Friday Night

The coven is packed, its a squeeze to get through to the balconies past the top dancefloor. Its hazy and smoky and the music is banging. The further back you get into the club the darker it gets with just the lights and the strobe lighting the dingy darkness.

There is the thud, thud, thud, of the music, and the flash, flash, flash of the lights, and then you see him, dancing his crazy samba dream on the dancefloor! It's Fing and he's on FIRE!

Everyone's saying 'where does that crazy cat get his moves?' Everyone watches with envy as he slinks his stupid furry body round the dance floor, weaving in and out, in a world of his own he dances like there is no tomorrow, he trips the light fantastic!

Trotter watches from the balcony wishing he looked that good on the dancefloor.