Previously: Thelma Gusset (pronounced "Gussay"), instructed to tempt Ivor the Skiver the industrial reporter into sexually harrassing her so he could be sacked, was about to succeed in her mission when she was interrupted by the Assistant Editor behind the plot. Now read on.

Come in. Sit down, please," said the Assistant Editor With Special Responsibility for Finding Excuses for Sacking People as Thelma and The Scribbler filed into the screened-off corner of the newsroom that he called his "Den".

They exchanged bemused glances. The word "please" was not one either of them had previously heard the Ass Ed utter. Nor had they seen him look flustered before.

"Thank God I stopped you in time," continued the Ass Ed. "When I saw Ivor about to plunge his hand down youryour" he blushed as he nodded in the direction of Thelma's cleavage "well, I nearly had a heart attack."

"I was only doing as instructed," protested Thelma. "I'd asked him to help me to retrieve the gold chain that had slipped down inside my blouse"

"I know. I know. I have no criticism of you," replied the Ass Ed. "You were carrying out the plan perfectly. It's just that something's happened."

The perplexed pair had never seen him in such a conciliatory mood. There was an air almost of vulnerability about him as he mopped his sweating brow then gave them a nervous smile. Their finely-honed journalistic instinct told them there was a good story here.

"What sort of something?" they asked in unison.

"Well," said the Ass Ed after a pause. "It seems that long ago, when he was a young journalist, Ivor worked alongside another young man whose name I simply dare not divulge. The two of them became good friends and shared a mutual interest in the popular music of the day.

"This was back in the hippy era, when the big pop festivals were being organised up and down the country. Ivor and his pal decided, one year, to take themselves off to one of these events. Well it seems they really entered into the spirit of things. They smoked something they shouldn't have smoked, lost their inhibitions, and when other people in the crowd took their clothes off to dance they did the same. And someone took a photograph. Apparently it shows Ivor clad in nothing but his deerstalker hat, which then was brand new, while the other person is wearing only a garland of beads. And not exactly around his neck," he added, knowingly.

"How do you know all this," asked the incredulous Scribbler.

"Well," continued the Ass Ed, "I phoned one of my superiors and told them of my plan to get rid of Ivor. I was feeling pleased with myself and was expecting a pat on the back. But my superior went spare. It seems he's known for a long time of the existence of this photograph. And he knows that the other man in it is now none other than a very senior executive indeed in the parent company for which we all work."

"Don't tell me," said The Scribbler as the penny dropped. "Ivor's got the photograph."

"That's right," said the Ass Ed. "That's why no-one's been able to sack him all these years despite there being no industry left for him to report on. He's untouchable."

As he showed the pair out of his office, he said: "I've let you see my human face today, which is totally against company policy. If you utter a word of this to anyone I'll deny it all and find and excuse to sack you. No more Mister Nice Guy"

"Back to normal then," said the Scribbler as they returned to their desks.

"Not quite," said Thelma, looking across the room to where a wink and a leer were heading her way from a florid face beneath a battered old deerstalker hat. "Ivor thinks I fancy him. How normal can that be?"