But that's in the future, and in the hands of the gods, so here is this week's dose of Friday Fiction, prompted by a very weird photo on Rochelle's blog!
“Can Fergus come round?”
“I ain’t having a Collins in this house.”
“But Granda . . .”
“Winter ’39, so it was, and feckin’ freezing. Mam throws the ashes too wide and sets the stack ablaze, so I run over the fields to town while Pops bashes the flames, but they spread to the byre. Fire engine clangs along the top road, but Padraig Collins at the fork sends it down the wrong lane.”
“That was seventy-five years ago, Granda!”