One important thing to be aware of about nuns. When they say they're going to give you a total makeover, they aren't kidding. I figure it's the backed up pressure of not really being able to experiment themselves that means when they do get a chance it's Nuns Go Wild!

Not that I'm complaining. The object was to make me unrecognisable to the casual observer whilst definitely not matching any photofits or previous photographs that could be given to the papers, police or TV for use in a manhunt (Womanhunt? Personhunt?). The good sisters have certainly succeeded. I woke up this morning a pale skinned, goth girl type with blue eyes and straight, raven black hair, called Emily. I'm still pale skinned, but with masses of wavy flame coloured hair, and green eyes (contacts), and a lovely, pale, floaty dress which I think is attractive but still within the bounds of non-slutty respectability.

My name is now Aoife Donnelly and I have the id to prove it. Who would have thought nuns would be natural criminal masterminds? Best of all, I look totally different but still pretty. Yes, I know I'm shallow. Sue me.

On top of this I have a job interview, arranged for me by Sister Consuela. As I step from burning sunshine through the deliberately old-fashioned-Western-style swinging doors into the dim bar it looks like things are looking up. That's when I see the bear.

“Aaah! I shriek, as it rears over me. Then I feel extremely silly as my eyes adjust and I see that the 'bear' is actually a very large, very broad, very heavy man with long greying hair, and a beard you could lose a badger in.

“How do you feel about flirting?” He rumbles

“Um, I'm sorry but I only just got out of a relationship, I don't think I'm ready for anything new.”

“I meant customers. We don't allow harassment and if anyone lays a finger on you me or the boys will break it for them, but there ain't nothing on Earth will stop young men with a drink in them flirting with young women, so I need to be sure you can cope.”

Bearface McBear paused for a minute and his enormous bushy eyebrows knitted together in what I thought was probably a frown if only I could have seen his forehead under the hair falling over it. “You are here about the job aren't you? 'Cause I'm gonna be real embarrassed it turns out you ain't.”

“Oh, I am!” I said hastily “And honestly, I quite like being chatted up, as long as the person doing it understands that a no is a no.”

“Folks that come in here understand that or they go out of here real fast.” He reassured me. “The name's Adams, Grizzly to my friends.”

“Grizzly Adams? Seriously?” I blurt, before clapping a hand over my mouth. What is it with me and verbal incontinence recently? Luckily he's laughing at my consternation.

“Yep. Showing my age, I know.”

“Huh?”

“There was a TV show by that name a good many years ago. Warn't all that good. Let me show you around”

My newly adjusted eyes could see that the building was old style timber framed, divided into several enormous rooms, each served by bars and counters from the same central rectangle. What was surprising was just how different the rooms were.

“This place is the town's best bar, a good restaurant, the comedy club, a music venue and the coffee bar for the town's college students.”

“There's a college here?”

“Nope, it's twenty miles away, but it's cheaper for a lot of students to live here and commute, especially the ones who come from here in the first place. We can be very intellectual here. Why we used to have performance poetry nights in the back room.”

“Used to?”

“Old man McGinty got up and asked why the poems didn't rhyme. Then he started quoting Longfellow, to show them how it was done. Give them credit, those poets took it pretty well and there was a fine debate going right up until someone said Marlowe wrote Shakespeare's plays. A little while after that Mr McGinty slugged someone with a stool.”

“Oh! Does he care a lot about the authorship of Shakespeare's plays?”

He don't know a darn thing about it. That's why he had to slug somebody. He just plain ran outta argyments” Mr Adams paused, lost in thought for a moment “Some of those poets are real mean for their size. I guess Hell hath no fury like a poet scorned.”

“What happened to Mr McGinty?”

“Oh I barred him too, so he converted a barn on his farm into a venue and started a weekly poetry appreciation society. I've never been. Truth to tell I've heard stories and I reckon I ain't man enough.” From somewhere in the mass of hair a bright blue eye winked at me.

“Now this room,” he continued, leading me through another door “is where we hold bluegrass night on Wednesdays and open mike nights on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Those nights you can sing anything you like except for white boy rap or Gregorian plainchant. I've had to throw a few of your friends from the nunnery out over that. Not fun, nuns get kind of mean when they're riled.” All this was said so deadpan he almost had me for a moment.

Abruptly he turned around.

“Now, you've seen the place. I need a barmaid from 6.30 to 1ppm Monday to Thursday, through to 1am Fridays and Sundays and a waitress 11am to 3pm Monday to Friday, occasional overtime for special events and I pay three dollars an hour over minimum wage plus overtime after midnight. You want the job?”

“Just like that?”

“Yup. No one Sister Consuela sent ever let me down yet.”

“Yes please!”

I was positively looking forward to this. I wasn't sure if I could believe a word Mr Adam's said but I was pretty certain working for him would never be dull .