"There!" shouted Brian, pointing to the buddleia bushes in the corner next to court four.

Just distinguishable through the bushes were not just one but two motionless figures peering intently towards the trees at the far end of the clubhouse.

"Excuse me!" shouted Brian, striding purposefully across the lawn towards them. "Just what do you think you're doing?"

"Oh, hi." came a voice from the bushes. "We're looking for a warbler."

"A wobbler? Well, I'm going to throw a wobbler in a minute!" retorted the Club Chairman, hands on hips. "This is a private members' club and you are trespassing!"

"Yes, I'm sorry," came the voice from the bushes. "Only it's a warbler, you see - a bird. We're twitchers. And this species hasn't been seen here in the last eight years."

The two young men emerged from the leaves, clad in camouflage fatigues, a walkie-talkie in one hand and binoculars in the other. One of them offered his hand to the Chairman, "How do you do. I'm Jeremy Bell. Just call me Jez," he said, flicking his hair out of his eyes to reveal a strange racket-shaped scar. "This is my friend, Ned Ferry. I hope we're not causing any trouble."

"No. Yes! Well. The thing is . . ." said the Chairman, shaking the young man's hand. "Um. Brian Godfree. Pleased to meet you, I'm sure. Well, exactly how long do you intend to do this, um, twitching?"

"It's a really important sighting and we have to be prepared to spend the weekend here," said Jez. "Er, if it's all right?"

A crowd of members had now gathered around the intruders. "I remember you!" exclaimed a young lady in a baggy tracksuit. "My mother brought you here once and you put ants in her sandwiches!"

"Well I was very young then," said Jeremy, looking embarrassed.

The young lady thrust her hands into her pockets with a look of indignation and embarked on a series of fidgets which were exaggerated by the rippling of her voluminous tracksuit.

"Never got over it!" she complained to her friends. "Still has nightmares, you know!"

"Just a boyish prank, Ginny," said one of her friends. "I'm sure he didn't mean any harm."

At that moment, the billowing tracksuit - with Virginia Dodds somewhere inside it - sank to the ground with a sigh of distress.

"She's fainted," announced her friend. "Fetch some water, somebody!"

While the assembled members were attending to the stricken Miss Dodds, the two intruders had had another fleeting glimpse of the elusive warbler. Jez was now balanced precariously on the top of an umpire's chair, binoculars trained on a bush in the adjoining field.

"Look out! It's not safe! . . ." yelled the Chairman, but it was too late.

When he came round, Jez was sitting in the clubhouse with a bandage round his head, a crumpled bird log by his side and Ginny's friend waiting attentively in front of him with a cup of tea and a plate of chocolate muesli bars.

Jez took one of the chocolate bars, smiled at Ginny's friend, winced in pain and smiled again. It was love at first bite.

"Hi, I'm Tracey. How are you feeling?" asked Ginny's friend. "I'm afraid your binoculars have had it!"

"That's ok. I'm giving up birdwatching for something less dangerous."

"Like what?" asked Tracey.

"Have you got a spare racket?"