by Olwen 'Olly' Nash
Claudette and Olwen had decided to kick off their heels (and any extraneous scrotum) and stop to freshen up in their luxury suite at Silicon Studio before going any further. After a quick dip in the goats milk bath, a 15 minute sesh in the en-suite hareem proved to be just the tonic. If they were going to split up the biggest fight in Soho since King Harumphheedee yelled his first hunting call, the slick softy gals would need all the knuckle dusters they could fit onto their muscular fingers so they adorned their battle silverware. Leaving their nymphs Brad, Jude, Jonny D and Jimmy D pining and whining, the Z gals strode into the night. The earth shook, people scurried into the darkest shadows. These gals meant mean business - no student would get their X and Z mixed up again.
Heads turned within the mottley crew just moments before Claudette and Olwena took control of the situation, hollering "You boys calm down, you should be ashamed of yerselves. At your age, at our age, at your age". The gals knew it was not to be an easy task and felt confidence, since they usually had more stamina than most meagre men they came across, but these guys had strong wrists and all frustrations were flying. Claudetta and Olwena finally took control - the Tequila holsters came in handy for the drinking glass ammo. Punters ducked as glasses flew and the spaghetti showdown began. Just as the Z gals held back from getting carried away, a faint vision of light glimmered into being, perfectly constrained to the ...erm, I mean a figure of light fluttered into the centre of the SI Warriors.
" Be calm, my friends, for you are Softies and I bring you good news and gifts. I have sold out, shut up shop and am giving each and every one of you loyal SI Warrios tickets to your paradise holiday home, in non other than Sumatra", uttered Angel Langlois moments before his alpha channel softly faded and flight coupons flocked to the ground.
In their haste, the Z gals and B-spline boys missed the mb trail of a fading vision that Angel Langlois left behind and without further ado skipped off to the airport, stopping only at Superdrug for sunblock and Borders for reading matter.
A new millenium had echoed silently through the streets of Soho, whispering up the mish mash of architecture and sneaking a glimpse through the penthouse windows of empty offices. A squirrel in Hampstead Heath scurried over a brightly printed, but torn and wind tumbled, magazine page. It stopped a moment to sample the remnants of a front cover of " ..ost Updat"...then arced over a leafy bed into the woods. If anyone had been left in the city they would have caught a glimpse of the headline for the new millenium, "Exodus to Sumtra - Soft delivers customers to Sumatra". Typo? No. Soft had finally been true to a play on words. One can dream! Ahhh, the lap of the ocean in the pale moonlight.
next week: Nothing planned. No, really.