Betty sighed heavily. This gawky, nineteen-year-old with limp ginger hair and a pungent nylon parka was offering her a massage. It wasn’t easy running a valleys hairdressing business where people thought £8 for a shampoo and set was daylight robbery. Could the day get any worse?
Nigel’s sister Sian was a good little hairdresser; sassy and stylish and the elderly customers who still remembered the heady excitement of jitterbugging with GI’s in the Memorial Hall liked hearing what nights out with the girls were like these days.
Betty hadn’t believed it when Sian told her Nigel would ring her with a business proposition and now, looking at him standing there in her office, with acne capable of independent life and fingers fidgeting in his pockets, the prospect of him being able to give a massage, let alone a decent one, was about as unlikely as a Lionel Blair and a troupe of trained fruit bats tap-dancing their way across the Newport transporter bridge. Continue reading “The Business Plan”
Boadicea's Chariot 