Christ's shiny cockring, it's a new chapter. Which isn't strictly true, as it appears I wrote all of this and a little more probably around last summer (judging by the reference to hayfever tablets), opened it today, changed one word, deleted a pointless bit from the end, and called it a complete chapter.

I have started the next chapter, though. And we all know how well that's gone for me in recent times. Don't hold your breath on another one very soon, possibly-non-existent-readership, but I am determined to get this finished. It's just life stuff getting in the way. Today I went to IKEA. On a saturday lunchtime. Yeah.

A fresh morning brought with it the usual chorus of moaning traffic (it was too early to have worked itself up into a roar yet), delighted shrieks of children fuelled by the prospect of a day spent terrorising local fauna, and the increasingly aggravated gurgle of the kettle, as Howard prepared his first beverage of the day.

Unlike his housemates, he'd never been one for spending a lazy morning in bed, and much preferred to be alert and productive, even if he had nothing in particular to do; this led to many a smug grin at around noon as one by one they emerged to find him 'just taking a break' – usually from a Hollyoaks marathon or a mental list of the seventeen popular bands with jazz backgrounds few knew of.

This morning however, he was trying his best to stay out of the way as Tara bustled around preparing for her first day at YAWN, providing herself with a running commentary as she did so. "Right, so I've got those... that's in the.. don't need that.. what've I done with my... ohh, buggerbuggerbuggerbugger.."

Naboo emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in a towel and holding Tara's purse. "Think you'll need this?"

An exclamation of joy and surprise issued forth from Tara.

"I found it in the medicine cupboard."

"In the...? Oh, I took some hayfever tablets out." She remembered. "Didn't want to be sniffing and sneezing all the way through."

Naboo kissed her and made his way to the bedrooom to get dressed, hammering on Vince's door along the way. "Vince! Get up!"

Vince would be accompanying Naboo to a meeting about the shop downstairs, as his merchandise would be the legitimate front for Naboo's shamanic business. Though Howard had been given a mistrusting 'maybe' with regard to his contributing, he wasn't allowed to the meeting today, due in equal parts to Vince being more charming and the person whom they were meeting was a beautiful woman. They'd have no chance with Howard present.

Not that he minded – if everyone were out of the house, it left him free to pursue his own interests. Howard Moon had plans of his own.

As Tara munched down a nutella and banana toastie (seriously, try one) and in doing so got herself covered in melted chocolate spread, Bollo emerged from his room dressed in the manner of a nineteen fifties schoolboy: shorts, collar and tie, and a slightly battered boater hat.

"Bollo visiting auntie at seaside. Very traditional. Back tomorrow."

With that, he picked up a suitcase covered in old-fashioned labels, and trudged downstairs.


In a stuffy waiting room, Vince picked at his shirt cuff, prompting a hiss from Naboo. "I told you to dress for business!"

"I'm in a suit!" Technically this was true, though the truth found the going a little difficult after that, and struggled to make it to 'actually', 'seemingly', or even 'probably'. The suit had been heavily decorated with colourful fabric ribbon, and now resembled something Wizzard might have worn for meetings with record executives.

He shrugged. "I had to put my own spin on it, didn't I?"

Naboo's retort was interrupted by the opening of a door, through which stepped a dark-skinned woman in a red business suit, with loosely curled hair and chunky jewellery.

"Mister Noir and Naboo?" She smiled. "Come in."

Once seated inside her office, they were introduced properly. "My name's Zola, I'm going to be guiding you through the process of starting a new business. Can you give me an outline of your plan?"

"There's a shop below the flat we live in that's been empty for a few months, so we were thinking of buying it and selling cool, funky stuff there. We've got lots of creative friends, and lots of fashionable people, so we think we could really make it a success and bring a bit of life back into the area."

"Hmm, I see. Where is it you live?"

"Dalston."

"Hmm. What sort of things are you hoping to sell?"

Vince had been trying to behave himself during this, but felt that now was his time to shine. "That's where I come in." He grinned. "My sister's an artist, so we'll have stuff of hers in, I do a bit of painting, bit of clothes design, bit of music... I make all sorts of things people love, I'll show you."

He delved into the canvas bag he'd brought with him, producing a small array of his personal nic-nacs. Yes, that's what I said. Yes, I am going to leave that there. It's your problem now.

Zola's eyes glanced over the items on her desk, then her eyes lingered on Vince, an interested smile on her lips.

"Dalston's a promising area, but it's still struggling at the moment. Are you confident that you'll be able to make a business work there?"

"If I sell it, they'll come."

Zola smiled. "So, Mr Naboo-"

"-It's just Naboo."

"-Naboo, what will your role be in the business, if your friends are supplying the merchandise?"

"I'll be the manager."

"Do you have any experience as a manager?"

Naboo considered his history of keeping Vince and Howard in check, being in charge of various familiars, and those three hours supervising The Who. "A bit, yeah."

"So you're.." Zola shifted in her chair, leaning forward on her desk, where the pressure from her arms created an impressive sight both men did their best not to stare at. "..good at keeping people in their place?"

"Uhh..." Naboo looked at Vince, panicked. A conversation of "What's going on?" "Why's she flirting with you when I'm here?" "Help me!" "Nah, it'll help us." "I'm engaged to your sister!" "So, she'll think it's funny!""I'm not..." "Just do it!" happened wordlessly within the space of about two seconds, before he turned back to Zola with what he hoped was a flirtatious smile rather than the constipated grimace it felt like. "Well, I'm certainly a big believer in discipline.."

My A/Ns are getting bitter. I dislike this. Must work harder. Sorry. Here, have a biscuit. Leave a review. And no crumbs.