Preface II: Bryony Murds

(Fade up 'Coronation Street' [1] theme. The scene is set in the front room of a small back-to-back house in darkest Manchester. Apart from the black leather curtains covered with studs, and the tattoo designs plastered all over the wall, this is a typical 'thirty-something' lounge, with furniture by Courts [2], and decor by Argos [3] out of Woolworths. On the sofa, DRAB SPAGHETTI, an ageing hippy in a shell-suit, is staring boredly at the TV, while his wife, IMELDA SPAGHETTI, dressed in a bondage-housecoat, is filling in a newspaper crossword with a tattooing-needle. Notes for non-English readers: [1] A long-running British TV soap-opera set in the North; originally priding itself on its 1960's kitchen-sink gritty 'realism', it has long since sunk into self-parody, but remains mysteriously popular. [2] A chain of stores selling cheaply-made furniture at exhorbitant prices to the masses; their shops always stink of sawdust and glue. [3] A chain of stores selling just about everything to the masses, via catalogues which will surely become vital documents for social historians of the future. Pronunciation: an apostrophe - ' - mostly indicates the absence of the letter H at the start of words, and the letter G at the end of them, in this particular dialect. And now, back to the stage-directions... Fade down theme music).

DRABOh, flamin' 'eck, our Imelda, can't you keep that bloody noise down? I'm tryin' to watch th' telly!

IMELDAWell, if you 'adn't used my last bingo-pen to keep your latest piercin' open, I wouldn't 'ave to, would I?

DRAB(rolls his eyes and mutters to the ceiling) Oh, 'ere we bloody well go again! (To IMELDA) Look, you daft ha'p'orth, I've to keep it in until it 'eals proper, 'aven't I? Unless me extra-large Prince Albert's in proper, I can't officiate at Twelfth Degree Initiations...

IMELDA(Interrupting) I don't know why you put up with them bloody Yanks! Aye, and that snobby bastard from down south! 'Ow many pages of instructions was there in that last thing they sent yer? 'Undred or more, like as not! And where's it get you, that's what I'd like to know? More soddin' semi-precious metal in yer todger than in that "Sorceror's Apprentice" window, that's what! Oh, why we didn't stick to readin' 'Magick in Theory and Practice' fer fun, an' runnin' a flamin' nudie coven, I'll never know ...

DRAB'Cos it gives uz street-cred in t'bloody tattoin' an' piercin' circuit, that's why! After that bugger Lewd Mollocks got 'old of that soddin' "By Appointment to the Church o' Satan" sign fer 'is place, you know 'ow trade dropped off. All t' bastard 'Ell's Angels started goin' to 'is dump in Middleton - so we 'AD ter get summat that looked dead depraved to attract 'em back, eh? (Tries to make peace) Look, love, I know it's a wee bit inconvenient, like, but just think of t' new recruits, and new busines s, it'll bring uz in, eh?

IMELDA(Sighs) Oh all right. (Turns tattooing-needle off) I'd done t' puzzle any road. I suppose t' Caliphate does keep t' wolf from t' door... (There is a thunderous knocking from the front door, followed by a loud crash; CARDINAL BENJAMINO FEENDISH, dressed in full Inquisitorial drag - including the pointy hat and red-hot poker - bursts into the room).

CARDINAL BENJAMINO FEENDISHAha! Nobody expects the Caliphate Inquisition! Oho! Our weapons are three in number: surprise, coffee, a tape recorder, and staying up till two in the morning! No, no, that's not right! Our weapons are FOUR in number...

DRABOh, bugger it to buggering buggery... (...and about there inspiration flagged, thank God.)