Purely a whim inspired by the usual source of viewing videos ... of a certain subject.

“Darling, come on hurry up, you’ve got no panties on,” shouted Derrick, grabbing a bag and a small box, before rushing out of the lounge leaving one of his two daughters leisurely finishing her breakfast.

“Don’t care!” sulked Nicola Winette, enjoying the extra glass of orange juice he’d put there for her.

“Grandma isn’t going to be pleased if she’s late,” added Emma, Nicola’s mum wrapping a fresh nappy on their three month old baby.

“Don’t care!” retorted Nicola getting a bit pissed off with the constant moans. “Granny’s here!” she shouted seeing a brand new purple Peugeot 208 Hatchback car pull alongside a red car, into the smart detached house drive, in a more respectable area of the tired old railway town of Eastleigh, Hampshire, England.

“Mornin’ Mum,” gasped Derrick already late for work as a bus driver, dashing past Doreen, Emma’s mother and pecking her gradually falling old person’s cheek. “Got to rush, they’re all ready,” he lied jumping into his two year old, red Mazda 2 and ripping off at high speed.

Doreen chuntered to herself youth of today after watching his fast exit, turning her head back to the porch where Nicola, in a too large T shirt, stood waving to her, the arse end ... the bare arse end of her slender model girl figured daughter hefting a chubby babe, trotting across the hall and upstairs behind Nicola, carrying Trudy the youngest of two Winnete offspring. All ready?

Doreen cleared the breakfast mess to the kitchen and loaded the dish washer after giving Nicola a big hug and kiss, seeing her wander to the sofa and watch the ever present children’s TV channel CBBC. She glanced out to the back garden distracted by the breeze blown washing hanging on a dryer, centre of the neat, mower striped lawn. She pondered the skimpy multi colours of Emma’s undies fluttering and remembered how once she could easily have worn the same clothing, but not now being a 62 year old spreading flesh, grey/white bobbed hair, grandmother of seven charming grand children. Two of those were in Australia where her son Geoff had emigrated to, the other three in London where her daughter Joanne lived. Emma and her loving, energetic husband Derrick with Nicola and Trudy were her nearest and dearest in geographic terms.

“Won’t be long Mummy,” called Emma downstairs. “Just a bit of lippy - is madam ready, she didn’t have any knickers on earlier.”

“I’ll check.” With that Doreen went through to the lounge and could see instantly that the bright dark auburn curly headed girl was under dressed by the way she sprawled on the carpet, her head on her hands, her knees bent up, feet wide apart, not caring, glued to Peppa Pig on screen.

“Right young lady come on, let’s get you sorted. Where’s your knickers?” Doreen asked tapping the child’s waving right foot.

“Dunno...”

“Silly billy, you must know. Didn’t mummy or daddy get some out for you?” the old lady queried knowing each one in the family always wore freshly washed and laundered underwear every day. She ignored the negative answer suddenly thinking of something else.

“Oo did you see that new Amanda Redmond serial start this week, in India ... no Goa I think ... very good ... you know she’s the one with a withered arm.”

“Burnt arm I think you’ll find Mummy and her name is Redman,” corrected Emma.

“Mum, we really have to be off we’re going to miss the ... you know...” Emma said, nodding secretly at her eldest child, placing Trudy in the portable carry cot and sorting out its wheels to pack in the car. “Nicola! Come on now!” she ordered, shrilly, bustling outdoors to pack the car.

The girl ignored her until Doreen bent down, lightly slapped her bare bottom and grabbed a small arm to drag her up. Nicola grumpily stood, glared defiantly at her Grandmother and then ran outside and scrambled in the car. Doreen glanced at her wrist watch, shrugged, collected her hand bag as Emma came back in and grabbed hers, thinking her efficient, loving mother had sorted things. She slammed the door closed following Doreen to the Peugeot and climbing in.

“Glad this is is on a Saturday, she’s got SAT tests this week and the office has asked me to go in a couple of days next week to sort something,” said Emma. She was a solicitor, now on maternity leave, specialising in divorce and separation matters, following Doreen’s example who was a senior partner in a major national law firm with their HQ in Eastleigh, on a new business area between ASDA hypermarket and the new BMW dealers in Chesnut Avenue. “You OK for any baby sitting? I know you can wangle a day here and there.”

“Yes should be OK let you know,” Doreen answered shifting in her seat, manoeuvring a roundabout. She thought the worst.

“That John Cleese serial is good isn’t it by the way?”

She parked in the multi storey outside WestQuay shopping mall. The family went up in a lift and Doreen excused herself to visit the toilet. Emma watched the throngs of shoppers, glad she was wearing only a simple, loose floaty floral dress and flat beige sandals judging by the overpowering heat in the mall considering the warm yet breezy day. She checked her watch, worrying about the time Doreen was taking, rocking Trudy’s pushchair and keeping an eye on Nicola who was absorbed in a game on her tablet ... as always.

Doreen appeared, a sheepish expression on her face, fastidiously smoothing her white and pale grey striped summery dress down, and joined Emma’s hurried walk to where the big handout was for the giant teddy bear Nicola had won, not knowing yet, in a drawing competition sponsored by a mega toy multi national. Nicola was the UK winner. They got to the big store on time, the prize was presented to a suddenly transformed from a sour little Nicola to a joyous version as she hugged the nearly as big as her, Fluffy bear. It was all captured on the Southern TV cameras. The cameraman and presenter Sally Taylor after her interview informed Emma to watch out BBC News at 6pm that evening for Nicola’s five minutes of fame.

The crowd filtered away. Emma, Doreen and the two girls made their way up to to the John Lewis coffee shop and tried to enjoy two Lattes. Doreen couldn’t with her naughty guilty secret which she was dying to tell her daughter. Nicola had seen a school friend Flossie Rungren and joined her and her family, happily chatting and admiring the bear that dwarfed them both. Trudy gurgled happily beside Emma as Doreen leaned forward to whisper in a conspirational manner.

“Must be getting old darling,” she giggled, stirring her sweeteners in her coffee. “Can’t think it’s happened before but...” she tailed off glancing around the busy cafe.

“Waahhhht Mummy?”

“I haven’t got any knickers on, can you believe that? Me at my age going about bare bummed heh heh! Awful isn’t it?”

“Well join the family, so am I as a matter of fact and so is Nicola. God! That’s awful!” Emma gleefully shrieked getting some unwelcome glances. “I hope the TV crew edit out the bits that show Nicola’s minnie. Did you see?”

“Yes, couldn’t say in that crowd. They must have noticed too ... anyway my fault, but we ... you, were in such a hurry this morning. I forgot as we came out of the house ... hang on ... you?”

It was Emma’s turn to look cutely sheepish in answering.

“It’s something I often do on days like this,” she gestured at the sun outside. A comms aerial on a cruise ship moored at Southampton Western docks glinted brightly, as did a blaze of reflections from a bank of cabin windows on six decks. “I like a bit of air round the old lady garden,” she chuckled, flattening the hem of her white part transparent lace patterned dress on her thighs.

“I can just see your bra through it. It is nice ... new?”

“Yes off one of those shopping channels on telly ... forty nine ninety nine.”

“Oh that was good, which one?”

“Can’t remember - there’s hundreds, got the paperwork at home. “No didn’t see that Amanda Redman India serial.”

Nicola wandered over asking for another juice which Doreen funded and she went off with her school pal to buy.

“God! look at that, her dress is caught up her crack where she’s been sitting on it. It’s OK though, see that all over the place,” snickered Doreen. “One of the girls at work had to be told the other day, but her skirt was trapped in her knickers after she’d been to the toilet.”