leggingsunhappyagain@60+com notes form at end....

“Asura” said Kitty suddenly opening the door and stepping in. “I wanted to call the whole range that. It reflects the character of some girls I know. Too brassic. An overload. And how they pull one asunder...”

“The Style Council?” I asked laughing, “You met them too?” The little beauties were lodged in my

group. Much to my horror. It was so much Mine Kampf!

 

….................................................... .........................................................

Phyliss came back bearing gifts. Cups of coffee and biscuits. Her eyes were red and weeping.

“Are you alright?” Kitty asked hesitantly. It was usually her eyes that appeared that away.

“No,” Phyliss admitted scarlet faced. “I had a call from the Inland Revenue about the business and it suddenly got too big and scary. Some days it's almost as if I lie and steal I can get anything. A lot of people do...” Her voice tailed away, soft and scared as a rabbit down a hole. “I mean I know people who ….”

“Yes it's pretty prolific at the moment,” I agreed carefully, hoping she wasn't one of them. “It's reminiscent of the period before WW2... Grandfather used to complain about the grab anything you fancy by fancy legal holes and means. He said it might have caused the war.”

 

“Yeah,” said Phyliss hesitantly, “I have heard some complaining about how strange it all was. A bit robber baron and school tie club society. Only some people are deserving of money, and only if we say so...”

Well that brought us back to the girls at college and their Style Club...

 

“I had a bad evening last night,” said Kitty calmly, “I tried to ignore it, and just thought obnoxiously about the oddities. I wonder if it was those girls... Trying to impose the uniform on any passing woman of a certain age...”

 

“Did you notice the window display?” I asked her anxiously. I hadn't bargained for her being in today, and now she'd walked in on me. I hid the label I'd just written out. It said in large red letters

A range for the pure romantics – of any age – unfettered charm! By Kitty.

 

Kitty crossed the shop to have a closer look, “Yes,” she observed brightly, “I think that looks okay.”

“Cheers up the day,” I said.

“I like it,” said Phyliss and grabbing Kitty by the elbow she pulled her into the back room.

“You have a client waiting...”

 

The girl was about twenty-six, blonde and slim, near to six foot tall. She was at the window carefully checking out the material of the central dummy ­ Emily.

“Are you okay?” I asked carefully. It didn't do to push our clients.”

“It's cotton right?” she said sliding her hand up and down the cloth.

“Yes, you can try it on if you're interested. What size are you?”

“I think this is too big.”

“In that one I have a few sizes, it's limited number run made up.”

“How many?” asked the girl suspiciously.

“Five so far. Kitty is interested in only supplying a total of twelve in the city.”

“The price is good.” she went on, “Have you got it in a size twelve?”

“I'll have a look,” I put down the pen, and went over to the rail, all of the patchwork outfits were slightly different through the pattern, and I fetched out the size twelve quite anxiously. “The fitting room is just in here.” I pulled back the curtain and put the dress on the hook inside.

 

It was her choice obviously. Five minutes later and she walked out dressed up and waltzed over to the full length mirror. It did look good. Kitty's always did.

“Yep,” she said admiring the swaying material, “Yep, I'll have it.”

 

She paid and I wrapped the dress in the bags with Kitty's name on. Funny old thing life is, a few months back they were all intent on killing Kitty with nastiness, and now they were ready to pay through the nose for her fashion.

“How often do you have new stuff out in the shop?” she asked.

“Between the three of us, about every two weeks at present. Kitty's is really very good, I'm the weakest member of the team. My forte is this!” I gave her a huge smile.

“I'll be back!” She said in a weak imitation of Schwarzenegger and she passed through into the street.

I returned to my tidying up and watching the street minute by minute.

After a while the shop became a place of beauty, everything in its place again, and eventually Kitty stepped back in and I told her the good news.

“Great!” she said, “I'll be famous one day!”

“Last night did you see who organised it?”

“He looked like a politician, dressed in a Jehovah Witness's coat.” Kitty said solemnly. “I've no idea who he is though. He wanders about as if he thinks he's God's gift to women...”

“Possibly to those of a certain age...”

“I'd much rather read a good book,” Kitty said thoughtfully, “I'm one day going to read Lyn Truss's,

'Eats, shoots and leaves..' I was put off by her earlier book, Tennyson's Gift.”

“Why?”

“It explains why she wrote 'Eats, Shoots, and Leaves.'”

“I thought I was Tennyson's Gift...”

TKitty laughed. “You nutter!”

…...................................................

 

 

The night was old, yesterday, I'd had an odd moment, and popped up to the Small God's graveyard where the Carrion Crow roosts when it's not out visiting with Adam F, (he likes him apparently) or the Crowleys ( a much reduced race). I'd wanted to apologise for not being able to clear up the outstanding matter.

 

The both spoke to me, fair voices, long not heard, gentle and forgiving, “You can join us,” they said.

Another voice ancient, old, evil, yet not unfriendly joined in, “It's no good if you can't do anything,.” it opinionated. Was it Alistair? I wasn't sure. It could have been the crow.

 

I walked away defeated, and heard her say softly, “Poor child the world is all reversed.”

I found tears. “I'll try again.”

 

Too much was at stake, it wasn't as such the old neighbours from so many places, the old estate people who hung around expectantly. I was never to have anything and they all had their tongues hanging out. I have this strangely reversed attitude, I just want what's mine.

 

The world was hanging at an odd angle and the profiteering will lead to war. I don't want to see the beacons lit or the country mobilizing. War is a terrible thing.

 

People do odd things at such time, they re-enter life with different names, seek out ways to take from other people. Hope others will look at them and say hey, I know you from somewhere – and that the name will fill them in. If they are partially straight with a respectable job, it's even harder to spot them.

 

It's a case of mental illness gone mad. Socio-paths. dangerous criminals. A country at stake.

Some of them are likely to finish with knifes. Some of them have tried already. They go on a training run, with children, and teach them to focus emotion, I think .  Three sets (at least) spin it round through the triangle. Eventually they locate and send almost a force – wilder than the conversations they spin on the radio, which just send the mind to sleep. That can kill one too.  If electrics are used I have no idea what they are.

 

A clear mind, and the ability to think yourself another shape (either inside or out) and sidestep the final blow, can save your life. If you sidestep the 'force' simply returns to the triangle, and then it's their problem. It is their force.