Later, when I had eaten well, and enjoyed a couple of beers, I was trying to decide whether to call it a night and return to my cottage, and bed, so I could be up early next day, or whether to stay on a little longer, and perhaps get into conversation with some of the other customers. Suddenly two women came into the pub. The first was a tall slim blonde, pretty, and wearing a blue blouse and short blue skirt, showing off long shapely legs to perfection. The second was short, quite stout, not plain, but not strikingly pretty. She wore a green dress which came to below her knees, but you could see her legs were not particularly shapely. As they approached the bar, they were shaking rain from their hair, and spots of rain gleamed on their clothes.

I moved over to the bar, and was standing waiting when they arrived there, laughing.

“Not raining again?” I said.

“Pouring,” said the tall, slim one.

“Blast!” I said. “And I haven’t brought a coat.”

“Neither have we,” said the tall one. “We’ll get soaked, going home.” She had a slight local accent.

“Going far?” I asked.

“Bollingford”, she replied. It was the next village, about 10 miles away. “And the last bus has gone. We’ll have to walk.”

“Like a drink before you set off?” I asked - and so a conversation was started. The tall, thin one was called Sally, and the short, plump one, Jane. They had come in from Bollingford by bus to meet someone, but their friend had not turned up. It was now too late - the last bus home had gone, and it was pouring with rain. In case you are not familiar with deepest rural Norfolk, taxis are not exactly thick on the ground, so they had a problem. And it was just possible that I might have a solution....

We chatted, and I bought them drinks. I was drinking mainly lemonade, topped up very occasionally with Scotch when I couldn’t avoid it without drawing attention to myself. But I was getting gin down the two girls in some quantity, and they were giggling and swaying more and more as the evening progressed. At last, big Jane, who you would expect to be the sensible one, spoke:-

“How are we going to get home, Sally? We can’t walk it.”

“I’d drive you,” I said, “but I’ve had too much to drink. Tell you what, though. Please don’t take this the wrong way, but I’ve got a spare room in the cottage I’m renting, and it’s just around the corner. You can share that between you if you like. It’s got a double bed and a lock on the door!”

“Sounds good,” said Sally, with a wink. “I like the sound of the double bed, but I don’t know about the lock. I suppose it will keep her out”, with a nod towards Jane, accompanied by a smile, to show she didn’t mean anything hurtful to her friend.

“What do you think?” she asked her friend.

“I suppose it will be alright,” said Jane, “as long as we keep together.” And she looked hard at me, as though I was going to jump her and attempt rape there and then in the middle of the pub floor. So it was agreed, and we ran the hundred yards to my cottage through the rain, jumping over the puddles.

Inside, it was nice and warm and cosy. I had left a good fire burning in the hearth, the lamps were on, and the place looked really welcoming. I fetched a bottle of Scotch from the kitchen.

“What about a quick one to help us sleep?” I asked, pouring two large measures and handed them to the girls. Then I poured myself a very small one, holding the tumbler in my hand in such a way that they could not see how little I was drinking.

“Cheers!” said Sally, with a smile, and downed the measure in one.

“Cheers!” said Jane, being a little more circumspect, and taking small sips.

“Cheers!” I said, taking one tiny sip.

Jane went wandering round, poking and prying, while Sally asked me why I was staying “in such a god-forsaken place”, as she put it. I was explaining about the bird-watching, when Jane found my copy of “Birds of Britain and Europe” - my Bible.

“What’s this?” she interrupted, holding up the book so that only a picture showed.

“”Rose coloured starling”, I replied, and continued talking to Sally.

“Right then, clever, what’s this?” Jane showed me another picture.

“Three-toed tree-creeper!”

“Bet you don’t know what this is?” Jane said again.

“What do you bet?” I asked.

“She bet’s you her frock for your shirt,” said Sally, with a wicked grin. “Let’s play ‘Strip-spot-the-bird’!”

“Alright,” said Jane, “but I’m choosing another picture. This one’s too easy.”

“That’s not fair,” Sally protested, but I put my hand on her arm to quieten her. Jane raised the book to display a picture.

“Cetti’s warbler,” I said.

“Right!” shouted Sally triumphantly. “Give me the book!”

“No!” said Jane. “I bet he didn’t know the other one. I shouldn’t have changed.” Sally snatched the book.

“What will you give me if you get this wrong?” she asked me. “And you owe him your frock, Jane.”

“I’ll give you my shirt,” I said, privately and silently pleased I had spent so many hours studying ‘my bible’. I was fairly confident I could identify 99% of the birds in the book. Sally held up a picture.

“My blouse for your shirt.”.....(cont)