An undercover cop is sitting in a booth at the back of a dark and sleazy pub on a quiet Tuesday evening. He is nursing a beer and pretending to be absorbed in his phone as he surreptitiously watches the shady characters playing pool or chatting around a battered leaner. He is surprised when he notices an old couple enter and make their way to the bar with the help of walking sticks.
The couple has a brief conversation with the bartender then come across the pub and settle in the booth next to but behind the undercover cop.
The tough-looking bartender saunters over a few minutes later with a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket and two flutes. He gives the undercover cop an evil stare but delivers the wine to the older couple with some minor fanfare as he pops the cork.
The undercover cop hears them clink glasses and giggle while he goes back to keeping an eye on the other patrons.
Some time passes and the undercover cop notices, presumably as the couple get a bit tipsy, that they are talking a lot louder than they had at first.
“Isn’t it funny to be back in this very booth after all these years,” he hears the woman say.
“Fifty years. Who would have thought?” the man responds. “Fifty years to the day since we met in this very bar. It hasn’t changed much.”
The undercover cop feels a fondness for the two old-timers and their romantic anniversary.
“Do you remember making love that first night, against the fence at the back of the car park?” He hears the man say. “Bouncing against the chain-link mesh?”
“Of course, I remember,” she says, “We started as we were meant to go on,” and she chuckles.
The old man says, “Shall we do it again, for old times' sake? It’s a nice evening.”
“I’m keen, if you are,” she says, “Let's see if we can.”
The undercover cop is alarmed at their plan. While the pub itself has a notorious reputation, it is earned primarily by what goes on outside, with drug deals, prostitution and stolen goods being bought and sold. He decides he will need to make sure they are safe, so before the old couple rise from their booth, he gets up and goes out.
He stations himself at the back of the building in the dark shadows between a brick wall and a tall rubbish skip.
Soon enough the old couple shuffle past, their walking sticks clacking on the concrete.
The undercover cop respects their privacy and does not look towards the rear of the car park, but he listens out to ensure they are not molested.
What follows is ten minutes or more of rattling fence, banging wire, gasps, groans, and cries, followed finally by more subdued panting and whimpering.
The undercover cop is very surprised. So much so that a little later, as he hears them approach his hiding place, he steps out to congratulate them. They look dishevelled and not at all happy.
He explains who he is and why he is there.
“But I must say,” he goes on to add, “You two are amazing. I hope that after fifty years my wife and I can still enjoy such passion”.
“Passion my arse,” the old man says grumpily, “Fifty years ago that wasn’t an electric fence.”
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