It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single brother in possession of a good crew must be in want of a woman.

However little known the feelings or views of such a brother may be on his first entering the 'hood, this truth is so well fixed in the minds of the surrounding families, that he is considered as the rightful property of someone or other of their daughters.

'Oi, Bennet,' said his lady to him one day, 'some bloke has only gone and rented out that top flat in the Netherfield Tower apartment block.'

'I ain't heard nuffin,' replied Mr. Bennet who continued to peruse page 3 of The Sun.

'Well, it has,' replied she, 'Old Lilly Longdraws has just had a snoop around and told me all about it.'

Mr. Bennet made no answer.

'D'you wanna know who's living there, or what?' cried his wife impatiently.

'Do I have a choice?'

This was invitation enough.

'No, so shut up and listen. Old Lill says that the top flat at Netherfield Tower has been rented out to a bloke who's got a job. A proper one. I'm not talking working in McDonalds or nuffink, yeah. He's got lolly yeah, I'm talking lots of dosh. Only problem being that he's from the norf so he's gonna have a bloody annoying accent but anyway it don't matter cos of the money, innit. Anyway, he came done on a proper nice bike, Harley or somefink, God knows where he's gonna keep it cos that'll be stolen before he can blink. Anyway, Old Lill reckons he's got some illegals working for him that do all his chores and stuff and they're coming down by the end of the week and he's gonna come down soon after. Lill said he sounds well posh even though he is northern.'

'What's his name?'

'Bingley.'

'He got kids or what?'

'Na, according to old Lill he's single, ain't got no kids, no live in girlfriend, nuffink. And he's on good money. Proper job. Has to wear a suit to work and everything. Mr. Morris reckoned his suit was well nice from the M&S Collezione range. They use proper wool, none of your polyester shit. Innit a great for our girls.'

'Why? Wots it got to do with them lot?'

'Listen arsehole,' replied his wife, 'don't piss me off, yeah. You must know I'm think of him getting one of them preggers so that she can live off the maintenance.'

'Good luck with that. If he ain't got no kids and no ex girlfriend he sounds well gay to me.'

'Bullshit! He ain't gay. No way. Old Lill reckons he gave her the eye. But I reckons she's just bigging herself up as per usual. But I reckon once he claps eyes on my girls he's gonna want to get the whole lot of em preggers. So best you go give him the once over and see if he's good for the money and all that. Make sure he ain't got the pox or nuffing. I don't want my girls catching nuffing. They're clean they are. Apart from Lydia got crabs at the moment but I reckon it's from them toilet seats at Westfield shopping centre.'

'And how am I supposed to do that? Oh do excuse me for one moment while I fumble around in your jeans and inspect your dick. Don't mind the miners hat. It helps me to spot genital warts. Na, I ain't going. Just send the girls over. Don't you go mind else he might want a ride on you an all. You still got it going on girl.'

'Leave it out! I was a right goer when I was younger, granted but since my prolapse me sex drive has gone down the pan.'

'Yeah, that's true. Put me off me dinner first time I saw your jaxy hanging out. I always have eight pints and the light turned off these days.'

'Dirty bastard, anyway, you going to see this bloke or what?'

'Na, I can't be arsed.'

'But what about the girls? None of them have got jobs. That top flat at Netherfield Tower is well nice. One of the girls could live there and be settled. Old snooty next door and her hubby are going over to say hello so you must go. I ain't having one of her girls beat my girls to getting pregnant by money. I can tell you that for free.'

'Wos his number? I'll text him. I'll say that he can shag who he wants of me girls but say that he'd be best off with Lizzy.'

'I don't want you to text him. I want you to get off your lazy, spotty arse and visit him. And stop favouring Lizzy. She ain't no better than no one. Jane is fucking gorgeous and Lydia won't be far behind once you stop being a tight wad and give that boob job that she's been after for her fifteenth birthday.'

'They're all dozy tarts if you ask me. Lizzy's alright though. Sometimes she's a bit up herself though, granted.'

'How can you slag your own kids off? You love winding me up you do. No wonder I'm on valium, temazepan, Quaaludes and the rest. That's why I'm incontinent. Not me weight. Bastard.'

'If you didn't have them drugs you'd be climbing the wall, especially since they closed the bingo hall. Talking of which take a 'lude cos you're doing my fucking head in.'

'You sadomasochist bastard. You ruined my life. I hate you. I will leave you know. One day.'

'But not before you get all your daughters pregnant by blokes with good jobs I hope.'

'Even if twenty of em move into the Netherfield Towers it won't do no good cos you won't do nuffing to help.'

'If there were twenty of em then I'd stir me stumps and meet em all.'

Mr. Bennet was an odd mixture of unwashed socks and Old Spice aftershave. His wife was an empty headed idiot. The business of her life was to get her daughters on benefits, with their own flats and lots of child maintenance; it's solace was watching Jeremy Kyle and talking shit with her neighbours.