Years ago, the landlord of the Fox and Duck, Sam Jenkins, told regulars that Janet was the cleanest scrubber in town. Then he put it on the Notice Board until, under duress from the local vicar, took it down again.

Today, Janet has returned to the pub that holds so many memories. Stepping inside, she casts a gaze around the bar and notes a lot has changed.

‘Can I help you?’ a male voice asks from behind the bar.

Janet turns and smiles at a man in his late fifties. ‘Twenty odd years ago, this pub used to be my local. I was wondering if any of the old regulars are still around.’ Then she sees menus on the tables and an aroma of cooking wafts out through a door left ajar. ‘They didn’t do meals in those days,’ she adds, ‘Apart from crisps, pickled eggs and Clark’s pies.’

As she speaks, the door opens behind her letting in a cold draught. ‘Afternoon, Dave,’ an elderly voice addresses the landlord.

‘How’s the gout, Sam?’ The landlord is already drawing a pint of Bass.

‘Bloody awful,’ comes the reply in unison to the squeak of rubber on tiles.

Janet turns round to look at the new arrival. Then recognition strikes. ‘Sam!’ Rheumy eyes regard her until a smile grows on the elderly man’s lips.

‘Janet Thomas.’ He shuffles forward on his Zimmer frame. ‘Well I’ll be damned! What brings you here after all this time?’

‘Just passing through.’

‘Hungry?’ She nods at his question. ‘Are your delicious faggots on today, Sam?’ he asks the landlord.

‘Made fresh this morning,’ the landlord replies.

‘Janet will love your faggots.’ Sam winks and, as if forgetting his need for a Zimmer frame, limps with eager haste over to a corner table.

After they’ve eaten and as their dishes are being cleared away, Sam says to the landlord, ‘This lady was the best scrubber in town.’ The landlord flushes with obvious embarrassment. ‘Men would go into the Gents,’ Sam tells him,‘and come out with their eyes streaming.’

The landlord coughs, his flush deepening. ‘Stop teasing the poor man, Sam,’ Janet says with a chuckle.

‘Those were the days.’ Sam laughs.

‘And I swear to this day, you can’t beat neat Domestos to clean out urinals,’ Janet states.

‘Have you still got those golden gloves I presented to you?’

‘Not anymore, Sam.’ Janet laughs with him. ‘That bleach massacres rubber.’