IT WAS just another Sunday in Great Stukeley even though the village's most famous resident was fighting for his political life in his conservatory.
The only sign that history might be in the making in this quiet Cambridgeshire village was a clutch of BBC television vans parked at the back of Mr Major's impressive detached home on the edge of Great Stukeley.
Few of the other residents ventured out on a damp and dismal day. And locals in the village pub did not even bother to turn on the television to hear what Mr Major had to say.
Drinkers in the Three Horseshoes showed little or no interest in Mr Major's throw of the political dice. Talk in the pub was focused instead on dominoes, racing and hairdos. At just after 1 p.m., while Mr Major was in full flight, the television on the corner of the bar stood silent and blank.
"No one's asked me to turn it on or even mentioned the interview," said the landlady, Ms Frances Davies.
Other residents seemed unaware that the interview was taking place. One man on his way to buy a Sunday newspaper said: "Why are all those TV cameras there. Has he resigned?"
And there was no clue about Mr Major's plight to be had from the local press. The Hunts Post centred its attention on an estate agent who had rescued someone from a car accident.
The Huntingdon edition of the Cambridge Evening News was writing about a man who had climbed on top of a train. Perhaps a common theme beginning to emerge there?
It was the first time that Mr Major had agreed to talk to television journalists in his home just outside Huntingdon, Cambs.
He entertained the BBC crew in his conservatory and posed for still pictures there just before beginnings his interview.
Dressed in a grey suit, pink shirt and blue and white spotted tie, he spent the best part of an hour talking to the interviewer, John Humphrys.
Mr Major was due to spend the weekend in his constituency and apparently felt that being interviewed at home would be more convenient. The BBC agreed to prerecord the interview this morning to give Mr Major the opportunity to have Sunday lunch as normal with his wife, Norma, and their two children.