Grandad Drunk went a courting

Grandad Drunk went a courting

Grandad set out in his shorts and tee,

With a beer in one hand, as bold as could be.

In the other, some flowers—though wilting, a mess,

But he swore he was dressed to impress.

Staggering down the cobbled street,

He hollered at strangers, made offers to meet.

“Love’s in the air!” he bellowed with pride,

But his balance betrayed him—he fell on his side.

The flowers were crushed, the beer took a spill,

Yet Grandad pushed on with unshaken will.

At the bar, he declared, “I’m here for romance!”

But his drunken sway turned into a dance.

The barman frowned, the crowd looked away,

As Grandad’s big plans went further astray.

Soon the police arrived, called in by a shout,

And they hauled poor Grandad unceremoniously out.

So there he sat, in the station that night,

Mumbling, “I was just looking for Ms. Right!”

But all he found was a cold, hard cell,

And a story to tell that he’d never live well.

Back home, he confessed to Nan in disgrace,

Who shook her head with a smile on her face.

“Next time, leave the beer and the flowers alone,

Because, you old fool, is already here at home.