It struck Pawser that with all the excitement he had overlooked a pressing need to find a latrine, his bladder having absorbed a copious volume of alcohol over the last couple of hours without relief. Walking past an empty table he swept up a half drunk bottle of red with one hand, an empty glass in the other before heading unsteadily toward the restaurant doors. Stepping cautiously around a young woman being sick into a plant pot he meandered down the corridor toward the loos leaving the beating sound of the disco behind him.

Entering the men's loos he was confronted by the sight of a couple in the advanced stages of Ugandan discussions and whilst it was clear that they would have been oblivious if he had stepped up and availed himself in the urinal next to them, he felt disinclined to do so. This meant he had to leave without fulfilling his now rather more urgent desire to relieve himself. He nipped back into the corridor and whisked himself off toward the loos on the second floor only to find the doors to the floor locked. Now becoming increasingly desperate he began trying the doors of all the offices along the corridor. One of these doors yielded, he stepped optimistically inside.

Pawser found himself in a cleaning cupboard providentially left undiscovered by any copulating couples. Two metal buckets stood conveniently in the middle of the floor thoughtfully left out by the cleaning staff to cater for the very predicament Pawser now found himself in. Pawser shoved aside the cleaning bottles that packed one of the shelves, carefully set down his bottle and glass, removed one of the mops and topped up the bucket. Allowing himself a long, slow sigh of liberation, he slid the bucket casually under the shelf with one foot, patted himself down, retrieved his wine and made his subversive exit.

He immediately encountered the voluptuous Betty making her way uncertainly along the corridor.

'Oh Pawser,' she clung desperately onto Pawser's jacket, her tremulous breasts heaving in his face, 'I need a whizz, and the loos,' she stopped briefly and swallowed hard, 'are full of people ssssshagging.'

'I know, I know, my dear Betty. It's the younger generation you know, so naive in matters of decorum. It's lucky we got through the meal without some young buck trying to take a lass over the table between the entree and the main. Thank heavens they at least made the effort to retire to the loos to do each other there. I couldn't abide the thought of picking up the cheese knife to find an impression of some over hormonal male's buttocks in the butter dish. Could you? But here,' and Pawser dramatically swung the door of the cleaning room open, 'are facilities especially reserved for the more mature members of staff.'

Pawser grabbed Betty to stop her falling through this unexpected gap in the wall.

'Oh cheeky,' Betty giggled.

For a moment they stood there clutching each other before Pawser continued, 'Clean, well lit and without some little oik wandering around looking for Shirley in accounts with his todger hanging out. You'll need to remove the mop of course.'

'Thanks Pawser, you're a life saver. You will stand guard for me?' Betty gushed.

'Of course!' Pawser stood aside to let Betty pass.

Pawser pulled the door to and leaned causally against the wall. Betty was indeed a magnificent filly, more of a carthorse than a racehorse perhaps, but a frisky one at that. And if she was a little lonesome and wanted to play horsey horsey with him well that was just fine. He closed his eyes. An image of the fulsome Betty feeding him sugar lumps whilst gaily flicking his rump with her little leather whip slipped unheeded into his mind. This brief moment of serenity was rudely disturbed by a tugging on his collar.

Opening his eyes Pawser was dismayed to find it was an irritated looking Jocko who had the impudence to disturb him from his indecent reflections upon his wife. Pawser noted disappointingly that Jocko looked a little worse for drink. Hardly an example for the younger member of staff he considered ruefully.

'Get off my suit I've only just had it cleaned,' annoyed he pushed Jocko back.

'Have you seen my wife?'

'Who?'

'My wife Pawser. You know the woman you've been sitting next to all night,' Jocko flicked his hand, irritated at Pawser's indifference.' Why are you standing there like that? Who have you got in there Pawser? Lucy? I won't have it Pawser, you taking advantage of that young girl.'

Jocko pushed brusquely past Pawser to fling the door open.

'Is there a queue now? Tell them I'll be out in a moment.' Betty sitting on the bucket with her knickers around her ankles brusquely waved them both out.

Jocko pulled the door to, turned angrily to Pawser and shoved him hard, 'Why you!'

Pawser saw the swing coming and was able to step back and duck sideways. Jocko's fist swung past his head knocking Pawser's drink out of his hand sending the glass spinning off down the corridor. Pawser's momentum spun him around, he staggered backward giving the little Scotsman's an opportunity to jump on his back in an attempt to get Pawser in a headlock. Pawser's arms flayed around as he tried to regain his balance before he toppled backward landing headily on the floor, Jocko grunting under the impact of hisr weight.

Before Pawser could stand up, he was surprised to find the tenacious little Scottish terrier was now sitting on his chest attempting to get a strangle hold on, which Pawser desperately attempted to fend off. To his horror Pawser could see the edge of Jocko's kilt slowly advancing across the top of his chest as Jocko sought to maximise his position. Pawser had no intention of being caught face to face with McBride's Monroe's even if their forebears had been at the battle of Culloden. But Jocko had now gained the upper hand and was not to be unseated from his perch on Pawser's chest. Together they wrestled desperately with each other. Jocko attempting to hold Pawser down, Pawser flapping frantically around the floor to unseat him.

Pawser realised the outcome was now looking dire, the kilt had reached his chin and unless he could unseat his unwelcome jockey soon he would be enveloped within the darkness of Scotland's finest tartan makers leaving him facing the unimaginable terrors that lay beneath.

Just as the situation was looking hopeless and Pawser had resigned himself the real possibility of having to take three months of work sighting emotional distress, a hand grabbed Jocko's shoulder and hauled him roughly off Pawser.

'Jocko, Pawser! What on earth are you doing? Look at all these people. Pull yourselves together!' the indomitable Betty scolded them both. She pointed to the small crowd that had gathered to watch the unseemly fracas.

Pawser pulled himself to his feet and for a moment found himself leaning exhaustedly against a breathless Jocko.

'He....,' Jocko gasped, waving his hand in the air in Pawser's face 'He... he...disgusting!'

Jocko's incoherent gabbling was interrupted by a terrible shriek from further down the corridor. The small crowd that had gathered in the hallway to watch the impromptu wrestling match at the end of the hallway turned around to identify this new source of entertainment.

Jocko, being temporarily distracted gave Pawser the opportunity he needed. He bought his knee swiftly up into Jocko's crotch. Jocko's eyes widened suddenly, pupils dilating,he gave out a short groan before slipping down Pawser's body into a crumpled heap on the floor.

Job done. Pawser noted with some satisfaction. Straightening his dishevelled suit as best as he was able he turned around to appraise himself of the developing action.

The party goers at the end of the hall suddenly split into two. Through the gap shot Neville, clad only in a pair of white underpants and socks. He hurtled down the passage, long blond hair flailing about his shoulders- somewhat reminiscent of an afghan hound straight out of the boot of the car on its Sunday run. Seeing Pawser he stopped, a mistake given the highly polished nature of the floor. For a moment Neville realised his error and assumed the posture of an ice racing speed skater, crouching down and flinging out his arms to maintain his balance. But it was too late, he flipped uncontrollably over backwards and with arms and legs flailing crashed to the floor. For a moment he managed to sit up, in doing so gained an extra turn of speed aided no doubt by the low friction afforded him by his cotton underpants on the slippery floor.

His approach velocity was quite alarming but Pawser managed to step aside as Neville skidded past and crashed into McBride who was still lying on the floor rolled up into a ball with Betty doing her best to administer some form of first aid which seemed to involve patting him gently on the head.

'Sorry Mr McBride, I didn't see you there,' Neville scrabbled around on the floor, jumped up and ran over to Pawser.

'Mr Bingham you've got to help me. It's Lucy, she's after me. She thinks she's Minnehaha and I'm her Hiawatha.'

'Galloping Ghandis, Neville. You appear to be wearing a dhoti. You're not off for a quick dip in the Ganges are you? When will you young people learn how to deport yourself at these functions?'

'It's not my fault!'

'Yes it is Neville. Baggy underpants aside, white socks with a black DJ! It's just not the done thing.' Pawser looked Neville up and down with a disdainful look on his face.

'It hardly matters now does it? I'm not wearing a suit am I?'

'No need to get tetchy, Neville. Stand still for a moment can't you,' Pawser responded sternly.

'I'm sorry Mr Bingham. Falling down back then really hurt, it feels like my arse is on fire.' Neville turned and tried to inspect to rear of his underpants which indeed looked rather threadbare, his skin was quickly reddening around the edges.

A far off 'whoop, whoop' echoed down the corridor. Neville looked alarmed and grabbed Pawser by the hands. 'She's coming. You've got to help me. Please Mr Bingham .I'll never do it again, I know she was your date. I'm sorry but she sort of bewitched me. Her eyes, did you see her eyes?'

'I did indeed, Neville but it didn't incline me to take off my suit and display my poor taste in undergarments. Go in there.' Pawser pointed to the cupboard, 'and mind the buckets of piss.'

'Thanks ever so Mr Bingham.' Neville stepped over McBride and slipped though the cupboard door.

The whooping had now got distantly closer. The ever expectant rabble had now formed an orderly line each side of the corridor in anticipation of the next entrant to the evening's performance. And it duly arrived.

Lucy had clearly put a lot more effort into her role playing than Neville. At over 6 foot she cut an imposing figure. Gone was the purple dress and the high heels, these had been replaced by what appeared to be a short red curtain wrapped around her waist, two large cloth napkins were knotted together and covered her breasts. In her hair she had arranged part of the tables flower display to create a spectacular Indian headdress; her face was streaked with red lipstick war paint.

Oblivious to the assembled audience Lucy walked straight up to Pawser. Even without her high heels her eyes were almost level with his and with her headdress on she cut a Boadicea like figure.

'Where's Neville, Bingham? And if you mess me about you'll end up like him.' She pointed threateningly at Jocko.

This was Pawser's moment. He could come to Neville's aide, uphold his own integrity and go to bed knowing that in the face of adversity he'd won though. Taking stock of a pale looking Jocko with his head resting in Betty's lap he made his decision. He stepped aside from the door.

'Right choice, chicken feed.' Taking his cue Lucy grabbed the door, gave two wild whoops, threw it open, then charged in.

'Mind the bucket of.... Oh never mind,' Pawser said weakly.

Pawser turned to find Dirk walking down the corridor toward him.

'Oh hello Dirk. I thought you and your rubber bound pilchard would have been off listening to the shipping news by now. You know Dogger Bank and all that.'

'No go, I'm afraid Pawser. She's drifted off in the bread basket and no amount of pinging her elastic is going to bring her back. I came to see how you were getting on. What the hell's happened to your suit and what's Jocko doing on the floor?' Dirk nodded to Betty who had moved on from patting Jocko's head, to patting his hand in the vain hope that this might alleviate his mortal injury.

'Oh the tartan git took affront to me assisting his lady wife so I bested him.'

'Bested him?'

'Kneed him in the Caledonian knackers.'

'Shit Pawser. How much have you had to drink? What the hell's going on in there?' Dirk nodded toward the cupboard which was now the source of ever increasingly loud shrieks.

'Neptune has captured our fisherman in her net and is about to trap his cockles in her trident if I'm not very much mistaken.'

'Lucy's in there with Neville?' said Dirk aghast. 'Christ Pawser, she'll eat him alive.'

'He seemed to be entering into the spirit of things, running around half naked and all.'

'I don't suppose he was running up and down the corridor gaily calling 'chaise me, chaise me' to Lucy was he?' Dirk noted dryly. 'I think I'm going to have to go in.'

'Your call Dirk, but don't count on Moby Dick placating her. She didn't look in the mood to me.'

'Right,' said Dirk steeling himself with a large swig from his gin and tonic after another shriek had come from the cupboard, 'I'm going in,' and he manfully strode up and walked through the door.

'Farewell old friend, into the breach and all that.' Pawser called after him.

Concentrating hard and trying to focus Pawser looked at his watch. It was close to two am. It looked like things were winding down and he was beginning to feel a little weary. He stepped over Jocko and Betty, wished them both a good evening and swayed off down the hall, momentarily pausing to pluck a glass of wine from an unsuspecting hand in the assembled throng.

***

Pawser was surprised to find the door of Mr Bentley's office seemed to offer some resistance which was surely unconnected to Pawser's slightly inebriated state, so when he burst through he was clearly expected.

Mr Bentley had laid his book down on the table and was sitting with his arms folded in anticipation of Pawser's entrance. Mr Roberts stood to attention just inside the room obviously caught en route to open the door. He glared unflinchingly at Pawser.

'I think that door knob needs sorting out, it seems to be stick...sticking,' Pawser stumbled over the words.

'I'll get it seen to Mr Bingham. Good evening was it?' inquired Mr Bentley raising his eyebrows slightly at the tousled appearance of his guest.

'Yes, most entertaining as usual.' Pawser sat down heavily in one of the wooden chairs. 'Not as unruly as last year you'll be pleased to hear but never the less I'm sure it will give the young ones something to talk about until next year's do.'

Mr Bentleys eyebrows twitched a little higher at Pawser's assessment of the evenings revelries, for in the time Pawser had taken to get to his office, Mr Bentley had already received a full briefing on the evenings affairs.

'Ha Machiavelli's, The Prince,' said Pawser noting the open book on the table in front of Mr Bentley.' Good choice. I especially like the bit where the princess kisses the frog.' Pawser noted a small book of Shelley's poetry lay opened on the little table, presumably Mr Roberts. Mr Roberts did not look like a poetry aficionado, Mr Roberts looked like he would be happier spending his time hanging around canals filling sacks with small cats and bricks.

Mr Bentley pulled out a small silver watch on a chain from his inner waistcoat pocket. 'My goodness almost 2.00am,' he sighed, 'time to go and sort things out.' He stood up and carefully placing a bookmark in his book, slotted both books back into his bookshelf. 'Neville will need rescuing first. Mr Roberts can you bring something to help Miss Fangle's modesty. A blanket will do and arrange for her to be taken home. Mr Black will need to help Mr and Mrs McBride to his car please. Get the others to walk the building and mop the stragglers up and get them to their taxis will you.'

Roberts nodded and disappeared through the door.

'Well I guess I'm off to bed,' Pawser yawned before downing the dregs of his wine. With a nod to Mr Bentley he walked into the sleeping quarters, lay on the camp bed, closed his eyes and fell into a deep peaceful sleep.

'See you tomorrow Mr Bingham. I'm just nipping up to make sure things wind down smoothly and we're all cleaned up for tomorrow morning,' said Mr Bentley quietly. He pulled on a green military Macintosh, tightened the belt firmly around his waist and switched out the light.