Lettered across the shop window was the boast: 'London's Premier TV Centre', although I never recall seeing a single television set for sale in that s...op. Along the back wall of this jumbled window display was a trio of tailors' dummies dressed in ornate Victorian corsets. The doorbell clanged as I entered the musty interior and Uncle Guy appeared from a back room. His broad smile showed that he was obviously pleased to see me as I handed over the envelope. "I'll close up now, Tim, and we'll go. ” He advised, dropping the bag near the front door.“What is it?”“It is your old clothes and hair from the party,” he spoke almost conspiratorially, “plus some of your dried up puke.”I blanched and made a grossed-out face.“What the Hell makes you so happy about this?”Van rolled his eyes, and took a seat next to me, and spoke gently. “Don’t you see? This is your exit strategy. I had to create mine… You have yours already.” Then he paused. “Courtney… to sell this, you have to end girl Courtney.... More

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