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It's a slow night tonight. I'm standing at the bar, bored, listening to Bob's big plans to renovate the pub. I don't know why he's bothering. Soon, it'll be the only old style pub in the area, and that's bound to pull the punters in once they get tired of all these glass fronted modernised places that are springing up. It has real atmosphere: dark, wooden panelling, the Victorian snugs where you can sit, unnoticed, resting your elbows on tables older and more crusty than most of those who sit at them. The perfect place for a quiet pint. A low mutter is constantly heard above the faint music and the click of billiard balls from the lounge. Bob's thinking of getting a jukebox. When he does, he'll have my resignation.

Daniel's here tonight as well. I don't know why Bob thought he needed two barmen on a Sunday night. I glance over at Daniel, faintly annoyed. He's bending over the bar, shouting in the ear of one of our hard of hearing regulars, telling him about his rugby match last Saturday. He only started three weeks ago and already all the punters think he's great. Standing there in his designer jeans, showing off. Just because he goes to the gym. My eyes wander downwards, taking in the wide shoulders, the way his back tapers down to his waist. The swell of his hard butt, the long legs. Perfectly muscled. His T shirt is sliding up his back as he leans forward, talking excitedly. I can see smooth skin, and a hint of a tan line. He probably goes to sunbeds too. I shake my head, trying to put him out of my mind. What's wrong with me? I've hardly spoken to him yet he annoys me every time I see him. And there's ...

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