Confessions of a Lady Courier. Rosie Dixon

      ‘Stop that!’ I snap. ‘I’ve had enough of your leering and pawing. Get out of here and go back to your friend next door.’

      I am referring to one of my fellow employees called Sonia who has clearly been the recipient of Sammy’s carnal attentions, as anybody forced to listen to the noises coming through the wall would have no difficulty in telling their ear specialist.

      Sammy looks hurt. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that I have just slapped him round the kisser. ‘Hey!’ he says. ‘You can’t do that.’

      ‘I wasn’t doing anything,’ I say. ‘I was just giving you an example of what can happen when you push a girl too far. Frankly, I’ve never had a customer who’s come within half a mile of you when it’s boiled down to a crude pass.’

      ‘Crude pass?’ says my boss, managing to sound surprised and outraged. ‘I just want to share something beautiful with you.’

      ‘What have you got that’s beautiful?’ I say. In retrospect, this is also a silly question, but at the time I had no idea that he would react as he did.

      ‘I thought you’d never ask,’ leers my tiny employer. ‘How does this grab you?’

      Before I can cover my eyes or faint, the dirty little man whips open the front of his trousers and produces something like one of those things you hang on to in the tube. I don’t mean an arm-rest though it is quite disproportionate to the size of the rest of him.

      ‘Put it away, please!’ I say, not knowing where to look.

      ‘That’s just what I’d like to do,’ says Mr Fish, shuffling towards me. ‘I know just the place to put it, too.’

      With Olympic swiftness I detach myself from the bed and retreat towards the windows, holding a sheet in front of my threatened person. Sammy attempts to follow me but falls flat on his tiny face. His trousers are round his ankles. I am now pressed against the window which I realise is a bad idea when I hear an appreciative shout from beneath me. A crowd of men are staring up at the window and whistling and jeering. I try and wrap the sheet completely round my body and hobble towards the door. Sammy has now removed his trousers and shoes and is revealing that he wears suspenders on his socks. If he did not have a lot of other things going against him, this alone would be enough to put me off.

      ‘Don’t be like that,’ he pleads. ‘Let’s have a nice time. That’s what it’s all about, isn’t it? You and me could make beautiful music together.’

      ‘You and me couldn’t make Ba ba, black sheep on a set of dustbin lids,’ I tell him. ‘Now, step away from that door.’

      Sammy Fish decides to change his tack. ‘Oh! Hoity toity, are we?’ he sneers. ‘May I remind you that I am your employer, young lady. You might like to consider your future before you repulse my offer of a meaningful relationship.’

      ‘It’s you who is doing all the repulsing,’ I say. ‘You’re the most repulsive little man I’ve ever seen.’

      Sammy clearly does not care for my words. ‘How dare you!’ he says. ‘Beautiful women everywhere find me irresistible. You must be frigid.’

      ‘Frigid?!’ I say.

      Sammy sees a glint of hope. ‘Come on the bed and I’ll show you what you’ve been missing all these years.’ He grabs hold of my wrist and starts trying to drag me towards the four-poster.

      Mounted on the wall is one of those old-fashioned spears with an axe on the end. I try to cling to it to prevent myself being dragged away. There is a sound of two rusty nails separating from the wall and I find that I have armed myself. Quite by accident, the axe blade sweeps dangerously close to Sammy’s nut and he lets go of my wrist hurriedly.

      ‘Hey, steady on!’ he says.

      Quickly adjusting my grip on the weapon, I jab the sharp end towards the evil menace of Sammy’s rampant pussy pummeller. ‘Back!’ I hiss.

      Normally, I am a girl of a very retiring disposition but now that I have Fish on the retreat I find it impossible to resist pressing home the advantage.

      ‘I was just having a bit of fun, darling,’ pleads my employer. ‘Put that thing down. I didn’t mean what I said about giving you the chopper – I mean chop.’ He takes another step backwards and sprawls across the bed.

      Now he is completely at my mercy and my halberd hovers over his chest. It is a very heavy thing to carry and I don’t think I would have been a big asset to Queen Elizabeth I’s army. Sammy clearly agrees with me.

      ‘For gawd’s sake!’ he squeals. ‘Are you trying to castrate me? Mind what you’re doing with that thing!’ I must say that my weapon is now waving over his wiry willy in a manner calculated to strike terror into the bravest heart. ‘If I offended you, I’m sorry,’ he squeals. ‘I get a bit carried away sometimes.’

      ‘My wrists,’ I groan. ‘I can’t hold it much –’ With what is, by my standards, a superhuman effort I manage to jerk the halberd into the air and start to swing it away from the stricken form on the bed. Unfortunately, for Mr Fish, I have reckoned without the canopy. This article has become so full of the plaster that has dropped off the wall and ceiling – mostly due, of course, to Sammy’s exertions with Sonia next door – that it sags down over the bed like a bloated belly. Sammy makes a grab at me, the halberd snaps the canopy, and – ‘Yoooowgerfiumf!!’ There is a ripping noise and a shower of plaster buries the upper half of Sammy’s body. His dongler points at me like a huge, accusing finger and then droops pathetically. A cloud of dust fills the room.

      The door bursts open and my friend and fellow employee, Penny Green, comes in. Her father owns Chedworth Place and it is she who first introduced me to Sammy Fish. She is very nice but rather forward and outspoken.

      ‘Great jumping gonads!’ she exclaims. ‘What on earth is happening? Did he come through the roof?’ She gazes down at the submerged Sammy. ‘Good heavens! It’s Sammy Fish.’

      ‘You recognise him like that?’ I say.

      ‘I’d know that private collection, anywhere,’ says my forward friend. ‘When his mother was carrying him, they thought he was twins.’

      Sammy starts to splutter into an upright position and I breathe a sigh of relief. When his willy wilted I thought it might signal the end. ‘You – you!’ he accuses.

      ‘He looks just like Harpo Marx, doesn’t he?’ says Penny.

      ‘Harpo Marx never spoke,’ I say.

      ‘You’re fired!’ shouts Sammy. ‘You tried to kill me.’

      ‘You can’t fire her for that,’ says Penny calmly. ‘Most people would give her a medal.’

      ‘You’re fired, too,’ snaps Sammy. ‘I’ve had enough of the both of you.’

      ‘Very well, you can leave my father’s house forthwith.’

      ‘You’ve no right to tell me what to do. I signed an agreement with your father.’

      I turn away from this scene of accusation and recrimination and sigh a deep sigh. How unpleasant it all is. I am only too happy that Sammy has decided to dispense with my services. It saves me the trouble of resigning. I have had enough of all these sophisticated people with their depraved ways and one track minds. I want a job where I mix with ordinary people.

      Sammy is still screaming and shouting and I pull my panties on under my dressing-gown. I always think better with my panties on. Sammy looks like one of the Spillers Home Pride flour men and every time he shakes his fist another cloud of dust rolls across the room. He and Penny are arguing about who has the right to tell whom to get out of my room. I am about to involve myself in the discussion when the door bursts open. It is Penny’s father carrying a shotgun. He takes one look at Sammy and the gun leaps to his shoulder.

      ‘My God!’ he shouts. ‘It’s