It is a good job the bus stopped when it did or we would have missed it. Joe has a habit if missing busses, he seems to think that they know when some one is standing at a buss stop then arrive two minutes later. Showing him a bus timetable is like trying to teach a hippopotamus to knit socks.

The bus we were on was a red bus, I have this theory that all busses are born red, they just paint different colours on top of the red which upsets the buss. Have you noticed that it is only red busses that run on time.

The conductor ask us where we wanted to go to, we told him the The Hatchet and Cow. The conductor whistled then repeated The Hatchet and Cow and told us we can't go there any more. I ask him why not and he told us because they had pulled it down, I told him they can't do that. A man further up the buss turned round and confirmed that they had. It is a bloody disgrace commented a man in a brown trilby hat and grey raincoat, who was sitting directly behind me. I was good beer in there Joe informed us. The little old lady who was sitting in the opposite isle, she waved her umbrella at Joe and declared it was a den of vice. Jokingly I ask how she knew did she work there, I don't know why I said it, but I wash I hadn't. Joe laughed.

My girlfriend worked there said a lad at the front of the buss he said he thought it was a nice place. I ask the conductor who did it, but the conductor had lost track of what we were talking about now and ask did what. I repeated about the Hatchet and Cow down being pulled down. The conductor told us it was the council who pulled it down.

The little old lady opposite shouted good for the council, then poked me hard in the knee with the point of her umbrella.

That will be four pence half penny, the conductor got down to business again taking two brown cardboard tickets from a ticket clip on his belt holding a row of different coloured tickets. When we got off the bus one thing was pretty clear, The Hatchet and Cow had definitely gone. There was not much doubt about that, me and Joe looked at the pile of rubble. That was one pub we could cross off our list. Joe admitted he had not liked the place much anyway.

I limped down the road, my leg hurt where that old lady poked it with the umbrella. I did not agree with Joe I quite liked the Hatchet and Cow.

" That's the second one I've heard of today." I said. " I only hope they don't build one of those plastic monstrosities in its place."

" That would be adding insult to injury." said Mrs Gudumpry.

" I don't know." said Joe. " There's too many to choose from, perhaps one of those." Joe pointed to a large cream slice.

I like cake shops, especially the ones that sell freshly baked bread. They have a kind of well, bready smell, and if you don't know what that smells like, you have missed out on one of life's little pleasures. Mrs Gudumprys cake shop is one of our favourites because there is a small tea room at the back where you can have coffee and cakes. Joe liked having coffee here.

" I like having coffee here." said Joe.

" You're only having one cake." I said. " We've got to meet Judy."

" What's this about the Rabbet and Roses? " said Joe.

" They're pulling it down."

" When? "

" I don't know Mrs Gudumpry was just telling me." I said.

Mrs Gudumpry came back to the table carrying a tray with our coffee and cakes on it.

" When are they pulling the Rabbet and Roses down ." I asked her as she put the plates down.

" Quit soon." said Mrs Gudumpry. " Mr Johnson said his firms been given the contract to do it and they will be ready to start in a couple of weeks."

" It's a shame it was a nice pub." I said.

" It had atmosphere." said Joe.

" That will go as well." said Mrs Gudumpry. " All the old places will be gone soon. The Chicken and Porridge has gone The Tub and Tuppeny."

" I can understand them wanting to pull that down." said Joe.

" Yes." I said remembering a rather dreadful evening spent there.

" And the Wheel and Buffalo by the railway line." said Joe.

" Even Mr Pintagain is thinking of leaving." said Mrs Gudumpry.

" Mr Pintagain! " said Joe.

" Who's he when he's at home? " I asked

" He runs the The Cherry Pickers down the street." said Mrs Gudumpry. " I hope they don't decide to pull that down, it's a nice place, been there years."

" I've never heard of it." I said somewhat amazed.

Between us me and Joe had, in the past few months, been in every pub in the district and prided ourselves in knowing as much as anybody about the drinking establishments of the town. Including the Swashpit and Saddle, although that was a quick visit and we did not drink anything for fear of swamp fever.

" There isn't a pub called the The Cherry Pickers." said Joe. " If there was he'd know about it." Joe pointed a finger at me. The finger had a large dollop of cream on it, Joe licked the cream off. " We've been in all the pubs around here."

" Well you've missed this one." said Mrs Gudumpry. " I know Mr Pintagain he come in here regular, it's just up the road."

" This I find hard to believe." I said. A pub right in the middle of town and we don't know about it."

" If you want to see it you had better get your selves there before they decide pull that down too." said Mrs Gudumpry.

" We will get straight down there." said Joe.

" Before we've had our cake." I said.

" Come off it it's not that important." said Joe.

Finding the The Cherry Pickers was not that easy. We had walked passed the place where it was supposed to be several times before we saw this extremely old sign hanging over the pavement. It was hidden among all the other regular shop signs. It was a dark grey sign with light grey letters on it. It was not exactly designed to shout out at you. From the road the The Cherry Pickers looked like a solicitors office, even down to having a brass plate beside the door. Wondering what sort of place this was we entered. I inside the place looked like a solicitors office, even to the point of having a girl sitting at a desk with a typewriter.

" Hello." said girl. " You want to see the solicitor."

It must some kind of jokers bar I thought.

" We'll have two pints and a packet of crisps." I said calling her bluff.

" I'll have a gin and tonic." she said.

The silence that followed was filled with nobody knowing what to say next.

" This isn't a pub." said the girl.

" The The Cherry Pickers." said Joe.

" Next door." said the girl.

" I should move your sign further over your door." I said to the barman.

" Do many people do that." said Joe.

" No, you're the first." said the barman.

Our difficulty in finding the The Cherry Pickers was party due to the fact that it was not actually sitting on the main road itself, but behind a row of little shops. A small passage, that would have gone completely unnoticed in the row if it was not for a small sign hanging, just not quite over it, that said simply The Cherry Pickers.

The narrow arched passage led to a small courtyard. This courtyard was bounded on three sides by the rear yard walls of the shops on main street. On the remaining side was a very ancient timber framed building in the 'Eliza-tutor-bethen-esk' style. In other words, it had started as a Tudor building, then had bits and pieces added on as the centuries rolled by. Having said this however, it was not an ugly building, it looked more, how should I put it, as if it had lived its life to the full and was now an interesting old character.

Without saying anything to each other, both me and Joe on seeing the The Cherry Pickers for the first time said to our selves 'this is it'.

" How munch longer have we got to wait here." said Joe.

" Until the surveyor comes." I said.

We were sitting on a small bench at the buss stop. On the other side of the road was the small passage with a sign hanging, just not quite over it, that said The The Cherry Pickers.

" We could have at least waited until they were open." grumbled Joe.

A large red double decker bus, painted green, pulled up. Out got a rather strange looking man carrying a bright red helmet, a briefcase and four of the shortest ladders I have ever seen.

" Mr Prodabout I assume." I said getting up and extending my hand.

" What who O yes." said the man.

He couldn't shake hands as he was carrying so munch stuff, so he did the next best thing and hooked his helmet on my extended hand.

The surveyor poked and prodded in all the dark corners of the The Cherry Pickers making extensive notes in his little yellow notebook. His little short ladders all clipped together to make one big ladder, this he used to climb up into the roof through a tiny little hatch in one of the bedrooms.

Me and Joe sat in the dim gloom of the closed lounge bar waiting for him to do what ever it is surveyors do in roof spaces. I whistled for a bit and Joe tried to build a house out of beer mats. Joe started getting restless.

" It's not natural." said Joe.

" What's not? " I said.

" Being n a bar when it's not open." said Joe.

" I is a bit spooky. " I agreed.

" Might help if we had a drink." said Joe.

" I'll see if we can get one." I went over to the bar and lent over to look into the back kitchen where I could hear Mr Pintagain rattling about.

" Excuse me." I called.

Mr Pintagain came through to the bar.

" Hello you two." he said. " What are you doing sitting in the gloom, I thought you were with the surveyor."

" He's gone into the roof." I said.

" I doubt if anyone has been up there since it was built." said Mr Pintagain.

" We was wondering if we could buy a pint while we're waiting." I said. " Joe getting withdrawal symptoms being in a bar with no drink."

" Ooooo no." said Mr Pintagain. " Its against the law when we're closed."

" That's a pity." I said looking rather despondent.

" I can of course give you a drink." said Mr Pintagain.

The surveyor was some considerable time in the roof. He was in fact, two pints of beer, for ham sandwiches, a scotch egg and half a pork pie. We wondered if something nasty had happened to the surveyor, but every time we checked up there we heard allot of banging about and much talking as the surveyor kept telling himself things.

During the long wait Mr Pintagain told us about his life at sea before retiring and taking over at the The Cherry Pickers. We were in the middle of the mist horrendous Atlantic storm and were attempting to pull a stranded trawler from the rocks off the Cornish cost, when the surveyor returned.

" Good heavens." said Joe on seeing him.

The surveyor had a smile going from ear to ear. " Did you know parts of this building go back to the twelfth century. " said the surveyor excitedly.

" Great Scott where have you been." said Mr Pintagain.

The surveyor was covered from head to toe in dirt and cobwebs, he was filthy.

" In the roof up there." said the surveyor like an excited school boy with a new bike. " You've got a double tusked king post truss up there with its original spike pins."

" You're not thinking of going home like that are you." said Joe.

" Like what." said the surveyor looking down at himself. " Oh rafters." he said realising for the first time how dirty he was. " The wife will murder me."

" Come on." said Mr Pintagain opening the flap in the bar. " I think you had better have a good hot bath while I put your cloths in the washing machine."

We went to sit in the kitchen while Mr Pintagain put the surveyors cloths in the washing machine and Mr Prod about went to have a bath.

" I think you're hear for the day." said Mr Pintagain. " What would you like for dinner."

" Dinner." said Joe perking up.

" You must let us pay for it." I said.

" Rubbish." said Mr Pintagain. " I'm glad of the company, I've not had a chance to tell my old sea stories for a long time."

" Why are you selling." I ask as Mr Pintagain searched for a frying pan.

" We'll basically." said Mr Pintagain cracking eggs. " Since the wife died the place doesn't seem the same somehow. Its not the most popular pub in town but we do have our regulars and it was nice for me and the wife to potter about in. But now, well it's got memories and I don't have the enthusiasm. I'd rather sell it while its nice rather than let it go down hill too much."

" What are you going to do." said Joe.

" My eldest son has go a hotel in Torquay, he's ask me to go down and help him."

" You'll be near the sea again." I said.

" Better than that." said Mr Pintagain. " He's got a little boat."

" The main king beam dates from 1634." said the surveyor while cutting into his tomato.

The surveyor had been talking right through the eggs, chips, lamb chops, beans and tomatoes and it looked as if he was going to talk all through the apple pie. He seemed especially excited about a half rebated shoulder tusked tenon he had found. I thought they only lived in Africa.

Me, Joe and Mr Pintagain sat eating our respective dinners absolutely covered in long technical words and not understanding a thing he was talking about.

" That was marvellous dinner." said Joe.

" Have some more apple pie." said Mr Pintagain.

" I hoped you'd say that." said Joe holding his plate out.

The surveyor went away terribly excited muttering things about jutted mitred beams and genuine wattle framing. We had tided him up and now he looked just a little more respectable than when he'd had arrived.

It was getting late so me and Joe said goodbye to Mr Pintagain and wondered home through the twilight, well streetlight really it had started raining, but that does not sound such a romantic end to a rather pleasant day. We had overindulged ourselves, Mr Pintagain was certainly a good cook.

" I think this could be the one." I said to Joe.

" One what." said Joe.

" The pub Mrs Jabody is looking for." I said.

" Oh that." said Joe. " I'd almost forgotten why we were going round all these pubs."

" I seems to have everything going for it." I said. " Central location, not to big and its got a tusked sprocketed spiked rebates."

" That really clinched it for me." said Joe.

" We'll go round to Mrs Jabody in the morning and tell her about it." I said.

" Not too early." said Joe.

Me and Joe might have gone to bed but there was somebody who was far too excited to anything so mundane as sleep. Mr Prodabout had visited a friend Ivor Gotalot of on his way home. His friend was proprietor of the local museum. Ivor telephoned the president of the local historical society, who had contacted the historic buildings conservation agency, who contacted the restoration trust. All this was going on while I was asleep in my bed, dreaming about a steam shovel named Mary Anne. Mary Anne was making an awful noise. Bang bang bang. I tried to quieten the dream down by putting my head deep in the pillow. Bang bang bang, 'are you awake'. Slowly Mary Anne faded and I got out of bed to answer the door. It was the police.

" Sorry to disturb you sir." said the policeman. " Bit we're trying to trace the whereabouts of Mr Prodabout. As you were one of the last people to talk to him we thought we'd just like to have a little word."

I looked at the policeman through my one working eye. " You had better come in." I said.

" Its Mrs Prodabout she is extremely worried as he did not come home last night, he has never disappeared like this before. He's always telephoned if he was going to be late but this last appointment was only in town, so he shouldn't have been late anyway. So after midnight Mrs Prodabout called us." said the policeman.

" What time is it." I said, rather needlessly because I was standing about six inched away from the kitchen clock. I was making a cup of coffee to try and get the little brain cells working. " Can I offer you a coffee." I said.

" Don't mind if I do." said the policeman. " It's half past two." " In the morning." I said.

" If it's not then the sun has forgotten to rise." said the policeman.

" Just a minute." I said." Mr Prodabout can't have been gone long. Surely the police don't start dragging the rivers until someone been missing for a couple of days or so."

" They do when the person in question is married to the Chief constables sister." said the policeman.

" Oh." I said. " One would, wouldn't one."

" We've checked all the usual places his office etc." said the policeman as he sipped his coffee.

" When he left he was most excited about finding a shouldered tusked tenon in the roof." I said.

" I thought they only lived in Africa." said the policeman.

" What you need is a good clue to fallow." I said.

" What I need is one of those chocolate biscuits I can spy on that shelf." said the policeman.

" The sort of clue like he said he was going round to tell Mr Gotalot about the The Cherry Pickers." I said passing the biscuits to the policeman.

" He said that to you." asked the policeman.

" Not exactly, he was sort of talking to himself. He hadn't stopped talking since he came down from the roof, you would have thought he'd discovered an Egyptian tomb." I said.

" Well I suppose I had better fallow the clue." said the policeman getting up. He thanked me for the coffee and chocolate biscuit and took an extra chocolate biscuit with him as he disappeared back into the darkness of the night.

Apparently the policeman went round to Ivor Gotalots house only to find he had not been home either. Mr Gotalots wife however was not concerned because this often happened with him, she suggested they so round to the museum or the studio of Dr Pollard who Ivor often sees about new projects. The museum was all locked up but Dr Pollards studio was a hive of activity. Not only was Dr Pollard there, so was Mr Prodabout, Ivor Gotalot and several others. The were all busily working on sketches and drawing boards, drawing out the The Cherry Pickers in great detail. Mr Prodabout had made masses of notes and these were being studied, cross referenced with books and local history records. So engrossed was every one that not one of them had noticed that it was now the middle of the night.

We took Mrs Jabody round to meet Mr Pintagain and to look around the The Cherry Pickers. Mrs Jabody fell in love with it instantly. Later she invited her sister down from Whitely Bay to see it and it was decided they would buy it and run it together.

Meanwhile the conservation trust for ancient buildings, the local historical trust and the trust for the preservation of red legs ducks or something, had all got to gather and offered to renovate the place because of its unique history. This was done over the next six months before Mrs Jabody and her sister moved in.

Me and Joe were invited by Mrs Jabody to a private party celebrating the reopening of the The Cherry Pickers under their management. Dressed in our best suites and feeling rather uncomfortable we arrived at the pub. Which surprisingly, after all the work done on it, did not look any different from when we had first seen it.

There were several people we had not met before at this party, Mrs Jabodys sister from Whitely Bay and her brother from Penzance in Cornwall who looked like a pirate.

The The Cherry Pickers had, it seems, fulfilled its destiny, it was being owned and run by two fat ladies and a pirate, we heard that a large black cat moved in three days later.