Hello, another story. I don't own the Boosh but they own me, well and truly. This was an idea I had a little while ago but gave up on as it didn't seem to be going anywhere. I'm trying again, hoping for better results second time round.

I'm fascinated by the backstory possibilities inherent in the Boosh plot inconsistencies (Wow that sounded more intelligent than it was meant to). And so this is another story about Vince and Howard's childhood. I'm not sure how it ends yet, which is a worry, but we'll see.

It all started when I re-watched Series One (again) and the banter about Vince being descended from a French Duke really jumped out at me. So here it is.

Ta-ra.

"That's my uncle, Howard. He's a French Duke!"

...

Howard had first met Vince when the younger boy had been sent to spend the school holidays with his aunt in Leeds. Howard had been ten-years-old and it was a day that he knew he'd never forget.

He'd been eating his lunch. It was a Tuesday so his mother had made bovril sandwiches and he was sitting in his accustomed spot on the low front wall in front of his house. It was a good place to watch things. Things like the other children playing and not playing with him. It was only the second day of the holidays and he was already lonely and desperate for school to start again.

Howard liked school. He was good at it and liked everyone to know he was good at it. He could impress his teacher at school, and those kids that hung out in the library. But in the holidays there was just his obsessive-compulsive mother and the trumpet his father had left him, that Howard couldn't even play. Which was worse than nothing, in Howard's opinion.

Howard chewed slowly on his sandwich, staring off into the distance and letting his mind wander. He didn't quite understand why he didn't have friends. It'd be nice to have a friend.

"Whatcha eating, small eyes?"

Howard let out a shriek and fell off the wall. He looked up to see a small boy (was it a boy?) laughing so hard he was almost doubled over. Howard frowned. Was he being mocked by preschoolers now?

"What's that on your head?" he shot back, annoyed that the kid was laughing at him.

He didn't usually fight back when teased but this kid was tiny, surely he could retort without the chance of a beating. The kid looked confused for a moment before smiling and showing off a mouth of rather crowded teeth.

"It's my hair, ain't it. I dyed it black. My Auntie Lemon was well cross. It was her dye I used, so she packed me up and shipped me here. Leeds." He shuddered dramatically and then held out a hand to help Howard to his feet. Howard stared at it suspiciously. The kid'd scared him, made him fall and then laughed at him. All of that he was fairly familiar with, but it didn't usually end with the assailant helping him up. He took the smaller boy's hand all the same, waiting for the trick but all he got was another mega watt grin as the kid helped him back to his feet.

His sandwich seemed unharmed so he kept eating but noticed that the boy was still there and was staring at his lunch like a half-starved dog.

"Did you, um, that is, would you like a sandwich?"

"Really?" The kid's eyes were like bright blue saucers and Howard felt himself start to smile. Perhaps this kid wasn't so bad after all. He held a quarter of sandwich out and the little hands grabbed it quickly, as if scared that Howard might change his mind and he watched as the kid stuffed the whole thing in at once.

"Don't eat too fast," he chided. "You'll choke if you carry on like that."

"Yeah, thanks, dad," came the muffled reply and Howard rolled his eyes. He finished his own lunch and then studied the odd looking little person before him. The kid was small and a bit pointy. His black mop of hair really did look like some sort of bad wig that'd been put on sideways and the clothes looked like they'd come from a dress-ups box. He'd never seen a boy in a red silk shirt before and knew that if he, or any other boy at his school, tried it, it would look ridiculous. And yet, on this kid, it somehow looked right. It looked good.

"What's your name, anyway?"

Howard blinked. He'd drifted off a bit there, wondering what other clothes this kid might wear and what he thought of Howard's attire. He missed his school uniform and was dressed in rough jeans and a brown jumper, not very flashy but very durable. Was durable fashionable?

"Oi!" The kid waved his hand in front of Howard's face.

"I asked you a question. You gonna be polite? What's your name?"

"Howard. Howard TJ Moon."

He tried to say it in an impressive way, like an explorer might, or James Bond, even though he knew his name was nothing special. The kid, however, was staring with his mouth open, his eyes all big again and looking genuinely impressed. Howard shifted nervously.

"Is that really your name?"

"Um. Yes?"

"It's genius. Howard TJ Moon. It's a proper man's name, Howard. Like an adventurer."

"Thanks,"

Howard felt so proud he thought he might burst. This kid definitely wasn't so bad after all.

"I'm Vince, by the way," the kid told him. "Vince Noir, Rock'n'Roll Star. That's me."

He held out his hand and Howard shook it. For such a small boy he certainly had a firm handshake. And an enthusiastic one too.

"Are you really a rock and roll star?" Howard asked skeptically.

"Nah," the boy, Vince, shook his head. "It's just how my mum used to remember it. She had a terrible memory by the end but when she said 'Vince Noir Rock'n'Roll Star!' she always remembered who I was. She said I'd grow up to be a star so I figure I have to start practicing now."

Howard nodded. The kid was weird and was making very little sense but he seemed nice enough. And like he wouldn't actually try to beat Howard up or steal his money. Those were good traits to have in a friend, right?

"Is that what the clothes and hair are about, then?"

"What?"

"Rock star practice?"

"Oh. Um, s'pose so. I just like bright clothes, really. And accessories. Accessories are genius."

"Ok."

Howard knew he should say something to continue the conversation. If he just stood there, shuffling about like a nervous tit the kid might walk off. He might never see him again, and he really didn't want that. But he didn't really do conversation. He'd never had anyone to practice on. Maybe he could practice on Vince.

"So, you like Jazz?"

"No."

"Oh."

"D'you like Mick Jagger?"

"No."

"Oh."

Well, this was going well, Howard thought. He needed to ask the kid a question that wouldn't result in just the word 'No.'

"How old are you?"

For some reason Vince scowled. He tried to make himself taller but it just made his toes point inward more and he looked like a little pigeon.

"How old are you?" he challenged.

"I'm ten," Howard shrugged. He was tall for his age, most people thought he was at least twelve, but he didn't like to stand up too straight. It got him noticed in all the wrong ways.

"Oh," Vince said in a small voice before straightening again and giving another one of what Howard was coming to call the 'Vince Noir signature smile.'

"I'm ten too!"

"You are not!"

Howard was appalled. It was such a terrible lie. Sure the kid could talk well but he couldn't be more than seven.

"I am too ten," Vince countered. "I'm just short for my age. I hope you ain't being heightist?"

"I'm not heightist," Howard replied, wondering just what a heightist was. "I'm just saying that there is no way that you are ten years old. I'd say you're six, seven at the most. Six years, eight months, and three weeks if I had to be specific."

Howard had always liked numbers and the kid was obviously impressed but then he looked down at his little pigeon-toed feet and Howard felt a bit bad. Vince didn't look happy and he really wanted Vince to be happy.

"Wow," he heard the small boy whisper. "You're good."

He went to put his hand on Vince's shoulder but the boy shrugged him off.

"I'm ten," he said firmly, looking at Howard with so much fierceness that Howard felt himself nodding along.

"Ok," he said. "You're ten."

"Good." The firmness was suddenly gone from Vince's face, replaced once more by the cheeky grin and sparkling eyes and Howard started to wonder whether it was possible to fall in love when you were ten. With a boy. Who said he was ten but was probably six. Who you'd only just met.

Maybe, he thought, he should get Vince a present? Then Vince would like him and want to be his friend, wouldn't he? Did a quarter of bovril sandwich count as a present?

"Howard? Howard? Howard!"

Vince's sing-song voice broke him out of his musings.

"What? Sorry," Howard apologised nervously. Vince probably thought he was an idiot, now. Letting his mind wander off without him. He'd probably never like him now, bovril sandwich or not.

"I like you Howard. You're weird."

"What?"

That came out a bit louder than Howard meant it to. He was just surprised but he saw Vince flinch.

"Not bad weird," Vince consoled. "Weird like me. Weird is good. That's what me Uncle Brian says, anyway. He was my favourite."

"Oh. Thanks."

"You're welcome." Howard studied Vince's face and realised that the kid meant it. There wasn't a hint of malice in what he'd said. Vince thought that weird was good. Vince thought that Howard was weird.

And he liked Howard!

"Um..." He tried to think of something to say. Something that would cement the friendship, show that he liked Vince too.

"Would you like to come inside?" Did that make him sound like a crazy person?

"We have more bread and bovril. And marmite too, if you want. And jam. I could make more sandwiches?"

Howard scrunched his eyes shut, then opened one just a tiny bit and peeked through, wanting to see Vince's reaction, even if it wasn't a positive one. He'd never invited another kids around to the house before and it felt strange to ask Vince, since they'd only just met. He felt sure he'd say no.

"Really? You'd make me sandwiches?"

"Um. Yes?"

"Aw, I love you, Howard! My Auntie Lemon was well strict with the food and Auntie Sherbert says I have to wait 'til dinner 'cos my bus arrived too late for her to make me lunch."

"What? Really?"

"Yup."

"Your auntie sounds Weird... And not in a good way."

"She is a bit. She din't really want me coming but it was her turn. She's got ten cats and smells like rotten apples."

"Crazy Cat Lady's your auntie?"

"Yup."

"Wow."

The Crazy Cat Lady was three doors down, which meant that Howard and Vince were practically neighbours. Howard smiled. He'd be able to see Vince everyday if Vince decided they were friends. But he'd also seen the Crazy Cat Lady walking back from the grocer's with her stolen shopping trolley which she only ever filled with cans of Home Brand tomato soup. Vince was tiny already. He'd fade away like a chalk drawing in the rain if he lived off soup.

"I think we'll need to make you lots of sandwiches," he said gravely and Vince looked up at him with his pointy little face and nodded back just as seriously.

Howard held out his hand. He didn't know why, he knew that most ten year old boys didn't hold hands with their friends, but it seemed like the right thing to do. Vince took it in his without hesitation and Howard led him toward the kitchen door.

A few minutes later, when they were both sitting at the kitchen table, and Howard was spreading marmite onto bread as fast as he could to keep up with how fast Vince was stuffing the sandwiches into his mouth, he couldn't help smiling. Vince smiled back and with a huge gulp that looked almost painful, swallowed his mouthful.

"Howard?"

"Yes, Vince?"

"We're friends now, yeah?"

"Um." Howard wanted to say yes, so desperately. But he didn't actually want to look desperate. Then again, Vince was looking at him with a look in his eye that looked a little bit desperate to Howard, so maybe it was ok. He could call it enthusiastic instead of desperate. That sounded much better.

"Yes," he said and saw Vince actually sag with relief. "We're friends Vince."

"Best friends? Forever?"

"Ok," Howard nodded and was rewarded by another sunshine smile. He was fairly sure he'd do just about anything for one of those smiles.

...

And that was how it started.