The Poisoning in the Pub by Simon Brett

business. Though again it probably wasn’t the kind of business Ted Crisp was looking for. Carole and Jude
didn’t go to the pub, but from their bedrooms they both heard the late-night roaring procession of bikes up Fethering High Street. Greville Tilbrook’s task of signature-gathering must
have been getting easier by the minute.
    And still the Sabbath-breaking Dan Poke evening lay ahead.
    The event was billed to start at eight o’clock, but when Carole and Jude arrived just before seven-thirty, the Crown and Anchor already seemed full to the gunwales. A
large heavy-drinking crowd had spilled out into the garden area and car park. If all of them were planning to watch the show, the pub threatened to burst at the seams.
    Judging from the people standing outside, the presence of Dan Poke had certainly brought out a mixed clientele. A few aged pub regulars had been drawn by curiosity to witness their local’s
new venture. There were also a surprising number of couples in their forties, whom Carole and Jude recognized from the streets of Fethering, but whom they’d never seen before in the Crown and
Anchor. A lot of really young people were there too, talking loudly and swigging from beer bottles. They were dressed as for a night’s clubbing, the girls revealing acres of firm brown flesh,
the boys in voluminous shorts and sleeveless T-shirts.
    The bikers, who had shattered the evening calm of Fethering for the last two nights, were also present in numbers. In spite of their chain-bedecked leather uniforms, close to they looked pretty
harmless, but still incongruous in a place like the Crown and Anchor.
    There was one surprise component in the Sunday evening crowd. At the entrance to the car park, some distance from the rest, stood Greville Tilbrook and three of his lady acolytes. In spite of
the warmth of the evening they were all wearing suits, rather old-fashioned Sunday best. What was more, they carried banners. KEEP THE LORD’S DAY FOR THE LORD, NO FILTH IN FETHERING, BATTLE
AGAINST BLASPHEMY and, rather incongruously, KEEP OUR STREETS CLEAN.
    As he saw Carole and Jude approaching, Greville Tilbrook favoured them with a thin smile. ‘Good evening, ladies,’ he said. ‘It’s still not too late to change your
minds.’
    ‘About what?’ asked Jude, deliberately obtuse.
    ‘About attending the blasphemous performance in the Crown and Anchor tonight.’
    ‘How do you know it’s blasphemous?’
    At that moment a girl walked past them. On the black T-shirt across her ample bosom was printed one of Dan Poke’s catchphrases: FANCY A POKE?
    Furious, almost losing control of himself, Greville Tilbrook spluttered and pointed to the slogan. ‘Look, does that answer your question? What could be more blasphemous than wearing that
slogan on the day that is dedicated to the Lord? People who behave in such an offensive way are insulting Almighty God!’
    ‘It seems to me,’ Jude responded mildly, ‘that you have a very idiosyncratic definition of “blasphemy”. In what way do the words “Fancy a Poke?” have
anything to do with God?’
    ‘This is the Lord’s day and the Lord should be afforded the respect that is his due! T-shirts of that kind are an abomination and those who wear them should be cast into the outer
darkness! Along with this evil man who calls himself a comedian!’
    He was almost manic now in his denunciation. His group of geriatric cheerleaders looked very excited. They clearly loved seeing their idol in passionate mode.
    ‘Excuse me, Mr Tilbrook,’ said Carole, ‘but have you ever seen Dan Poke perform, either live or on television?’
    He seemed shocked by the suggestion. ‘No, of course I haven’t.’
    ‘Don’t you think your argument might have more validity if you had actually seen the performance you are protesting against?’
    Now it was the turn of his female acolytes to look shocked. Also distressed that their crusading hero should be taken to task in this way. One, the