Three Dont Tango 7

The winter weather was dark and dreary. The house seemed very empty. The rooms had that hollow untenanted look. We were cold, and we were bored.
"Let's go up to the pub," said Annabel, looking brightly into my face.
"Hmmm," I grunted doubtfully. "I suppose we could go and stare at the natives."
So we walked up the lane, and through the village.
The pub turned out to be someone's house right at the other end of our small hamlet. The place wasn't really a village, more a settlement, with half a dozen houses scattered sporadically round the cross roads, with the church set back, next to the big house. There was a farm, a chapel, and a new development of council houses around a small central car parking area, and about two hundred yards further up the road was a small cluster of houses, including a farm, a post office and the pub.
The post office consisted of a table and a filing cabinet in someone's front room. The pub had a similar arrangement. One of the downstair rooms had been converted into a public lounge, and a corner was partitioned off by a counter, behind which was a small selection of beers and spirits, and a fat ancient lady with frizzy white hair.
The place was empty when we arrived. I felt a little embarrassed. We ordered some beer and sat down at one of the tables. I had brought along a large library book about modern discoveries in science.
"Can we afford some peanuts?" asked Annabel.
We were pretty well broke. In fact we always seemed to be broke, wondering how we were going to buy the next gallon of petrol, and whether we could afford any more furniture. We used to keep a gallon of petrol in a can in the back of the van, and whenever we ran out we'd pour it carefully in, and go and buy another gallon. We had to save for ages to get more furniture.
"I should think so." I got up and walked over to the corner of the room still carrying my book. There was this great full page picture of the point of a needle magnified two hundred and fifty thousand times. I plonked the book down on the bar while the old bat searched through a whole series of cardboard boxes.
"Crisps, but no peanuts," she finally said.
"Okay, no problem." I pointed to the picture as she put the crisps on the counter. "That's the point of a needle magnified a quarter of a million times," I said. "No wonder it hurts when they stick the damn things into you." And I smiled at her.
She looked down at the picture, then up at me, with a silly grin on her face. "You do it yourself?"
"I beg your pardon?" I looked totally baffled.
"Did you make it yourself?" she asked.
I wasn't quite sure what on earth to say.
I walked back to our table feeling somewhat puzzled. Perhaps meeting the natives was a bit of a mistake.

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