The need for some kind of a dress code in The Bar became apparent after one of our very attractive and well-endowed waitresses, who lived in the flat upstairs, arrived in what she thought, and I wholeheartedly concurred, were ideal working clothes considering the unprecedented heat on this particular hot and steamy August night.

The length of her mini skirt, seven inches, was just perfect, as was the article of clothing she wore above it. She had chosen an entirely appropriate open-mesh, string vest, worn braless.  As her breasts were formidable the netting that constricted them made each fight for any available space. To ease the congestion they had found it necessary to poke a nipple through any hole they came across.

Which made them the centres of attention and attraction.

The girl smiled. She had a very, very nice smile… and jolly good teeth too, and a razor rash on her neck from being too close to her boyfriend.

I imagined the joy she would bring to some of our customers this evening a slow Saturday evening that was generally oh so quite that would give those who were present time to really enjoy something, beautiful, pleasing, glorious, gorgeous….

“Joe.”

I thought Claudette was at home cleaning dishes or sorting out her stamp collection or something, but she wasn’t.

“JOE.”

She had just used the rear entrance to bring some food into the bar and had come through for a drink.

To this day I don’t know how she noticed the girl, but she did.

“Where do you think you are?” she asked the girl. “Do you really think that top is appropriate? Do you know the kind of sex-mad men we get in here?”

“No,” said the girl throwing a glance at me.

“Well I do and I think you had better go home and change into something more suitable.”

“OK,” agreed the girl.

“But surely she would be far too hot,” I said.

Claudette said that wasn’t the point.

“That is NOT the point.”

I said if she had to go and change then I ought to give her a lift home.

She said, “Upstairs, Joe?”

“Oh, oh, yes, I’d forgotten that,” I said.

But, do you know, to this day I’ll never forgot the sight, or the site, of those netted nipples.

C 2010 J Hepworth SnorBan UK Ltd