WELL, it didn't take long. We had expected it but we thought it would take a month or two at least. But in just three weeks, the balance of power in Beggarsdale has taken a hard list to port (or the Left for those who do not understand maritime allusions).

It took only days for Dr Spot and his boiler-suited belle Des to link up with Teacher Tess. They met in the post office at teatime one afternoon as they were picking up their copies of The Guardian, which arrives in the village too late for morning collection.

Their eyes met and it was love at first sight, even though they made an odd trio. Tess, despite her PC views, always dresses rather well and spends a great deal on hair-dos.

Whereas Dr Spot is bald, apart from his pony tail and partner Des, whose full name we did not yet know, seems to have a different boiler suit for every day of the week.

That night, they all turned up in the Beggars' Arms, along with Tess's husband Tim and the Quiet Couple from Coney Cottage. They sat around one of the corner tables, ordered various vegetarian dishes, and got stuck into the chardonnay (all except Des, that is, who quaffs Ram's Blood out of pint jugs like a good 'un).

They were quiet at first, sniffing around each other like well behaved pedigree poodles, and we locals sitting by the bar, ear-wigging frantically, could hear barely a word.

However, the booze began to click in after half an hour or so and we began to pick up a few nuggets. I doubt whether we got it all, and we shall probably add two and two to make five, but here are some of the more audible snatches.

Tess: "Des - that's an odd name. Where did it come from?" "It's Desdemona, I'm afraid. Mother was an amateur thespian."

"How does one get a PhD in spot welding?"

"That's what I did, as an apprentice. Then I started teaching a bit at the local tech, got the academic bug, and took a few courses. Finished up as the deputy boss in the end."

"Oh? So what brings you up North?"

"Took early retirement. Had a nice house to sell in Chigwell so we pocketed a few bob and decided we would try the country life."

Des butted in: "We were lucky, really. I was able to get redundancy from our social services department, so it was a good time to move."

"But why Beggarsdale?"

"Well property round here is so cheap..."

Owd Tom's groan of despair shut them up at this point, for they realised that they had been overheard. We locals, however, had heard enough to confirm our worst fears.

"Property cheap?" Tom had gasped, for we know that Doc and Des paid almost quarter of a million for their two bedroom terrace which, when the quarry closed some 20 years, went for £6,000.

"Compared to Chigwell, it is cheap," said Jetset, our roving businessman who spends a lot of time down south. "If they had any sort of place at all, they would have got half a million at least, and more likely £750,000."

"And they'll have big pensions, too, no doubt," said Cousin Kate, the postmistress, who knows she will never get their business: their cheques will go straight into the bank via cyberspace.

Until now, few of we Beggarsdalians have actually felt poor. It is not, I assure you, a pleasant feeling.

* The Curmudgeon is a satirical column based on a fictitious character in a mythical village.