finishing off that bit.

"Oh dear," he remarked, and sounded hilarious, a wizened old teenaged man who'd just had his first woman, "we've lost the pole. What are you laughing at?"

"We haven't lost the pole - I know exactly where's it's gone." I watched a pale colour mantle his cheekbones. He turned quickly, a paddle in one hand, setting the punt back upstream; we could see the pole, sticking out of the Cherwell like one of those old druid's stones one sees in places like Cornwall. "Rupert..."

"I'm not saying I'm sorry." His voice was muffled a bit, but I could still hear how fierce he sounded. "It wouldn't be true. I'm not at all sorry. It was absolutely splendid and I love you more than my own life and I'd do it again in one half a heartbeat."

"Well, I'm not doing it again in half a heartbeat, because I'm rather sore, actually. But I'm pleased you're not sorry because I'd hit you if you said you were. And I'm not sorry either. You might try asking me again in a few days time." He turned around and looked at me, standing precariously in the rocking punt with one hand on the pole, waiting in silence for what else I might choose to say.

"I've loved you since the first day I walked into the Carolan, and you took off your glasses, and didn't hide your eyes."

"Have you? Truly?"

"Truly. Even more than I've come to hate your father. Why do you think I stayed?"

• * *

Good stuff, Deborah.

Oooh, lovely.

Believable reaction from the 16 year old Rupert?

I thought so. It didn't leap out as unbelievable or anything, anyway.

Good. That's a relief; I didn't know if I was the only one out there who imagined the young Rupert as a bit of a finicky old man, who got younger and younger in spirit the older he got in years.

There are those finicky old man types who grow younger. Stands to reason Rupert would be one of them. Lovely stuff.

I'd always seen Rupert progressing from nervous edgy child with chilly father and dead mum (I'm getting to her shortly), to braver teenager with strong sense of duty to...? WHAMMO! The Ripper years, with Ethan.

One of the reasons for Amanda's existence is because it just seemed that something must have triggered Rupert from "yes, I must follow in Chilly Daddy's footsteps and Do My Duty" to "Sod it! Let's get snockered on three pints of straight Lagavullin, screw a bunch of wenches, raise some demons, and go star in Manchild!" And whatever it was, it must have been a honker.

Amanda is, I believe, a qualifying honker.

Ayup, I believe you're correct.

And oh--mmm, Lagavullin!

And oh--mmm, Lagavullin!

mmm, Manchild!

God, i adore ASH in that show. Pant pant pant. The scene where he lifts the towel in the Turkish bath and shows...no, never mind.