In the last post: Bert's fiance, Olive, was on the dance floor. Bert was at the bar, and he wasn't happy...
Dear friends, if you like a pleasant chuckle, dim-witted heroes, and larger-than-life villains, then you'll love this fascinating series. On Tuesdays and Saturdays, I’m blogging nibble-sized chunks of new ‘Life in the Clouds’ stories. You can check in regularly and read them as my gift to you, or wait to buy the entire story when published.Enchanter on the Roof ® James Field. Part 10At Ye Olde Inn disco, teenage girls flocked around Dick Charmer. The young roofing contractor danced with fluid sensuality, and the girls copied his erotic moves, hustling one another for best position.
Bert propped up the bar with his elbow, finished his fourth beer and scowled at his fiancé. Olive stood on the edge of the dance floor and faced the crowd with her back to the disc-jockey. From the look of determined concentration on her face she struggled to find the music's rhythm. Her limbs did scant more than jerk and twitch as if someone had tipped a handful of wiggly maggots down her neck.
She'd dressed in black meshed stockings and perilously narrow miniskirt. Her blouse left little to the imagination, and her breasts wobbled like mounds of jelly on a plate.
Bert thought she resembled a plump fried sausage bursting out of its skin, and her brazenness made his blood boil. Her arms, he saw, had finally found the beat—her fists pounded the air in front of her, as though kneading a mass of dough.
Carrying considerably more pounds of flesh and flab than the teenage girls, Olive advanced on Dick Charmer, scattering the competition like skittles. When she reached him, she flung her arms around his shoulders and pressed her body against his.
Bert slammed his empty beer mug on the bar and stuffed a handful of peanuts in his mouth. “Tonight,” he growled to himself. “Tonight there’s going to be a murder!”
To be continued…
Image by Hugo Hercer from PixabayThe real world:Rather than miss an instalment, it’s easy to follow my blog on
bloglovin
’. They’ll give you a friendly nudge as I release new parts.
Like to know more about Alf, Bert and the rest of the gang? You can read their chaotic history in What on Earth.
Bert propped up the bar with his elbow, finished his fourth beer and scowled at his fiancé. Olive stood on the edge of the dance floor and faced the crowd with her back to the disc-jockey. From the look of determined concentration on her face she struggled to find the music's rhythm. Her limbs did scant more than jerk and twitch as if someone had tipped a handful of wiggly maggots down her neck.
She'd dressed in black meshed stockings and perilously narrow miniskirt. Her blouse left little to the imagination, and her breasts wobbled like mounds of jelly on a plate.
Bert thought she resembled a plump fried sausage bursting out of its skin, and her brazenness made his blood boil. Her arms, he saw, had finally found the beat—her fists pounded the air in front of her, as though kneading a mass of dough.
Carrying considerably more pounds of flesh and flab than the teenage girls, Olive advanced on Dick Charmer, scattering the competition like skittles. When she reached him, she flung her arms around his shoulders and pressed her body against his.
Bert slammed his empty beer mug on the bar and stuffed a handful of peanuts in his mouth. “Tonight,” he growled to himself. “Tonight there’s going to be a murder!”
To be continued…
Image by Hugo Hercer from PixabayThe real world:Rather than miss an instalment, it’s easy to follow my blog on
bloglovin
’. They’ll give you a friendly nudge as I release new parts.
Like to know more about Alf, Bert and the rest of the gang? You can read their chaotic history in What on Earth.
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