'McTavish, put down that haggis – you don't know what you are doing!'
'Don't I McGregor? We'll see about that!'
And with that a khaki coloured bladder, full of offal, flew through the air
and bounced off the wall.
'Keep your hands off my Effie or there's more to follow!'
'You swine – take that!' A bowl of porridge was launched, hitting its mark, despite the age of the imbecile that threw it.
I'll tear your head off! I'll pour salt in your tea! I'll throw your whisky out the window!' fumed McTavish ' – call yourself a Scotsman!'
'So it's true about your mother – pity she never married your father.' gleamed McGregor.
'At least we know who he is, which is more than can be said about your old man!'
'Oh that's cruel, you bastard.'
'No, you're the bastard and what's more it can be proved!'rudely exclaimed the OAP.
'The truth hurts, doesn't it?'
'A cup of scalding coffee hurts even more.' With that steaming black liquid was tossed in the general direction of the other old codger.
Ow – that did hurt!'
'Oh I forgot the sugar – one lump or two?' A bowl of white, sticky granules landed in front of his opponent, spilling everywhere. Fists flew in rage.
Eventually the pair of clowns collapsed, exhausted, on top of the wreckage of the dining room floor.
'You pair of idiots!' boomed out the voice of Effie, the care home matron. 'Get to your rooms, now!' and off they shuffled.
'I didn't mean it about the whisky,' said McTavish, apologetically.
'Of course not – you may be crazy, but you're not insane!'