Miss Ethel Pugh snatched up the binoculars, which where meticulously placed in an exact position on the windowsill. She had heard the familiar classical strains, drifting on the air from across the road. The eighty three year old spinster clasped the glasses as best she could with her gnarled rheumatic fingers. Earlier, in anticipation, she had struggled to open the old Victorian sash window. Now, on hearing the music, she rested her elbows on the ledge, and put her old eyes against the lenses. With a determination that would have made the most ardent bird watcher proud, she trained the glasses in the direction of the musical notes, that were now wafting full blast from the open bedroom window of the house opposite. From this vantage point, she had the perfect view!
She gasped. “That’s disgusting! He aught to be locked up!”
For the second time that week, and as many times over the past few months, she was treated to the clear sight of Maurice’s naked backside. Resembling a pale moon, it shimmered and wobbled in time to Wagner’s classic music as, stark naked and with arms flailing; the dental surgeon conducted his imaginary orchestra.
“Ethel?” Called her younger sister from downstairs. “Our programme is on the radio.”
“I’ll be down in a minute Agnes,” Ethel called back annoyed at the interruption, yet without taking her eyes from the glasses. Then with a certain amount of urgency in her voice, she whispered loudly, “Come on! Come on, turn round will you!”