I didn't mean to stay out all night with Greg Dales. I had no intention whatsoever, when I drove off to that cabaret dance in Nerrilyup, to be home any later than half an hour or maybe an hour after it finished. That would give me time enough to collect my passengers and negotiate the fifteen miles between there and here. If it ended at two a.m., as expected, by three a.m. I'd be snuggled up in my own bed. And alone. Definitely alone.

Of course it didn't work out like that. Let me tell you what happened.

For starters, Like I said, I was going to have to collect passengers after the show. That's because I wasn't having anything alcoholic to drink that night. Not that I don't drink; indeed I do, and I like it. But we had made an arrangement, three of the male teachers and myself. They would collectively escort me to the cabaret, pay my way in and provide all the soft drinks and snacks I wanted during the evening. They would take me to supper and ensure I enjoyed myself. They would even dance with me if I wanted. (Actually I didn't want; I valued my toes far too much.)

In return I would be the driver for the night. The stone cold sober driver, who would pick them up and drop them home again afterwards. I love to dance, and being escorted into the Nerrilyup hall by not one, not two, but three gorgeous hunks was worth going teetotal a night for.

It was a great cabaret. The band was terrific, I danced all night and had my new dress admired by all and sundry. It was a bit low in front, I admit, but it looked good. Like I said, I had a ball. And afterwards it wasn't all that difficult to collect my passengers and load them into my mini for the drive home. The trouble started when I ended up with four passengers instead of three.

Greg Dales is a nice young fellow. Operative words here are 'nice' and 'young'. He's just turned eighteen, not even old enough to legally get a drink for another three years yet. But you know what it's like in little country towns in the sixties; anyone who really wants a drink can get one easily enough. I wasn't twenty one myself the first time I drank in the local pub. In fact I was a lot younger than that the first time I had an alcoholic drink at a cabaret.

But Greg had had more than enough. He also had had a ball, dancing and singing and approaching every girl under forty for a dance. Not to mention anything else he thought he could get. He even danced with me once or twice. He was good friends with my three other passengers, all of whom assured me, rather less than soberly, that of course there was room in the car for him. Everyone knew minis had elastic sides. He'd be absolutely no trouble whatsoever. Anyway, they'd probably sleep all the way home. Just as long as I didn't.

Well, in the end I didn't have much choice. They poured themselves into my car and we set off. It was only fifteen miles after all, like I said. The night was pretty cold outside, but inside, with five warm bodies in the car, it certainly wasn't cold. At one stage I had to open my window to give myself a draft of fresh cool air on my face. There weren't any kangaroos on the road on the way, thank heavens. I really am averse to kangaroos. (Well, have you ever collided with a roo when you've been driving a mini minor? NOT fun.)

I dropped the three teachers out at the old house they all shared, and then pondered what to do with Greg Dales. He was awake by then, and happy with it. I suppose I really should have quashed my softer side and dumped him out there too. For some insane reason I allowed him to talk me into driving him home to his place.

That was six miles the other side of town, at the farm where he lived with his parents and brother and sisters. Actually, his elder brother Andrew had been at the cabaret too. If I'd known what a pest Greg was going to prove, I would have foisted him off onto Andrew, in spite of the fact that he was with his girlfriend and probably - definitely - wouldn't have appreciated being landed with little brother. Oh, I am glad I haven't as yet become so involved with a member of the opposite sex. One day, yes, but not yet....

And believe me, when I do, it certainly won't be with young Greg.

So, eventually and much against my better judgement, I set off to drive him home. It was getting colder, although we'd been lucky and the rains that had fallen steadily for the past month had eased up recently. We reached the farm without incident, but then I realised it wasn't going to be as simple as I had hoped.

The house lay half a mile from the front gate, and those rains I've just mentioned had turned the track into a quagmire. My little mini sloshed along, mud spattering everywhere outside until I finally reached the house. There had been moments when I had thought I wasn't even going to get that far. I decided against stopping and coming in for the coffee Greg offered me. I was damned certain I'd never get the car started again if I did that. (I was damned certain that coffee probably wasn't all he had in mind either, in spite of being five or six years at least my junior. I might have been tempted if one of my three schoolteacher passengers had made me the same offer, but I was not at all tempted by Greg. I am not a cradle snatcher.)

Greg extricated himself from the car and gave me effusive and more than slightly alcoholic thanks for bringing him home, and in not too bad a condition. At least he was a nice drunk; unlike some other people I know he got maudlin and affectionate instead of argumentative.

By now it was well after three o'clock in the morning and I was thinking longingly of my nice warm bed. I nodded at him and smiled, although in truth I felt more like strangling the kid, and I started back down that half mile long boggy track. You can see what's coming, can't you? Half way down the driveway my mini ran into the thickest, stickiest patch of mud I've ever seen or will ever want to see, and got stuck fast. I was quite unable to move it.

Now I am not entirely helpless. I have been driving for a few years and have been bogged before, once or twice. But never so badly as this time. I opened the door to look out and see just how bad it was and the mud was almost up to the doorway. Yuck!

It was cold and dark and I was furious. Greg must however have been watching from the front verandah of the house, because about ten minutes later I heard him tapping on the window and he opened the passenger's door and crawled inside the car. He did suggest that he try to push it out, but I didn't think he was either capable or strong enough. I certainly wasn't either. And I had no intentions of getting out into that squishy mess and ruining my dress and shoes.

When, still half way through offering to push the car out and assuring me he really was quite capable of doing so, drunk or sober, Greg fell asleep in the front seat, I decided I also would have to make the best of the situation. So I crawled into the back to try to sleep. It was freezing, and the dress, while it had been perfect for the cabaret, was not exactly warm. Not in a mini minor bogged in the middle of the night in what looked like the middle of nowhere. At least it was long, so my legs and backside kept relatively warmer than the rest of me. And I managed to find my shawl on the floor. Nonetheless, I don't think I slept for than fifteen minutes at a stretch.

Dear young Greg Dales snored his head off, sprawled in the front seat.

NOT the most comfortable night of my life.

When it was light enough for me to be able to see my situation, still well before a proper sunrise, I jabbed him in the ribs until he came awake. He certainly wasn't his best self, but then I have to admit neither was I.

Anyway, he got out of the car and surveyed the situation and then put his head in the window and grinned at me.

"What a mess. How did you manage to get yourself bogged?"

I snarled at him. How the hell did he think I had managed to do it?

"Bringing you home! I should have let you walk. Or dumped you out at the front gate. Poured you out would have been more like it."

He looked somewhat abashed.

"Sorry. Let's see what we can do." I tried not to snarl again; instead I smiled. Sweetly.

"Why don't you go and get the tractor to pull me out?"

"Nah." He shook his head. "It's not that bad."

"Oh isn't it? Then why d'you suppose we spent the night here? Have you got a better idea then?"

"Hmm. Lemme think."

"Think!" I was scathing. "If you'd thought, you idiot, I wouldn't be in this position now."

Fortunately, before we came to blows - and believe me, by then I was certainly angry enough to haul off and thump him - a vehicle turned in at the front gate. It was big brother Andrew, just getting home. I shook my head, but was rather relieved, I have to admit, that it was him and not their formidable father. I had only ever met Mr Dales once, and a long time ago. That had been enough.

The two boys surveyed the mini speculatively, pushed it tentatively a couple of times and came - as I had, sooner and more quickly - to the conclusion that it was beyond their muscles. As for me, I sat inside and refused even to consider getting out. They had the muscle power; I had the brains. Although maybe if I'd used those brains earlier I wouldn't have been in this predicament right now, I have to admit. Actually, I was just beginning to start to see the funny side of the situation. Finally I smiled at Greg's elder brother and pointed towards the house and the cluster of outbuildings and gritted my teeth.

"Go - and - get - the - tractor. Now."

They looked at each other and shrugged then nodded. I suppose they hated to admit I was right, but it was the only way.

So, at seven o'clock in the morning, rather than at the three o'clock I had anticipated, I finally pulled up in front of our house. I tiptoed inside, hoping that my parents had slept. Well, they had, but they woke when I came in. Fortunately, they saw immediately the funny side of the situation. Actually, my father thought it hilarious. Well, I suppose, looking back on it, it was funny. It just took me a while longer to see just how funny. At least they hadn't been concerned for my virtue.

Certainly not with Greg Dales, anyway.

Every time I went over a bump for the next four or five weeks a glob of dried mud fell off the bottom of my poor little car. Next time I met Greg he told me how his father had woken up to the sound of the tractor and had stood at the bedroom window watching the boys pull my car free, almost literally howling with laughter. Used to the antics of his sons, he had found this latest episode absolutely hilarious.

Men!