8pm

8pm?.....8pm!!!!!....I’m late. The queen is going to kill me. How many times has that old witch been pissed off with my time-keeping. I’ve ran out of excuses. I scurry down alleys and tunnels that loom like the entrance to Hades. This time it wasn’t my fault as the recollection keeps me irritatingly entertained as I lumber through streets in this burden of a costume. Ah, yes, the costume. It wasn’t the one I had wanted but it was all that was left by the time I finally managed to get to the shop. A sad, supposedly white but was obviously aware of its own colour blindness, costume with long floppy ears. I stumble. Check my watch. 8pm...8pm??.The bloody thing must of stopped. How late am I? She is going to have my head. I promised I would get to the party on time. I turn the corner and see the club in front of me, a long line of colourful characters like a row of playing cards standing on end wait outside to go in. Jam the office tart is snogging the bouncer as I walk past.

‘You must be off your head to turn up this late’ she says as she hands me a drink. ‘Drink that. You will need it when she sees you.’

I attempt the walk of the proud condemned as I enter this booming hole of flashing rainbow doom.