andy’s. Then suddenly she remembered.

"I know! Karina, that’s it my name is Karina"
"And a lovely name it is too, how about you m’dear?" Turning towards the T shirt bearing the name Holy Mutha in Law.
"Sammie" came the reply from a not quite so blue rinse, more a shade of purple.
"I say!" said Nick….he was rather fond of this phrase and said it at every available opportunity. "I do like the colour of your hair, it’s terribly avant garde you know."
"Pretentious, pompous piffle" muttered John, blissfully ignorant that his own was a rather fetching shade of red…He was sitting next to a T shirt that sported "Mrs T – Divine Slapper" across the front. Unable to keep his eyes off her chest, he felt that stirring in his loins again and made another sharp exit towards the gents.

*Filthy Strumpet!* tutted Sammie. "Who does she think she is?..bleedin' Mae West?"
"I hope her stress incontinence holds off" said Karina.
"I hope her flatulence doesn't propel him into orbit" returned Sammie.
*Wonder if those replacements are up to a night of unbridled passion"
"Do you think she'll take her teeth out?" Simon winced at this one...that wasn't a good memory for him either. It also had included a hospital visit to have a set of dentures surgically removed from his pride and joy. He'd been flirting with a very pretty nurse who was unimpressed by his unmanly advances and threatened him with an enema if he didn't behave. He'd tried the "don't you know who I am" approach, but she didn't and gave him an enema anyway.
"I bet the old fart needs an atlas to find his breadstick these days," said Andy, "a bit of WD40 wouldn't go amiss either!"
"Should we send up an instruction manual just in case?" suggested Roger.
"A hoist might be handy," quipped Sammie.
"Shall I call an ambulance to stand by? You know...just in case one of them has a coronary." Nick was looking most concerned and still twiddling his neckerchief.
"Too late now! They've gone!" said Andy.

The two lovebirds went outside and walked towards Mrs T's waiting robin reliant. "Our chariot awaits." John was suitably impressed by the vintage relic before him. He reached down and opened the car door holding it steady as it only had one rusty hinge on it these days. As he bent down he attempted a quick snog before re-establishing his teeth. Mrs T didn't care that they'd nearly choked her, she had waited 50 years for this and nothing was going to stop her now. She went to walk to the drivers side and as she did John pinched her bum, just managing to find his mark through the maximum control hold it all in girdle. She felt something dampish between her thighs and couldn't quite decide if it was just a bit of stress incontinence or something else but no matter she would investigate further later. They both got in the car and roared off at a heady 20 miles per hour in the direction of Jane's warden controlled bungalow. The car screeched to a halt outside and they got out losing one of the doors in the process. They went into the bungalow which was a very homely affair. The three ducks flying across the top of the mantlepiece gave it a welcoming feel and the large collection of whimsies, dolls in national dress and wall mounted plates with royal figures on them only added to the ambience. In one corner was a very impressive collection of 1980's memorabilia, there was an old turntable with a rusty needle and a handful of vinyls with such classics as the Goombay Dance Band, Joe Dolce, Renee and Renato, Sheena Easton and that all time classic band Bros. John was a little disappointed not to see any Duran Duran records in that astounding collection but he had far more important things on his mind such as getting laid. Jane beckoned to him and showed him a box she'd pulled out from under her bed. It was full of every Duran Duran vinyl all carefully preserved and wrapped up in acid free tissue paper. He was touched and wanted nothing more than to rip his kit off and show her his gratitude.
"Would you like a drink?" she asked.
"No...just you..." and with that he removed his bi focals and his teeth put his arms around her and planted a big wet slobbery smackeroony on her lips. It was a little awkward as his face collapsed when he took his dentures out but he compensated but shoving his tongue down her throat. Mrs T was floating, she kissed him back passionately pausing only to take her own teeth out. The saliva dribbled down both their faces adding only to the heat and passion of the moment. Coming up for air John began to tug at her buttons on her blouse. This proved to be a touch more technical due him being a little shakey in that department.
"Blast these buttons!" he muttered.
"Let me do it," whispered Jane. She put her teeth back in and went and got her trusty crochet hook and had them undone in a jiffy. He slowly slipped her blouse off her shoulders.
"My word!" he put his bi focals back on for a better view.
"What a stupendous piece of scaffolding!" he said admiringly at the engineering that must have gone into such a creation. He borrowed the crochet hook to undo her skirt, the crimplene sparkling in the light. The garment slipped to the ground to reveal her panty hose with more ladders than the board game.
"A fine figure of a woman you are and no mistake!" The maximum control girdle was certainly doing its job. Jane blushed and with all the excitement let out a little laugh and some stress incontinence. "Oops!" she said.
"Don't you worry," said John kindly...he was too flushed with desire to care.
She moved towards him with the crochet hook and undid his shirt buttons and slid her eager fingers across his chest. The hairs were grey and the skin was a little saggy but he still looked good. She then tackled his fly button pulling them down over his Y fronts, a fetching off white colour owing to excessive wear. He stumbled out of his trousers and lurched towards her to get a hold of her montesuma mammaries. He began to fumble at her bra fastening but success eluded him so he slid the straps off her shoulders and hauled it round so she could do it herself. Once off her breasts took a magnificent abseil southbound level pegging with his navel. He could feel something stirring in his Y fronts but wasn't too sure what so took a quick look to check. Yes, there was definite movement. Jane pulled them off and began to fulfill her lifetime's ambition. She got down onto her knees to encourage something vaguely approaching a throbbing manhood. She located his appendage, removed her teeth and began to suck for all she was worth. It was an impressive, heroic attempt. John was hanging onto the bed post for dear life, more than once he thought he might have a funny turn but held it all together as our hoover hose have a go hero went for broke. He hadn't enjoyed himself so much in years. The last time he'd had this much fun was when he went to Butlins with the Sunshine Retired Entertainers Club. At last her valiant attempts began to pay dividends. He pulled her up to a standing position with the aid of a zimmer frame and helped her onto the bed. He played with her breasts marvelling at the amazing pendulum movements they were capable of. They truly were a vision. Mrs T by this time was in wild boys' fantasy never to return.
"I'm as giddy as a kipper," she gasped as his fingers finally unearthed their destination after a long search. His fingers weren't as agile as they had once been but certainly had hit the mark and she hit the heady heights of orgasm. Not capable now of too much movement John took the initative and clambered on top of her and fumbled around.
"I need a bloody atlas," he mumbled.
"Down a bit, left a bit, up a bit, no thats too far, here, let me do it." Jane took over the controls and finally he found point of entry. The creaking of bones could have been heard in Swansea, not to mention the puffing and panting that went with it. John heaved and ho'd like his life depended on it and just when he thought his bones had creaked once too often, the earth moved and a triumphant chorus errupted in his head. Mrs T was flailing her arms about like a kipper on a fishing rod, shouting hail barbarella at the top of her voice warning all including the warden she was about to come. He locked his door, barricaded his windows and put an 'out to lunch' sign on his door in case it was to him. And with final glorious heave, a touch of stress incontinence and a mother moose rip roaring dose of flatulence......it was all over.