Jamie Jones showered and changed. Quietly, he tapped on his Mum’s bedroom door and peered in. She was in bed, reading.
“Off to the pub, mum. Pets are fed. Shan’t be late.” She nodded, as her eyes slowly closed. “Go on, Jamie. When these tablets kick in I’ll be spark out.” He blew her a kiss.
The walk to the Angel gave Jamie too much time to think. He looked after his mum and her pets, and paid £40 a week board for the privilege. He thought about his dead end job at the crisp factory and how it made his spots itch. It cost him a fortune in cosmetics.
The lads at work constantly teased him because he didn’t have a girlfriend. But luckily, none of them went to his local.
On Saturday nights he really came alive. This was his night.
Music night at the Angel and he was the star turn.
“Jamie, your outfit’s upstairs.” Brian, the landlord gave him a nod while testing the sound system.
Twenty minutes, and everything was ready. Brian gave Jamie the big build up.
“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! IT’S YOUR SATURDAY NITE SPECIAL! HERE SHE IS, YOUR VERY OWN ANGEL, JANEY JONES!”