My Uncle Oswald

'Beastly.'

'It was horrid,' she said. 'He had a heavy gold watchchain across his waistcoat which kept grinding into my spine. And a big watch in the waistcoat pocket.'

'Not good for the watch.'

'No,' she said. 'It went crunch. I heard it.'

'Yes, well...'

'Terrific wine this, Oswald.'

'I know. But how did you get away so quickly?'

'That's bound to be a problem with the younger ones after they've had the Beetle,' she said. 'How old is this fellow?'

'Forty-eight.'

'In the prime of life,' she said. 'It's different when they're seventy-six. At that age, even with the Beetle, they soon grind to a halt.'

'But not this chap?'

'God no,' she said. 'Perpetual motion. A mechanical lobster.'

'So what did you do?'

'What could I do? It's either me or him I said. So as soon as he'd had his explosion and delivered the goods, I reached into my jacket pocket and got out the trusty hatpin.'

'And you let him have it?'

'Yes, but don't forget it had to be a backhander this time and that wasn't so easy. It's hard to get a good swing.'

'I can see that.'

'Luckily my backhand's always been my strongest point.'

'At tennis you mean?'

'Yes,' she said.

'And you got him first time?'

'Deep to the baseline,' she said. 'Deeper than the King of Spain. A winner.'

'Did he protest?'

'Oh my God,' she said, 'he squealed like a pig. And he danced round the room clutching himself and yelling, "Celeste! Celeste! Fetch a doctor! I have been stabbed!" The woman must have been looking through the keyhole because she came bursting in at once and rushed up to him crying. "Where? Where? Let me see!" And while she was examining his backside, I ripped the all-important rubbery thing off him and dashed out of the room pulling up my trousers as I went.'

'Bravo,' I said. 'What a triumph.'

'Bit of a lark actually,' she said. 'I enjoyed it.'

'You always do.'

'Lovely snails,' she said. 'Great big juicy ones.'

'The snail farms put them on sawdust for two days before they sell them for eating,' I said.

'Why?'