The Good, the Bad and the Werewolf (Little Whippendon Book 3) by Adam Jones

Author:Adam Jones
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 2014-01-24T05:00:00+00:00

10

It is a well-known fact of the universe that hangovers, while self-inflicted, are amongst the most heinous of ailments. The combination of sickness, nausea, aching and memory loss share their traits with some particularly dangerous illnesses. This said, the ability of booze to act as a euphoric lubricant in almost any social circumstance seemingly makes the whole thing worthwhile.

While many complex diseases are incurable to modern medicine, or have complex treatments that nearly kill the patient in order to mend them, with alcohol there is a sure-fire and repeatable mechanism to deal with the consequences. Grease. Specifically, grease wrapped up as hot stodgy food and served with a glass of orange juice or, for those more adventurous revellers, a pint of the dog that bit them the night before.

It was with these thoughts firmly in mind that Steve Post had tentatively opened the doors of the Slaughtered Duck an hour ago for breakfast. On a normal sunny Saturday morning he might have expected a couple of overly energetic ramblers to grace the saloon bar for a bacon sandwich, before a day of aimless wandering somewhere windswept and romantic.

What he had not been expecting on this specific Saturday was a large collection of hung over Deadly Nightshade fans who were, in some cases quite literally, camped out on his doorstep. No sooner were the doors open than his nostrils were filled with the smells of wood smoke, stale alcohol and fragrant tobacco.

The hoard tramped past him with the occasional muttered greeting and formed something similar to an orderly queue at the bar. Not a truly British orderly queue of course, but there was a modicum of organisation present. Steve stepped around the throng of people and wedged himself behind the pumps before grabbing his order slip and looking up into the round and ragged face of the man with the tassels from the night before.

“Hullo Barkeep,” he said as he laid his Goliath sized hands on the bar. “Full English please, with extra sausage, bacon, eggs, black pudding and hash browns.”

“Right you are. Two full English breakfasts on one plate then is it?”

“Yep, that's the one. But no mushrooms. They don't agree with me. I have a fragile stomach you see?”

“Course you do,”

“And three pints of scrumpy to wash it down with would be good.”

“Okey Dokey,” replied Steve. He tore the piece of paper from the notebook and flicked it over into the willing glove of Max.

When Max had first moved into the pub, he had restricted himself to sleeping all day and only coming out when the sun had gone down. This had worked pretty well to start with, but as the summer dragged on and the evenings got longer it had meant even more time alone. More to the point, it had left Steve Post alone at the bar for almost all of the serving hours.

Steve was, above all things, immensely lazy when he could get away with it. It was for this reason that he had whiled away a number of evenings stitching together old beer towels and napkins into an onesie.

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