Sentence The Fivehundredandtwentyfourth

We left Lulu – being distracted by the sophistry of the clerisy and others who may or may not be suspected bookleggers, far be it from us to pass judgement - following another woman into the Ladies

at The Bridges Public House in South Darent, Kent, where Father Mungo 'Muckle' Macaneny and Wee Wullie Broon were back-slapping, glad-handing, Pint-supping, dram-drinking, ear-bashing, re-enacting famous grapples of yesteryear, and generally having a ball at the Annual Wrestlers Re-union; now, knowing Lulu as we do, it will be no surprise to find her, if we peep discreetly round the door, locked in a grapple of her own with this other woman - aged about thirty-five (give or take 10 years - for she's either lived her life to the full, or had a Croydon Facelift) blonde and some might say brassy, be we aren't so pass-remarkable as them - and there is a fierce hunger to their embrace, so we slip inside and lock the door - which, of course they should have done themselves, and we tuck ourselves into a corner where we won't get in their way and can observe them with our customary detached, disinterested, professional eye, taking in their passion, their dexterity, indeed their ingenuity and flexibility, for we truly doubt that we are either fit or supple enough to get into that

position, given the restricted space, or manage that advanced manoeuvre, without causing ourselves serious injury! – but they fair go at it hammer and tongs - this is serious grappling which far exceeds the standard being drunkenly enacted out in the Beer Garden by the menfolk (and the fewer, but

much better toned and tanned, womenfolk who enjoy considerable status in the world of Grapplers and Grappling fans) most of whom are already drawing their pensions and living on their memories; indeed, the bout within the Ladies looks set to continue for some time, neither contestant seeming to need to break the water-tight seal of their lips to take a breath, for fear of disentangling their tongues

too abruptly and causing muscle damage! – drat! one of you has just kicked over the bucket and mop beside which we are wedged and two pairs of angry eyes blaze at us: Lulu recognises me and she scowls, the other woman snarls: "fuck off you Peeping Tom-boys! can't you see this is a Private Party, go on, gerrout before I call the rozzers!" and I quietly and politely usher you all out and follow and close the door behind me and then open it again and call to Lulu: "Lulu, will you be staying here tonight?" and there is a quickly muttered confab and she calls back, "no, Teri, I'm going to Stevenage with Gloria, I dunno when I'll be back, can you let Maude and the boys know?" and I close the door, hear the bolt shoved home and the key turned in the lock and shepherd my voyeurs out of the Pub and

send you all on your way with the strict and stern injunction not to tell a single soul one iota, not even one scintilla of the scene we have just witnessed for if you do you will carry the albatross of that breach of good manners on your back like the Mark of Cain for the rest of your natural life, to Eternity and Beyond!