Old Bert peered out the window. It was raining, pouring.
‘Nothing on the telly, crossword’s done and I’m clean outa’ whisky’, he muttered. ‘I’ll have an early night’ .
His ancient joints clicked and crunched as he heaved himself to his feet and tottered to the bedroom.
He bent to massage his aching knees and bumped his head.
‘Ouch,’ he said rubbing his brow.
He climbed beneath the sheets and in minutes old Bert was snoring like a pig.
Come dawn the only sound to be heard was the pitter-patter of raindrops on the windowpane.
He didn’t get up in the morning.
Any similarity between this tale and a certain nursery rhyme is purely coincidental!
Thanks to Rochelle for hosting and providing this weeks picture.