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Johnny Angel – Shelly Fabares
After breakfast and a cigarette out in the garden, I pulled on a baseball cap, turned up my collar, and went shopping. There was a small branch of my mobile provider on Norwood Road, and after just a few minutes, I left with a brand new, latest model telephone with a brand new number.
It was too early for the Standard to check out the coverage of last evening’s adventure, so I headed back to Madge’s. On the way, I heard someone shout, ‘Mr Sharman’. So much for my disguise. I turned slowly, fearing the worst, and was relieved to see it was only a bloke called Gabriel, the main man in our local neighbourhood watch.
He was a right pain in the arse. Short, with a typical Napoleon complex, and I always thought he probably wore lifts in his shoes. He was abou
