‘There’s nothing better than this.’ Old Ted looked at his two friends as they shared each other’s company over pints of local ale.

They sat on the trestles at the front of the pub with the early autumn sun warming them and a gentle breeze creating a slow movement of the froth in their tankards on the rough surfaced table.

They’d been friends all their lives. 

Went to school together. Truanted from school together. Went to work on the farm together and, almost without fail, drank the beer the landlord brewed on the premises before making their way, again together, to their homes and their wives and children.

‘Busy today,’ commented Charlie nodding toward the road in front of them. ‘Must be one every minute.’

‘What do you mean, busy?’ Asked Tom. Wiping the froth from his beer off his chin and nose with the back of his hand.

‘Well, I mean busy. That’s all. Must be a car going by nearly every minute.’

Ted looked up thoughtfully as though he was trying to remember something. 

‘I saw three in a minute once.’ He said.

‘Get on. When was that then? Challenged Charlie.

‘Must be ten years ago now. No, I tell a lie. It were eleven. Same year young Sam had that issue with the combine harvester.’ Replied Ted. Casting his mind back to when there were four of them and not just the three. ‘Yes, that’s right. Eleven. Still I doubt I’ll ever see three in one minute again in my lifetime.’ Commented Ted wistfully as though three cars in one minute passing the pub was something which defined the “good old days”.

The three of them sat in the early evening sun each lost in their own thoughts when there was a sudden thump on the table.

‘Ted. Ted. You alright?’ Cried Charlie seeing his old friend’s upper body sprawled across the table.

‘He’s dead.’ Said Tom.

‘Well, would you look at that.’ Cried Charlie.

‘What?’ Queried Tom turning his gaze from the sight of their old friend’s body.

‘Three cars all at once. Old Ted knew a thing or two. He was quite right. Not again in his lifetime.’