PART 1

The early morning sun shone down on the Pacemaker Paradise nursing home. Most of the residents were yet to wake up – those that were going to wake up that is. However, there was one person already up and about. He closed the door to her room, hitched his trousers up a little higher (he couldn’t stand it when they were too far below his underarms) and began to shuffle back to his own room. He heard the rattle of the denture trolley coming down the corridor towards him, on its way to return the choppers to the oldies after being scrubbed and sterilised overnight.

The young woman pushing the trolley raised her eyebrows at him as she passed. "Good night, last night?" she asked.

He couldn’t contain himself. He smiled lecherously at her. "It was great. Who knows? If you play your cards right, you could be next, Lucy."

"You’re such a tease, Mr Ferguson," she replied, grinning at him as she continued on her way.

Tim turned to watch her leave, staring appreciatively at her young, nubile body as she walked away.

He licked his old lips carefully and felt a familiar twinge in his groin.

"There must still be some of that Viagra left over from last night," he muttered to himself as he continued towards his room.

PART 2

Paul turned off the shower and stood up from his plastic chair with difficulty. It wasn’t that he was too old to move without trouble, the reason for his stiffness was he had been hitting the shandies pretty hard last night with Richard and was still suffering the after-effects.

As he dried himself slowly, he cursed the fact he had to do it himself. All of the carers who worked at the nursing home – both male and female – flatly refused to help shower him because he continually tried to grope them. And it wasn’t just his roving hands they disliked; it was also his filthy language and sleazy offers to have them sit on his lap as they washed him.

He dressed slowly, tightening his now quite tatty SEX belt around his torso, and checked his reflection in the mirror.

"Not bad. Not f*uckin’ bad," he said to his image.

He ran a hand through his damp, shoulder-length hair. It was still naturally dark with only the occasional silver streak. Not like Tim, who was completely grey but refused to admit it, and instead insisted on having his hair dyed dark brown whenever the blue-rinse woman visited Pacemaker Paradise. And unlike Richard who had gone almost totally bald quite spontaneously at the age of forty-two, there was not a bare patch to be seen on Paul’s head. He had finally found out what Ray’s secret was, and it had been keeping his hair in a state of natural-looking perfection for decades now.

Adjusting his glasses, he left the bathroom and moved to the bedroom door, heading for the dining room.

PART 3

Richard sat alone at a table in the dining room, munching his toast and Vegemite. He had felt a little seedy when he woke that morning, but was now slightly better after some Berocca. Unfortunately, he had trouble taking the stuff orally, and was very grateful it had now been developed in suppository form.

He looked up to see both Tim and Paul enter the room – bickering as usual.

"Morning, dickhead," Paul sneered as he took a seat at the table.

Richard was used to Paul’s grumpiness, especially early in the morning, but it was worse when he had a hangover. He hurriedly poured Paul a cup of tea without needing to be asked, (it always made him slightly more civil, even to Richard), and slid it nervously across to him.

"Gorgeous day isn’t it, Richie me boy?" crooned Tim, grinning like an idiot and pinching a slice of Richard’s toast.

"Who’d you shag last night?" Richard asked Tim, while Paul noisily sipped his tea, bitching about it not being hot enough.

Tim grinned, but kept his lips sealed.

"Don’t play coy with us, f*uckwit, you’ve never held back on us before," snapped Paul.

"Yeah," whined Richard.

Tim continued to grin stupidly. Finally, he spoke. "Well, actually, it was Sharon," he said, his grin widening even more, if that was at all possible.

Paul slammed his cup down onto the saucer, spilling hot tea across Richard. His eyes flashed dangerously as he reached across to Tim and grabbed him by the throat, snarling, "What did you say about my sister?"

PART 4

As Paul’s hands tightened around the loose, crepey skin of Tim’s throat while Tim’s eyes bulged, Richard picked up his walking stick from beside the table. He raised it above his head and proceeded to whack both Paul and Tim across the aging craniums with it. Tim’s face was turning purple, but Paul loosened his grip slightly so he could strike back at Richard.

As all three yelped in pain, bashing and hurling obscenities at each other in the middle of the dining room, not one other resident around them batted an eyelid. This was due to a number of factors: a) most of the oldies were either completely deaf or blind, so they hadn’t noticed what was happening anyway; b) some of those in the room were incapable of batting their eyelids which had been permanently sewn open on request of families in the hope of making their elderly relatives appear more alert; and c) everyone at Pacemaker Paradise was quite used to the openly abusive relationship the former "funsters of mirth" (now known as the "funsters of Metamucil") shared.

Richard did not stop hitting the other two until the arthritis in his elbow became unbearable. All those years of standing holding a guitar had wreaked havoc on the joints in his arms.

Paul, however, was also prone to arthritis in his arms and wrists, but it was caused from too much playing of an instrument of an entirely different nature.

PART 5

Eventually Paul calmed down a little and removed his hands from Tim’s throat. He leaned back and sat there glaring at Tim and Richard alternately.

Richard had cleaned up the spilled tea in the meantime, and poured Paul another cup. Tim grinned at Paul, delighted at the way he had antagonised him and been able to get a reaction, despite the near-homicide it had resulted in.

Paul sipped his tea and once again complained that it was the wrong temperature – this time is was "too fuckin’ hot", to use his own words.

"You’re a bastard, Ferguson," he snarled.

Tim laughed, while Richard sighed and said, "Paul, he was joking. You know your sister’s not here at the moment. She’s gone to stay with her daughter."

Paul looked confused. "She would’ve told me if she was leaving," he replied.

"She did, dickhead," smiled Tim as he reached for the piece of toast that Richard was about to eat. "It’s that Alzheimer’s again."

Paul glared at Tim indignantly. "I don’t have fucking Alzheimer’s!"

"It’s so sad isn’t it, Richard? He can’t even remember that he’s got it," Tim replied, feigning sincerity.

Paul was about to launch himself across at Tim for a second time while Richard was reaching for his walking stick again, when something – or rather, someone – caught Paul’s eye.

PART 6

Richard and Tim turned to follow his gaze. In the doorway they saw Bess, one of the old women who lived in the home. She shuffled slowly into the room and over to a table in the corner.

Paul grinned after her. As she sat down, Bess looked over in Paul’s direction and squinted at him through her bifocals. She smiled shyly before looking away and starting up a conversation with the wrinkly beside her.

"You didn’t," croaked Richard in disbelief. "Not Bess, my Bessie…"

Richard and Bess had had a thing going for a while until she caught him and Tim in a compromising position with the bananas from the breakfast trolley. It was all a big misunderstanding though – Tim was just trying to prove a point and Bess had walked in at the wrong moment. Richard had never quite gotten over her, and he couldn’t bear to think she had gone for Paul.

"Yeah, mate," Paul grinned lecherously. "She fell for me – literally. She tripped over her sensible shoes and landed at my feet. So last night after you passed out – I thought you’d had a stroke, but it was just too much grog – I went to pay her a visit. I tell ya what, she’s quite a girl. And with that new hip of hers…well, let’s just say it certainly got broken in last night!"

Richard looked crestfallen. The closest he’d ever gotten to Bess was a wrinkled, arthritic finger running up the leg of her support stockings. He couldn’t believe she’d gone so far with Paul of all people.

"That’s my boy!" said Tim, beaming like a proud father and slapping Paul on the back.

The mouthful of tea Paul was about to swallow went spraying across the table. He was about to turn on Tim and verbally attack him, when the announcement came from a staff member standing in the doorway that it was time for them all to get ready for the day’s trip to the hydrotherapy spa.

"Sounds like fun," grinned Tim, rubbing his hands together in enthusiasm. "Now, where’d I put my speedos?"

PART 7

"Where the fuck is he?" grumbled Paul to Richard. They were both in the water already and leaning against the back of the moulded seat that was fixed to the wall. Other Pacemaker Paradise residents were also in the spa, while some of the less mobile ones waited to be hoisted into the water on the mini-crane, which dunked them in like human teabags.

Suddenly a hush fell across the room. Richard and Paul turned to face the direction of the changerooms. There was Tim, swaggering towards them in his electric blue g-string (he hadn’t been able to find his speedos). As he passed by, everyone stopped in their walking frame tracks. Even the pool staff – male and female – stopped to stare at his back view. Not because it was a terrific sight in any respects, but merely living proof that gravity is in no way kind to the elderly.