The story begins a long ago time, at least three decades back; about a promising young scientist who was walking home from the lab one day dreaming about meeting a really attractive young nobleman that would take her on as his protégé and be so smitten by her intelligence that he wouldn't care about her plain looks and would propose marriage to her and fund all her grant proposals. 

 

Anyway all this airy fairy stuff was floating around her golden locks as clear as a rainbow for the brazen young stud that suddenly stepped into her path. 

 

'Am I in your way madam?' the young buck asked, arching his eyebrow and tilting his cap simultaneously. 

 

'OH no monsignor' the virgin maiden lisped.

 

'Well then would such a sweet blossom as thyself allow your humble servant to escourt you home?' the dashing stallion asked.

 

'OH yes, of course' the bemused little goldilocks replied.

 

So with the most gracious respect young Jack O' the Green took the young lady's arm and gently guided her along the path. She shivered in delight as she walked along; the faint warning bell tolling in her sensitive little mind completely overridden by the imaginary cloak swirling behind them. As the mysterious gentleman carefully escorted her around the potholes in the path, she couldn't help but imagine herself in the company of Sir Walter Raileigh himself.

 

As they walked along our heroine was completely oblivious to the direction of their path. After a little while they passed over a narrow wrought-iron bridge over a trilling, burbling stream.

 

Soon the sweet scent of rosemary caught her senses and before she had barely had time to notice, the young man at her side was handing her a fresh sprig, which she took coyly and sniffed for a moment before letting it droop and trail elegantly from her hand.

 

They meandered on through the countryside, passing by fields of ripening corn and fields of cattle lazily lowing.

 

After what felt like a single moment suddenly the lass realised that they stood at a quaint little wooden gate, which the young sir was in the process of unlatching. The hinges of the gate creaked a little in the still evening air and she felt for a moment a sense of dread. But as her escourt gently guided her by the waist the ominous glint of foreboding was completely dispelled. 

 

They passed through the gate and along a short path, up a couple of low wide cobbled steps and stood at the door of a darling little thatched cottage.

 

The young gentleman carefully opened the door to the cottage, without the need for a key, and led her inside.

 

Inside the cottage was an airy little room, carefully furnished with a sofa and armchair along one side, a round table with two chairs tucked underneath it in the centre, what looked like a small kitchen area under the eaves to the right of the door and exotically patterned cotton rugs upon the shining wooden floorboards.

 

In the far corner of the room a narrow beaded curtain allowed a glimpse of a curving narrow flight of stairs, assumedly leading upwards to the bedchamber.

 

Our fair maiden had barely enough time to take in this picture perfect interior before she was whisked into the armchair and asked if she would prefer a glass of red or white before dinner. 

 

"Oh I couldn't" the teetotal young lady giggled girlishly.

 

"Well then" the young bravo replied gallantly "I think a drop of Cognac in a dash of sping water will be just the ticket" and quick as a whisper he handed her a fine round bellied glass.

 

As our golden haired princess was nervously sipping her drink she was suddenly struck by the sound of music and she realised that her paramour had dropped the needle on the gramophone. 

 

The sweet sound of Ravel filled the room as the hospitable gent busied himself with a cast iron skillet in the far corner.

 

It was at this moment that the floating Thumbelina (who might be becoming more intoxicated by the second) suddenly realised that her - dare she say? - date had no idea she had been raised as a strict vegetarian.

 

Oh, but how could she refuse? the darling little miss thought dreamily.

 

As soon as a wink she was being whisked to the table and looking down at a fine china plate upon which was carefully arranged two crispy chops (of some manner of meat) garnished with sprigs of parsley and three small new potatoes with a touch of butter melting over them.

 

With the uttermost grace the bemused little miss tucked in. And what a delight the meal was!

 

When little goldilocks thought she had completely finished eating she was surprised to find the gallant young gentleman taking her fork from her hand and deftly twisting it though the

bone of the meat and lifting a small delicate white morsel to her lips.

 

After the fair maiden of our story had daitily wiped the luscious taste of marrow from her lips, she was pleasantly surprised to be offered another treat ...

 

"Oh an After Eight Mint? Why this is just like Christmas!" she exclaimed breathily.

 

Oh I suppose we should not encumber the narrative with the details of how our little angel was subsequently swept upstairs ... oh how she moaned in delight at the delectable affairs that took place that night.

 

It really is indecent to describe the delicate way in which he unbuttoned her shirt and unzipped her narrow skirt. We really shouldn't mention what manner of underthings she was wearing or how smoothly he slithered her out of them.

 

At any rate all too soon came the sweet blush of dawn and as our darling little thing sweetly slumbered, shuddering in her sleep, the young gallant was downstairs hastily preparing breakfast.