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table.
    ‘I suppose I’d better get on with the marking out in the tunnel field, this dry weather won’t last for ever,’ Mike gulped down the last dregs of his coffee. ‘Are you still off the fags, Jan?’ Mike said as he stubbed out his own cigarette.
    ‘Yep, none today, not one.’
    ‘Who’s a brave girl then,’ Mike mocked, Jan ignored him, feeling rather superior about her nicotine abstinence.
    ‘I think I’ll have a go at getting rid of that old toilet shed this afternoon.’
    ‘That’s a big job Jan, get the kids to help knocking the thing down. But be careful, those old sheets of corrugated iron are sharp and heavy.’
    ‘I’ll just do what I can love, don’t worry I’ll take care. I just want to see the dammed thing out of the way, and you’ve got so much else to do it will help a bit.’
    ‘Mum, Dad, there’s a van coming down the track,’ David stormed into the kitchen shouting breathlessly, obviously excited at the prospect of callers.
    ‘Oh no, not more visitors,’ Jan groaned.
    ‘Not much peace out here is there? We had far less callers than this when we were in town,’ Mike said somewhat dolefully, ‘I suppose we’d better go out and see who it is.’
    Outside in the yard Mike and Jan stood waiting rather uncomfortably, not knowing who or what to expect. The kids dashed about showing off as kids’ do, while at the same time keeping a watch out for the strangers. They didn’t have long to wait. An old, battered, red ex G.P.O van skittered into the yard, scattering the squawking ragged old hens, in all directions. Out of the small van a man and a woman emerged, smiling broadly, the man approached, one hand held out in greeting, in the other a bottle of wine.
    ‘Hello, I’m Keith, Keith Bowen and this is Chris, my wife. Welcome to Llanbeth’ Mike and Jan quickly relaxed at the visitors’ cheerful and friendly manner.
    ‘Thanks, pleased to meet you too, it’s very nice of you to bother to call. How did you know we just moved in?’ Mike was intrigued as how news travelled so fast.
    ‘Well that’s another story,’ Keith said with an air of mystery, ‘we know all about you, but I cannot tell a lie, it’s not magic, it was in the local newspaper.’
    ‘The local paper, really?’
    ‘Aye I know, God knows where they get it from, they must have spies in every village. I’ll tell you all about it.’
    ‘Anyway, Keith, I’m Mike, Mike Jones and this is Janice.’
    ‘Everyone calls me Jan,’ Jan said shaking hands with Chris.
    ‘I know what you mean, Jan, hardly anyone nobody calls me Christine either,’ she spoke with a soft gentle voice, which belied her business like nature.
    ‘Well the place is a mess but come in anyway,’ Jan said leading the way.
    ‘This is home-made Damson wine- it’s good stuff, make your hair curl,’ Keith said, laughing, as they all followed Jan indoors.
    In the kitchen glasses were filled, and Mike and Jan began to take in their visitors. What they found the most fascinating were the rich Geordie accents. Jan and Mike had lead quite sheltered lives and had travelled hardly at all, so these foreign voices intrigued them greatly. Keith, with his mop of curly black hair was a tall, strong and muscular chap, and with a pleasing weather tanned face - Mike was a string bean in comparison.
    Mike found Chris very attractive. A little taller, and smaller breasted than Jan and with short blonde hair, which Mike thought a little too blonde for it to be real-and he could tell she wasn’t wearing a bra. She had a cheeky sexy glint in her brown eyes, and whether it was intentional or not, kept glancing at Mike with what he thought was a bit of a come on. Jan surprised herself by finding Keith equally attractive, and found the movements of his large strong hands, sensual and very appealing. Jan had a thing about men’s hands; they had to be ‘nice’.
    ‘So what are you going to be doing here Mike? We’re beef farming, and just started with some