So far: Erstwhile curmudgeonly columnist Hector Mildew is back on the scene, preparing to audition at The Boilermaker's Arms in the guise of Dirkus Thrust the Rock'n'Roll Roman. Will Wilf the Woolman be impressed enough to take on the superannuated singer as Saturday night's turn? Now read on There was a stunned silence in the tap room as Brenda and Glenda, the homely-looking twins recruited to be Dirkus's backing singers, closed the last song with a surprisingly well-synchronised "Sha-boom-boom wah-wah-wah-waaaah".

Then Daphne the Venerable Barmaid applauded loudly. Graham the Gasman joined in with a shrill whistle through his fingers and Thelma Gusset (pronounced "Gussay") shouted "Bravo!"

Barrington Thrope the resting actor gave a smile. "I recognise that sound," he said, adding wistfully "though alas I have seldom heard it in response to my own thespian efforts. However, it's the sound that means you have a winner on your hands."

"Those were interesting songs," said The Scribbler, encouragingly. "Are they the ones that you and Mrs Mildew wrote?"

Hector's visage, lined with years of frowning his disapproval at the ways of the world, broke into a shy smile. "They are indeed," he said. "As I told you, I wrote the words and she set them to music with the help of her banjo. Then we sort of rocked them up a bit."

"Terrific!" said Boris the Landlord, stepping out from Wilf's shadow where he had skulked ever since the woolman had bought the pub and then announced he planned to close it eventually and move into a bijou café-bar in the Broadway development. "My favourite was If You Really Love Her, Caesar and Tell Her So. What a catchy chorus!"

"It was OK," interrupted Doris Thrope, Barrington's mum and a showbiz clairvoyant under the name of The Happy Medium. "But I loved Torn Toga Blues better. If you were to bring that out as a record, I predict it would shoot to the top of the charts."

"Mother!" cried Barrington melodramatically. "Don't forget that your musical tastes were forged long ago, when Mantovani was a lad and Tommy Steele was babbling on about a little white bull. You're hardly qualified to be a pop pundit of the new millennium."

"Don't be cheeky!" snapped the soothsayer. "You're not too big to avoid a good hiding! I know what music I like."

"Enough of this bickering," said Wilf the Woolman, holding up his hand. "I'm in charge of this pub and I'm the one who'll decide whether Hector and these two old birds were good or not."

"Old birds!" yelled Brenda (or maybe Glenda). "We'll get the discrimination wotsit on to you." She paused for a brief thought. "Or should that be Elfan and Safety? Whatever, we're not putting up with it."

"No offence meant, ladies," said Wilf. "I apologise. I was going to go on to say how outstanding I thought you were" - adding under his breath, so only those closest to him could hear, "for two old birds".

"In fact," continued Wilf, "I was about to ask if you could come along on Saturday night and do an hour-long spot in the concert room. Fifty quid, cash in hand, plus all the Old Muff and Babycham you can drink. What d'you say?"

"Yes please!" chorused Brenda and Glenda. Hector, alias Dirkus, nodded and smiled and was about to hold out his hand to seal the deal. Then his mobile phone rang.

"Sorry," he said when the call ended. "We've other fish to fry on Saturday night. That was Mrs M. We've just had a call from Ant and Dec. They want us to appear on Britain's Got Talent this weekend, after I sent them a video of the act. We have to go off now and rehearse."

"What, some more new songs?" asked Thelma.

"No," growled Hector. "Our sob story."