The village fete

Hi All,

Part 1 of a story...

 It was a bright cold day on the first day of Hanukkah and by coincidence Christmas eve. The church village clock was striking  11 as the  church warden and verger tried to repair it , with some helpful ecumenical help from the Methodist pastor and Sephardi Rabbi, all of  whom had washed down generous helpings of the village fates mulled wine.

 Lord  Sir Samuel  Robin , Baronet of Ayboe , dressed in his usual tweed ,  watched with rye amusement , cupped his hand around his Cuban cigar ,lit it and said "balls"  to no-one in particular. He strode across the snow engorged field toward the encampment  of portaloos and tents, where a banner reading "Little Doddington Village Fate and family fun day: a Dickensian Christmas and a happy Hanukkah "  flapped in the wind like a dying fish.

Slowly he toured the stalls, determined to at least look like he was enjoying the experience.  He indulged in some bakewell tart , a burger and a pint of mulled wine. He discovered there was nothing worth buying on the elephant stand, he couldn't grasp a duck , the curate and vicar had gone from the water splashing and the sights were fixed on the shoot stall. Finally after ignoring Morris dancers and nearly been bitten by the grumpy  camels of the nativity scene , he turned to the last stall.

'Guess how much this Apple pie is worth'  said the twenty something girl behind the table. Apart from the tattoos , a long knife scar down one cheek and an eye patch she did look like a typical upper middle class young member of the Women's Institute and village conservative youth club.

Robin, whose operatives in the Martian Security circles knew him as "the bird " , made a show of looking at the pie. 'One pound, two shillings and two pence' he replied.

The girl nodded . ' they're out the back'

' Thanks. Fantastic breasts and a nice  ass, btw' the Bird added ,as the girl giggled sweetly ,  and he strode to the tent at the back of the fete.