The Gang of Ten had their number reduced further at breakfast. A handwritten note was passed around, explaining an early departure. I sensed a few sore heads and over-exercised livers were bearing the brunt of a night of bawdiness.
By the time their conversation turned to Lamp Shanks, the restaurant was full. Of course I’d heard it all before, but in the cold light of day, without the buffer of alcohol it all sounded incredibly crude. Other diners looked relieved they hadn’t had to sit through it all over dinner.
Some of the Nine looked towards me and I smiled. It was a smile that hid the truth - that I’d recordered their indiscretions and had already shared them on the World Wide Web.
As I mopped up the final drops of my runny egg, I wondered how I could announce my revenge. Leaving, I walked past their table to be told, “We’re off today so you don’t need to put up with us any more.” My retort - “Too late - I’m off too!"
I’d missed my chance.
As I manoeuvred my luggage down the narrow stairs, luck shone bright overhead. The front door opened and one of the Nine held it for me. I grinned and thanked him, then went for the jugular. “I’ve immortalised you all in my blog - Lamb Shanks and all!”
My attack was perfectly timed. I swept past, leaving a nervous laugh behind me.
What would be their reaction, I wondered. In their panic would they worry they’d revealed their names - they had, but I didn’t use them.
What words would they use to try and find the blog? Lamb Shanks and Exmoor might find it, nothing more than that.
I’d like to think they now regretted their performances, that their crude jokes went a step too far. Never again will they consider a quiet, book-reading woman in a corner to be harmless. Lamb Shankers, the lot of them!