"Nice scone" said Clifford Beasley.

"Has he?" said Clifford Davies.

“Has he what?”

“Gone”

“Who?”

“Nye”

“Who's Nye?”

“I don't bloody know, you mentioned him”

And thus it was with the Cliffs, as they were known. Clifford Beasley was usually called Cliff and Clifford Davies was usually called Cliffy.

“I said, nice scone, this that I'm eating, this scone it's nice”

“I’ve got a nice Chelsea bun today” Cliffy replied.

Cliff and Cliffy were having a bit of a break and as usual were comparing their snacks.

“You've got to be careful with a scone, they can be dry, but this is a nice one.”

“Did you finish feeding the Pangolin by the way?” said Cliffy

“I did indeed, poor little bugger was starving.”

Cliffy and Cliff worked in the Zoo. They weren't animal specialists as such, but they knew how to tempt a Marmoset with a carrot, or the best way to corral a Giraffe. They thought of themselves more as cowboys, animal wranglers.

Cliffy had started there first, twenty years ago. Cliff came along two years later. They often said they knew as much as Attenborough. They referred to him as Attenborough as though he was someone they might drink with in the Pig and Bishop. It was a rarely open pub, the landlord being inclined to drink his own stock, but the Cliffs thought Attenborough would have liked it. They knew they could have managed those gorillas just as well as he did.

“Come on Cliffy. Hurry up with that bun, we've got the bears to sort out.” sighed Cliff, stuffing the remains of his scone in a pocket.

Of all the animals in the zoo it was the bears that scared them. 6 years previously Cliff had an incident with a Honey Bear. He had been distracted by a passing peacock and taken his eye off the ball. He couldn’t sit for weeks.

They packed away their lunch and made their way to the enclosure in which were two slightly mangy looking bears. It was a hot day and the bigger of the bears was laying in the shade of their one scrappy tree. The other bear was pacing, looking slightly agitated.

As usual Cliffy took the coin from his pocket.

“Heads or tails?”

“Tails”

Up went the coin, reaching the zenith of its arc before falling into the dusty ground.

“Heads, don't worry though mate, I'll do it today, you’ve done the last 3.”

Cliff opened the gate as Cliffy went in carrying the bucket.

He moved slowly, keeping the bears in his peripheral vision. He emptied the bucket as usual and turned to leave. As he turned he heard a bellow, it sounded like a record at the wrong speed

“CLLLIIIIFFFFFYYYY…”

The smaller bear was moving towards him with gathering speed. Their eyes locked for a moment and Cliff remembered the time he put his hands up the blouse of Mary Owens aged 11. Then he felt a hand on his overall pulling him through the gate. It clanged shut as the bear slammed against it..

They stood facing each other, sweat dripping and chests heaving.

“Bloody hell!” said Cliffy

“Bloody hell!” said Cliff

“It was that bloody scone I reckon, he could smell it in your pocket.”

“What scone?”

“Nothing's gone”

“Pub?”

“Yes please, might not be open though.”