breath of fresh air anyway.’
‘You do that,’ agreed TT. ‘I don’t know about anyone else, but I’m starving. Big day tomorrow. Need to keep our strength up. Oh – and just look in on Gareth, would you? I don’t want him to feel he’s been abandoned.’
Filth strolled into the foyer, which was a scene of great activity. Bellboys, maids and porters were scuttling around in a state of hysterical excitement. The source of the fuss was a tall figure dressed in a black silk robe lined with scarlet. He was surrounded by shiny suitcases and talking to the Ghoul at the reception desk. Although it was night-time, he was wearing sunglasses.
Filth knew who this was, of course. Scott Sinister, star of stage and screen. Everyone recognised him .
Most people would be impressed to be in the presence of one so famous, but Filth was one of those rare types who wasn’t. He had a nifty little riff going around in his head that was far more interesting.
Everyone seemed a bit busy, so Filth decided to wait before enquiring about sandwiches. He would steer clear of the desk, pop out and cool down a bit, check on Gareth, then collar the manager on the way back in, when he wasn’t so busy.
He stepped through the glass doors into the fresh night air. The full moon was wonderful. If TT was right and Tallula was off somewhere howling at it, he hoped it was doing her a power of good.
The band van was in the car park, next to a long, sleek limousine.
Filth sauntered over, pulled open the van door and climbed in.
The bowl sat on the dashboard in a pale shaft of moonlight. Gareth was suspended in the middle, fins gently moving, tail swishing slowly from side to side, looking inscrutable.
Filth leaned in close. He said, ‘Hey. You OK, fish dude?’
There was a long pause where nothing happened. Then –
From out of Gareth’s gaping mouth appeared a bubble. A big, cheery-looking bubble. It shot to the surface and popped in a minuscule explosion of air.
PLOP! Just like that.
‘Yeah,’ said Filth happily. ‘Me too.’
Well, he was. Tomorrow he would be playing Crash ’n’ Bang to a big audience in a big field, in the sunshine. For Filth, it was all about the music.
‘So what about the sandwiches?’ asked Arthur querulously as Filth came strolling back into the boiler room, which was hotter than ever. ‘Are they sending them?’
‘No,’ said Filth. ‘There’s, like, a notice? Room service cancelled.’
‘Cancelled?’ Arthur exploded upright, sending his carefully placed tissues flying.
‘That’s what it said.’ Filth threw himself back on to his mattress.
‘You didn’t complain to the manager?’
‘Dude was busy. Scott Sinister’s just arrived.’
‘What?’ gasped TT, sitting bolt upright. ‘Scott Sinister? Really? Staying here ? Why didn’t you say ?’
‘I just did.’
‘Oh my!’ TT was beside himself with excitement. ‘Wow! Hear that, boys? I love Scott Sinister! Those Killer Poodle films are ace ! Arthur? O’Brian? Hear that? I’ve booked us into the same hotel as Scott Sinister!’
‘Oh, that’s all right then,’ said Arthur. ‘I wonder which room he’s got? The broom cupboard, perhaps?’
‘D’you know what I’m thinking?’ went on TT. ‘I’m thinking he’s one of the Mystery Celebrities on the judging panel. It’d make sense if I went out there and introduced myself, don’t you think? Shake his hand, tell him we’re all big admirers, ask him to vote for us . . .’
‘No,’ said Filth firmly. ‘Wouldn’t be cool, dude.’
‘Oh. Well, perhaps you’re right. Did you check on Gareth?’
‘Yeah. Says he’s OK.’
‘Good,’ said TT. ‘I thought he would be.’
There was a pause.
‘What d’you mean, he says he’s OK?’ said Arthur.
‘He’s OK, OK?’ Filth gave a yawn. ‘Kinda excited about tomorrow, a bit on edge, but looking forward to it, you know? Sends everyone his regards.’
‘I see,’ sneered Arthur. ‘That’s what he said , is
‘You do that,’ agreed TT. ‘I don’t know about anyone else, but I’m starving. Big day tomorrow. Need to keep our strength up. Oh – and just look in on Gareth, would you? I don’t want him to feel he’s been abandoned.’
Filth strolled into the foyer, which was a scene of great activity. Bellboys, maids and porters were scuttling around in a state of hysterical excitement. The source of the fuss was a tall figure dressed in a black silk robe lined with scarlet. He was surrounded by shiny suitcases and talking to the Ghoul at the reception desk. Although it was night-time, he was wearing sunglasses.
Filth knew who this was, of course. Scott Sinister, star of stage and screen. Everyone recognised him .
Most people would be impressed to be in the presence of one so famous, but Filth was one of those rare types who wasn’t. He had a nifty little riff going around in his head that was far more interesting.
Everyone seemed a bit busy, so Filth decided to wait before enquiring about sandwiches. He would steer clear of the desk, pop out and cool down a bit, check on Gareth, then collar the manager on the way back in, when he wasn’t so busy.
He stepped through the glass doors into the fresh night air. The full moon was wonderful. If TT was right and Tallula was off somewhere howling at it, he hoped it was doing her a power of good.
The band van was in the car park, next to a long, sleek limousine.
Filth sauntered over, pulled open the van door and climbed in.
The bowl sat on the dashboard in a pale shaft of moonlight. Gareth was suspended in the middle, fins gently moving, tail swishing slowly from side to side, looking inscrutable.
Filth leaned in close. He said, ‘Hey. You OK, fish dude?’
There was a long pause where nothing happened. Then –
From out of Gareth’s gaping mouth appeared a bubble. A big, cheery-looking bubble. It shot to the surface and popped in a minuscule explosion of air.
PLOP! Just like that.
‘Yeah,’ said Filth happily. ‘Me too.’
Well, he was. Tomorrow he would be playing Crash ’n’ Bang to a big audience in a big field, in the sunshine. For Filth, it was all about the music.
‘So what about the sandwiches?’ asked Arthur querulously as Filth came strolling back into the boiler room, which was hotter than ever. ‘Are they sending them?’
‘No,’ said Filth. ‘There’s, like, a notice? Room service cancelled.’
‘Cancelled?’ Arthur exploded upright, sending his carefully placed tissues flying.
‘That’s what it said.’ Filth threw himself back on to his mattress.
‘You didn’t complain to the manager?’
‘Dude was busy. Scott Sinister’s just arrived.’
‘What?’ gasped TT, sitting bolt upright. ‘Scott Sinister? Really? Staying here ? Why didn’t you say ?’
‘I just did.’
‘Oh my!’ TT was beside himself with excitement. ‘Wow! Hear that, boys? I love Scott Sinister! Those Killer Poodle films are ace ! Arthur? O’Brian? Hear that? I’ve booked us into the same hotel as Scott Sinister!’
‘Oh, that’s all right then,’ said Arthur. ‘I wonder which room he’s got? The broom cupboard, perhaps?’
‘D’you know what I’m thinking?’ went on TT. ‘I’m thinking he’s one of the Mystery Celebrities on the judging panel. It’d make sense if I went out there and introduced myself, don’t you think? Shake his hand, tell him we’re all big admirers, ask him to vote for us . . .’
‘No,’ said Filth firmly. ‘Wouldn’t be cool, dude.’
‘Oh. Well, perhaps you’re right. Did you check on Gareth?’
‘Yeah. Says he’s OK.’
‘Good,’ said TT. ‘I thought he would be.’
There was a pause.
‘What d’you mean, he says he’s OK?’ said Arthur.
‘He’s OK, OK?’ Filth gave a yawn. ‘Kinda excited about tomorrow, a bit on edge, but looking forward to it, you know? Sends everyone his regards.’
‘I see,’ sneered Arthur. ‘That’s what he said , is
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