Rollo Saint-Michael, sat in the driver’s seat of his 1955 Triumph TR3 and looked around.

No water had entered the cab and nothing was broken- bit of a miracle really. He took a tot of Talisker from his hipflask and lit a sobranie from his silver Cigarette case. Dashed Silly bridge! Bloody stupid haywain! Cursed memory of Samantha Woostenhulme (Helluva girl, legs up to her neck)!, all contributed to his swerve into the stream.

Just then through the fag smoke emerged very pretty Nymph dressed in a polo shirt, with a Nike swoosh on her wings. Printed on the polo shirt was the legend “Bettanymphs-Happy to help!” she fluttered beside him for a moment.

Her name badge told him she was called Kaycee.

She recited her motto in a bored, monotone scouse, accent.

“I’m the nymph of Witley Brook

And you have found my magic nook

This means that I must now invite

Your presence on a mystery flight!

Now which do you want? Basic induction or full magical mystery tour?”

“Hmmmm” said Rollo who knew a good innuendo when he heard one, “the latter please! Coocoo-Cachoob!”

“Before we take this magic ride

Read yon Health and safety guide” said Kaycee, tossing him a red plastic folder full of laminated rules.

He glanced at the pages but didn’t take them in. Such things were for bores. He particular neglected to look at section 12b “Distraction of flight staff”.

He handed the folder back to her.

She took his hand and, with a lightness he had never felt before, they ascended into the blue sky above the tree canopy. Within seconds they were swooping like swifts over a patchwork of fields and moorland. Rollo felt a huge surge of attraction for his flying partner.

“I say” Said Rollo, wishing he had some Pimms to hand, “You are a most fascinating creature!” She hadn’t heard him though, she was posting a selfie on nymphagram with the caption “Still at work- YAAAAWN!!”

“I SAID, I SAY!!!!” shouted Rollo. She looked round angrily and told him to shut up.

“Never mind” He thought “Faint heart never won fair lady!” and manoeuvred himself closer to her where he could gently begin fondling her breast with his hand.

The ensuing scream of “fuck off” was followed by a mid-air scuffle and a very painful plummet through a copse of particularly pointy trees. Rollo, who magically landed back in the driver’s seat of his car, sustained a broken leg and dozens of bruises and scratches.

Though he had no idea how it had happened, his “accident” changed Rollo. From this point on, his reputation as a minor sex pest reduced and he became noticeably more timid around fairies in school plays and leisure centre staff. People said he was also kinder and more thoughtful.

So perhaps it was for the best that Rollo never read the motto in the Bettanymph health and safety manual which stated

“Whosoe’er distracts our nymphs

Will walk forever with a lymp!

And from that day will never see-

How they received this injury.

But he who acts with calm restraint

And gives his pilot no complaint

And does not shout things out too loud

Will get a blow job on a cloud!”