Kishore Singh: I'll help, after this drink

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Despite my father-in-law's somewhat irascible behaviour towards the young couple to whom we'd sold his apartment, they've stayed in touch with us, and have been generous to a fault with their invitations "" something we've found ourselves unable to reciprocate for reasons too numerous to go into here.

Which is why, when we were asked to spend an evening at their place yet again, we were determined to be on our best behaviour.

But barely had we settled down with our drinks, when my wife's best friend called on her cell.

"We've had an accident," her voice quavered, "and the windscreen is shattered. Can you come help us?" "I always knew her husband was a bad driver," my wife said to me, "and now I guess we'll have to go.

This is so unfair." "Why don't you finish your drinks at least," said our host, "I'm sure they'll keep for a while."

Since the idea of having them wait on the road wasn't without its malicious pleasure, we agreed. On an impulse, I rang up a friend who stays close to where Sarla's husband had chosen to drive into a cow, and asked him if he'd help. He would, he said, so of course we were happy to settle down with a second round of drinks.

But the phone wouldn't stay silent. Sarla called to say the children were upset.

Our friend called back to say he'd spotted broken glass on the road, but of car, cow or humans there was no sign. They took each other's numbers and promised to call the other, and inform us as soon as they'd established contact. Meanwhile, another friend and neighbour called to say she was going over to look for them, so we could relax, at least for a bit.

Out hostess, somewhat upset at the evening being ruined by a constant stream of callers, suggested her husband pour us another round of drinks, while she had dinner laid.

Meanwhile, the friend called to say she'd met up with Sarla & Family, that they'd been roughed up and had to pay for the dead cow, and she was going to attempt to tow their car home.

"We'll come as soon as dinner is over," I promised, while my wife snorted once again that while Sarla was all right, who had thought to give her husband a license?

Dinner passed almost undisturbed, and because our hostess' spread was nicer than most, we had seconds, when our friend called to tell us, "We've reached home, so you should come here as well."

"In just a while," I told her, "as soon as we're through with dessert." Since I, of course, don't eat puddings, it was left to my wife to eat sufficiently for the two of us, and just when it seemed there was no more reason to keep us from visiting our friends-in-need, my host suggested a round of liqueur, which I couldn't refuse, as he'd have been upset.

It was a very fine liqueur too, and to gulp it down would have been to insult it, so we savoured it, and the little more our host poured us again, and I was a trifle irritated when our friend called to ask where the hell we were, and weren't we coming home?

Having had to forsake coffee, we apologised to our hosts and took our departure, rushing to our friends' home on our mission of mercy. Only to find them all convulsed with laughter.

"It's April Fool's Day," they collapsed in a fit of giggles, "you idiots!" All except Sarla, of course, who said, "Remind me to never call you in an emergency because," looking at her watch, she pronounced, "it's taken you three hours and 30 minutes to come to our rescue."