1am

"Well?" asked the lady with whom I had verbally contracted to engage in s-e-x-u-a-l acts for money (me paying her rather than the other way around).

"Um" I stammered again.

"Why don’t you get undressed while you think about it" she said. I didn’t move as modesty gripped me. I tried closing my eyes and thinking of pleasant things but to no avail.

"I… um…" I said again. My normal powers of lucidity having mysteriously vanished. "Don’t be pathet…" I began but thought better of it. If fate had left me only one cutting witticism I was going to save it for later.

"You haven’t got anything I’ve not seen before" she said. "I hope" she added. There was only one thing to do – I closed my eyes again and imagined I was in Doctor Flapjack’s consulting room. She – the woman before me – was a female anusologist of international repute and I was the reason she had flown all the way from Bogotá. I unbuckled my belt and shoved my trousers to the floor. Well, I tried to but it took several hearty pushes to break a vacuum which had somehow formed around the gusset area. I can only assume one of the bouts of terror I had experienced during the evening – be it the expense of the wager, the accusation of terrorism or the advances of a female of doubtful provenance – had caused such a movement of air and fluid that a rarefaction (or something similar) had formed. I felt my trousers hit the floor and I stood, still voluntarily blinded, before her in a state of near total nudity. True, I still had my tie on but it was enough for her to scream.

"ARGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH" she wailed. I opened my eyes in surprise. She was clutching a cross and yelling at me to get out of her tent. I happily pulled up my trousers, grabbed my satchel and ran from her canvas brothel. I was struck on my departing behind by an object hurled by the w-h-o-r-e. I looked down and saw that it was the tea cup I had been drinking from but a few minutes earlier.

"I want none of your contamination here, foul fiend" she called. I picked up the tea cup (waste not, want not) and waited for a moment just in case she threw anything else of value. When she didn’t I wandered back to the road in search of a way back to Brent Towers.

It was dark and the only signpost in Shagford stood in the town square and pointed in eight different directions. Each of the eight arms bore an arrow and the legend "Out of Shagforde". I took my compass out of my satchel and studied it by torchlight. In the absence of a map I had no alternative but to find the main road (which I mentally ticked off as I was already there – starting a list with what one has already done is a low trick but can prove very satisfying) and walk along it in the most suitable of the available directions.

I had walked for what seemed like half an hour when a car sped past me, braked, reversed and pulled up alongside me. The window whirred down and a head popped out.

"Dennis Brent?" said a voice. I pointed my torch at him.

"Bignell?" I probed.

"The very same. What are you doing out here, Dennis Brent?"

"I’m trying to get home. I’ve been having a dickens of an evening, Bignell."

"Would you like a lift home?" he asked like the true-blood gentleman he is.

"I most certainly would" I replied.

"Hop in" he implored. However, as I was walking round the back of his car to the passenger side I heard the wheels of his car spin and a cry of "Got you" ring out. His car sped off and I was left as helpless as before.

"Darn you, Bignell" I cursed under my moustache. Then a peculiar thing happened. His car had sped about fifty years when it stopped again. Once more his reverse lights came on and he crawled back towards me. I wasn’t going to be fooled twice and I jogged to meet him.

"Sorry about that, Dennis Brent" said Bignell. "Just joshing don’t you know?"

"A perfectly understandable piece of humour, Bignell" I replied through gritted teeth.

"Hop in" he chimed. I made for the passenger door when once again his tires screeched and he raced away. "SUCKAHHHH" he shouted as he disappeared into the night.

"Darn you to hell and back, Bignell" I said, louder than last time. But then, as if by magic, he stopped again. I eyed him carefully. A trend was beginning to emerge and I couldn’t help but feel I’d be cast as the yoyo and he was playing the part of the hand. He reversed back to where I was stood (I wasn’t going to meet him half way this time – I had my pride).

"Sorry Dennis Brent. But you know how these things are. I’d kick myself in the morning if I passed up the chance to gag Dennis Brent, you know? No hard feelings?"

"Quite" I replied coldly.

"Hop in" he urged. I decided to be the better man and take him at face value. My hand was actually on the door handle this time when his wheels roared and he sped off.

"Darn you twice to hell and twice on the way back, Bignell" I grumbled. I looked down for something to kick and, when what I thought was a leaf turned out to be a leaf sitting on top of a mouse, I ended up kicking an innocent mouse into a nearby hedge. I felt sorry for the mouse – even though it was probably a disease ridden piece of vermin who deserved to die – as it reminded me of my own predicament. But I hadn’t long to ponder the mouse. Bignell’s car had once again stopped and was reversing towards me. I wasn’t going to fall for this pathetically stupid joke a fourth time. There was nothing on earth that would compel me to accept another of his false-lifts. Nothing except,

"Would you like a lift, Dennis Brent?" asked Bignell.

"Yes" I said reluctantly.