Reply To: The Precious Life and Rambles of Liz Tattler

“Where are you scurrying of to now, Finnley? And what are you doing with my pantomime costumes?”

Shooting a look of exasperation at Liz, Finnley replied, “To the cleaners, they smell of mold. And stale cigarette smoke. Disgusting, if you ask me.”

“Nobody did ask you what you thought Finnley, I asked what you were doing.”

Finnley had had enough. She bundled up the voluminous satin and sequinned net into an approximation of a big snowball and launched it at Liz. As it flew through the room it unravelled, an updraught sending a length of lacy net upwards to catch on the chandelier, causing it to swing in lurching circles.

At that moment, Roberto’s face appeared in the window, registering a look of fascinated horror. “It’s the ghost of Pink Pantomine Past!  Now we’re in trouble!”