He drew a map on a large sheet of paper to emphasise the gravity of her situation, while she went to the kitchen for a tray of food and a bottle of champagne. ‘You’re trying to demoralise me,’ she pouted when he came back. ‘You think you’re a master of psychological warfare, but you’re not. When a teacher tried to humiliate me in front of the others at school, I didn’t let it upset me. In fact I was able to think more clearly after the effort of staying calm. Then I turned out my best work, because I’d been given something to fight against.’ she passed him a sandwich: ‘That pounding of my communications brigade cost you a lot of casualties. In fact you lost a whole regiment!’

He opened the champagne. They drank a toast to victory, and he took off his shirt: ‘One of my regiments at the western end of the pass has sent its guns to shell your two bridges over the river. Three regiments are over it and moving on your supply dumps beyond. One of them is already raiding into your country.’

She took off her brassiere. Her bosom was magnificent, and he couldn’t wait for peace to break out. ‘During the night I force-marched one brigade north, and another south,’ she told him, ‘then fought a rearguard action in daylight. Caught you napping. They avoided the pass and crossed the river at two points, then closed the pincers on one of your composite what-nots and wiped it out. My remaining six battalions are now safely back on my own frontier.’

Oh, I found the docu-meant. I was growly and a bit paranoid 12 hours ago, no?

It’s extraordinary writing and it was WH ALLEN ~ LONDON Alan Sillitoe 1976 ( don’t we old people ever remember 1976? ) The Widower’s Son

I’m fairly sure I’ll have a little more to share with the reader about it in the near quantum nextness, futurity and ‘non-stuff’

John Blundell