"I hope you've had your lunch" greeted the guest as I pulled up in the station yard. The acquaintance was at the stage where one replies "Oh yes, of course" to such an unexpected greeting, regardless of the truth. "I've got to go over the mountain to a job, and thought you might like to come too." I said in explanation and off we sped. It was hot, very hot, I had finished the interview with the owner and had just re-entered the car when down came the rain. "Isn't it glorious?" I said, hoping that rain meant as much to her as it did to me "Too good to go straight home again, don't you think. We'll go over the top of the mountain and home that way instead of skirting up the foot." The rain lashed away at us as we pelted up the mountainside, the air was too glorious to be shut out with side curtains so we let it soak our outside arms regardless.

At a spot where a little road turns off we stopped, because for once there was no reason why I should hurry, time meant nothing to us now. "I've always longed to go down here" I said as we slowly rolled down the hill on a little earth road. Half way down such an exquisite prospect greeted us that the slowness changed to stop. It was all so quiet and lovely. How long we sat looking at the gambolings of a mother and foal through the gap in a hedge I don't know but when they eventually galloped away out of sight it was as though the curtain had dropped on another act of the afternoon's entertainment and so the brake was released again.

We came to the end of the road which proved to be the approach to a little farm, and with more years of country driving to my credit than I care to admit I took a quick survey of the condition of the ground and registering that the rain was only of an hours duration at the most began to make the turn. "This should be alright" I said. Whirr went the back wheels, a yard in reverse and another try. "We're stuck" I said, beginning to feel a little less callous about her lunch. "We'll soon be out if I deflate the tyres a bit" I said brightly. "Won't you have to pump them up again?" she queried anxiously. "Of course WE will" I said. Another whirr and still we stuck. "I'll get some rope from the farm" I said, optimism still running high. "Oh I'll pay for it" the farmer was assured when he showed signs of reluctance, remembering with pain that I rarely brought the where-withall but brightening at the thought of the handbag that came from the city with "her". He took the two bob and handed over the rope which was painstakingly threaded around the wheels. "We're as good as out" I said leaping back into the drivers seat, and proceeded to cultivate the ground to a depth sufficient for an excellent crop of celery. Nobly my friend refrained from smiling (I found that she was saving it up for a glorious roar later). I got out and observed the back axle resting peacefully on the ground. There was nothing for it but a spade and when you're drenched to the skin and bitterly cold digging holds no horrors. As I dug I struck dry earth and with joy flung the spade clear and tore for the wheel. Now or never, I thought, before the water runs into the trench, and out we came and up the hill to the top leaving the friend to offer thanks for the spade. She came staggering up the hill and threw herself over the bonnet saying "Let me die now". "Goodness!" I thought. However she came to scratch in the most unexpected fashion. "By jove I'm cold, aren't you? I'd give anything for a cup of tea." "Would whisky do?" she said, diving into that blessed handbag "Mary put this in in case I felt faint!"