Death Dances in the Shadows

Powderfinger  Published and available from Amazon: http://www.amazon.co.uk/Powderfinger-Keller-Yeats-ebook/dp/B00NU7FT9W/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1411901931&sr=1-1&keywords=%22Powderfinger%22+by+Keller+Yeats

Here is another excerpt from “Powderfinger,” this time from chapter 5.

images Little did Desmond know, when he appointed her, after a drunken night of botched love making, on a lumpy bed in Room 13 of the Cadbury Lodge in Havertree, that she was truly hopeless at her editing job. She had only been given her position in London, because of a disastrous liaison with the son of the boss. They needed to keep her quiet and so the position of Picture Editor of “Little Miss Pink,” a pre-teens magazine for young ladies, was invented as a convenience. It’s contents concentrated mainly on pieces about make up, non threatening “born with silver spoon in mouth” wealthy boys and of course pony’s. Lots of pony’s. Very occasionally, it had a cobbled together feature, that hung precariously around the neck of something like a Royal Wedding, or another A-List Celebrity bust up. Most of Little Miss Pink readers, were under twelve years of age so any unflattering correspondence, referring to Lyndsey’s errors, rapidly found their way into the waste paper bin. To say, that she came to The Legend, highly recommended, was of no meaningful concern. Desmond Desmond, was infatuated and all suitability checks stopped in her panties.

Unencumbered by such concerns, Miss O’Sullivan carried on in her own merry way and Nick would not have changed one single thing about her incompetence. He still giggled inside, whenever he thought about the immortal, “Housewife Inferno” story. The implications were indeed intellectually delicious and the pictures they painted in his mind, were priceless. Who could forget, the morning that it had appeared in the paper. All that day he had found, that he was giggling, sometimes inappropriately, every time the headline crossed his mind. Nick, was so impressed with the inadvertent comedic qualities of the whole farrago, that he had carefully cut it out of the paper and stuck it in his “Scrapbook of mirth.” This contained his collections of Steve Bell cartoons and the phenomenally funny, “Adventures of The Lone Groover,” by Ray Lowry, which had started the whole thing off, way back in the days when he subscribed to ‘The New Musical Express.’ To this day, he still laughed out loud, every time he thought of the immortal, “Cliff, Little and Keith Pillchard,” strips.

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