The dark veil of night had descended over the village and at 11 pm Fred was attempting to shut up the pub. After ushering out a handful of the regulars he ordered Tanya, who was still in a foul mood, to finish her shift. Normally Fred and his partner in crime, Father Gerard, would have taken great delight in ogling Tanya while she begrudgingly swept up the mess from the floor and wiped down the worn, wooden surfaces. But Fred and Gerry had made an executive decision. The grime would have to fester tonight as they had more important matters to attend to……………….. .

Tanya slammed the creaky pub door behind her and hurried off into the dark, windy lane home. She was by now at boiling point. The pub had been fairly quite that evening - unlike tomorrow night when there was usually a large crowd for the Thursday night disco - which meant that there had been plenty of time fot her thoughts to go into overdrive as she imagined what her cow of a sister was getting up to with that hunk of a Mann.

Goose pimples adorned Tanya’s exposed, reddened flesh in the cool night air and her ample thigh’s chafed painfully as she quickened her pace in her eagerness to get home and steal Brook’s fun. Tanya finally approached her row of houses. Anyone else confronting the idyllically placed red-brick homes would have stopped to admire the stunning view the cut on a moonlit night. But not Tanya. Tanya was not interested in bricks and mortar. Tanya was occupied with desires of the flesh. So the first thing that she noted was all the lights were out at number 3. After engaging in a frustrating fumble with the lock Tanya gained entrance into the house and within a few seconds realised, with disappointment, that no one was home. It was gone eleven and Brook was not home. This could only mean one thing. War. And Tanya was prepared to instigate a dirty battle. Her guns were blazing.

Meanwhile Brook’s evening was going swimmingly. Ever the gentleman, Chris had invited Brook back to his abode for coffee. Unfortunately the picturesque residence of Bluebell Cottage was marred by the fact that a) it didn’t belong to Chris and b) he was lodging with Aunt Rose who was indeed a sweet, generous lady but her potted begonia’s and china doll collection did nothing for the irresistible allure he was trying to omit in his pulling technique with the lovely Brook.

After a pleasant stroll to Bluebell Cottage; in which Chris had delicately turned the conversation round to the fact that his post office empire was thriving so well that he was considering buying out Nascent Manor, and his lodging with Aunt Rose was only temporary Brook and Chris reached their destination. Upon entering the cottage they found Aunt Rose making her bedtime cup of coffee. After the preliminary niceties Aunt Rose retired to bed and the newly reunited lovers were finally, for the first time in years, left on their own……………….