It was 1978, and it was lunchtime. The summer term had just ended and I was driving home in my geriatric Vauxhall Viva, along windy, slow country roads towards the M5. I didn’t mind the windy, slow roads. The Viva's top speed was 55 miles an hour.

I was thinking about lunch when the Fox and Hounds hove into view, an archetypal English country inn nestling in low, green hills. It looked as if it had grown out of the fertile soil. I didn’t think twice. Inside, it was all stone floor, dark wood and tiny windows. The only customer was an old chap slumped at a table in the corner. A large man with a face the colour and texture of chopped liver stood behind the bar. I ordered a pint of best and a ploughman’s and sat down. The only sounds were the ticking of an unseen clock, the laboured breathing of the old chap in the corner and the pages of the barman’s newspaper turning.

“You the Ploughman’s?” A young woman, too attractive for the surroundings, placed a plate in front of me. She had beautiful eyes. I was instantly, completely, in love. I realised I was slouching in my seat, and staring when I should be speaking.

I straightened, and tried to look older than my 18 years. “Thanks very much.”

“You passing through?”

“Yeah,” I said, every inch the suave traveller. “Heading for the M5.” Any hopes that this might lead to a longer conversation, and eventually to fantastic sex, were dashed as she walked off without reply. At the door she turned and gave me a quick smile. I pondered. Why had she asked me that? And why did she smile at me?

I decided I would never understand women and turned my attention to my lunch. As I ate I looked up to see the barman staring at me, in a distinctly unfriendly way. He stalked off to the kitchen and the old chap in the corner started wheezing. I thought he was having a heart attack, but realised he was laughing. “He don’t like that, no he don’t. Jackie’s his daughter, see. He’s probably gone to warn her to steer clear. Very protective of Jackie is old Vic.” This sudden burst of loquaciousness tired him and he slumped back in his seat. So Old Vic was warning the lovely Jackie off? Hope sprang in my breast. Everyone knows that a warning like that has the opposite effect.

Meal finished, I drained the last few precious drops of amber nectar and took my glass to the bar, to meet a full glare from Old Vic. My smile and thanks did nothing to cheer him up. As I approached the car I could make out a dark shape, just above the passenger seat, that wasn’t there when I had parked. What could it be? The doors didn’t lock but nobody had bothered to break in before. With an almost electric shock I realised that it was Jackie’s ponytail, and that Jackie was under it, squashed low down in the seat, legs awkwardly wedged into the seat well. If I could just move my head a bit to the right…

“Will you get in, for fuck’s sake,” came an urgent whisper “and stop trying to see up my skirt.” 
 

“What are you doing in my car?”

“Just start this junk-heap and get going” she said, a threatening growl to her voice. ”I need a lift to the village to see my boyfriend and you’re the best option that’s come along today.” My dreams evaporated, as they always did, and I started the car.

Jackie sat up when we were safely clear of the car park, and punched play on the cassette. The Clash’s version of Police and Thieves blasted out. “I’ve heard this, Jethro likes them,” said Jackie. Jethro? Had I slipped back into the 1800s?

“That your boyfriend? Jethro? Kind of an old-fashioned name.”

“Yeah, Jethro’s great. Lives on his dad’s farm, but he does most of the work. He’ll get the lot when his dad retires.” My dreams evaporated further. How could I possibly compete with a farm? I decided to enjoy the moment – the beautiful countryside, The Clash and the lovely Jackie.

All too soon, we reached the village. Jackie imperiously pointed a perfectly shaped hand towards a pub on the edge of the village green. When I swung into the car park something large and hairy wearing jeans, a t-shirt, and a happy smile, unfolded itself from a picnic table and loped towards us. “Come on girl, I got your usual,” it said. He sounded like the lead singer of the Wurzels.

Jackie opened the door, then turned towards me and gave me a smile. Her eyes really were gorgeous. I could drown in them, given half a chance. “Thanks for the lift. You want to stop for a drink?”

“No thanks, got to be on my way. Nice to have met you Jackie.” The hand I held out remained unshaken as she skipped out of the car into a bear hug from Big Farmer Jethro. The brute knocked the door closed with a fist the size of a shovel. With a last, lingering glance at the happy couple I drove slowly out of the car park.

I stopped at the village Spar and got myself a coke, crisps and a toffee crisp. Then I changed the tape for something that better suited the mood of someone who had fallen in and out of love in the space of an hour. Soon Smokey was telling me about the tracks of his tears. I shared Smokey’s pain.