Tossing the G string to one side Nigel selected a pair of skimpy gold coloured underpants with two eyes, a moulting black Mexican style moustache and a long pink plastic nose sewn onto the front of them. “Tools of the trade,” he explained clutching his...
Lire la suite“Where the hell are you?” I asked him. Four days had drifted wearily past since the babysitting episode, the last three of them I’d been totally alone. The only reason I’d been given for my brother’s sudden absence was a note shoved through my letterbox...
Lire la suiteChapter Two A Job (God help us) “Who are you then?” She asked, a women in early sixties, who would have looked motherly if she hadn’t bee squinting at me, distrust written all over her face. “I’m from…” “There’s a sign on the gate saying ‘No Salesmen’...
Lire la suite“Catch” My dim witted brother Jason lobbed me a ball as I walked through the door of our seedy third floor office. I yelped, caught it, recognised it as a hand grenade from the various war Sally, who was on her way out of the ladies, caught it in one...
Lire la suiteChapter 1 The Big mistake On the morning the story really begins in earnest an icy wind was blowing in from Siberia, or Norfolk, (Global warming phobia hadn’t yet struck, at that time we were still panicking about an immanent ice age), and the city cowered...
Lire la suitePREFACE Reflections, or more correctly, where did I fuck up? Like all innocent men, thrown into prison on a murder charge, all I could do was protest my innocence and feel horribly slighted and unappreciated when nobody listened.. Might have helped of...
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