Just write the next line

And with some success this time if the tremor in John's lower lip is anything to go by.

Unfortunately the tremor is trumped in more senses than one by the earthquake in John's underpants.

This could be a major upheaval in my life, thinks John, who can never resist a good metaphor.

The simile on Eve's face is like a ray of lice in the darkness which has yet again fallen off the shelf.

Indeed it is, but John finds it strangely attractive.

Besides, after his recent faux-pas vis-a-vis the commotion in his nether-garments, he can't afford to be fussy.

The beam of her grin illuminates detail on dusty clauses in John's personal indemnity for household accidents and his irascible attitude to the law of Tort.

Eve is starting to think she might be better off at home with a Woody Allen movie.

As if in the nick of time, John made his mind up, and he held out his arms,"Eve - could you...would you?" His voice died away and he looked at her, waiting for an answer

'Take the money and run,' she says.

he looks wildly around "what the fuck are you on about?"

Suddenly there is a loud crashing noise from outside and John, tearing his gaze from Eve's obvious charms, makes an amble-shamble to the window - trying to hide his excitement by keeping his back to Eve. It's one of the Albanian who has knocked over a pile of rubbish while attempting to ignite John's wheelie bin.

'I say, old chap', sniggered the Albanian, eyeing Johns nether regions lustfully, 'is that a cucumber in your pocket, or are you just pleased to see me?' http://www.ukauthors.com http://www.ukapress.com http://andrealowne.ukauthors.com/

John suddenly remembers a scene from Spinal Tap and decides to laugh furiously.

The Albanian, however, was a great fan of Mae West (he hadn't seen Spinal Tap) and, moreover, had just finished his 'How to write the Best Purple Prose' course. He turned evasively to Eve...

but then he remembers the wheelie bin is in peril and instead reaches for the small gun he always keeps concealed in his underpants

Eve, or more correctly Eva Sively, smirks at this purpleness.

Deep Purple being but one of her hidden passions.

...but not the only one! She was also a closet Albaniaphile...

The result of a holiday in Corfu where she met a charming young Albanian fisherman.

Oh, the way her knees had melted when Enver Hotxed had said, Ti fliske shqip!, the million dollars she'd won from the orthopaedic surgeon had funded her lifestyle ever since.

The Albanian (whose handle was, fortuitously, Fatlum), eyed her synovial joints with interest, before sliding surreptitiously to her ventral region. 'I wonder,' he mused idly, 'if her surgeon would stretch to enhancement?'... http://www.ukauthors.com

'Hold this for a sec luv.' said Fatlum slipping her his Ipod.

Eve grasped Fatlum's pod in her hot, sweaty paw, and... http://andrealowne.ukauthors.com/

scanned his most recent plays, dismayed to see it consisted mostly of Kylie Minogue and Right Said Fred.

Meanwhile John, who thought he was on a sure thing, just looks bewildered.

He is, in fact, cut to the quick; his love life, and more importantly, his waste disposal opportunities, are both in danger of extinction; only one thing can save the day....will he be able to pull it off though?

He reached for where Eve had stuck in to the wall and found, despite having soaked it in nail polish remover, he still couldn't pull it off.

Just then, the wheelie-bin exploded with a tremendous roar, raining rancid rubbish and ill-considered alliterations onto John's unprotected lirerary pretensions. Helvigo Jenkins

But do I want blonder or that she grows fonder - for perhaps she may wander while I stand and wonder.

It occurred to him that he'd lost the plot again, and speedily wandered off to search for it, scrabbling amongst foul-smelling fish fingers and bilious bones. He knew that course would come in handy one day...

After what seemed like hours spent groping in the dark, John's exclaimation of "Eurika!" meant only one thing to Eve.

Eve finds herself conflicted. There is something embarassing about watching John scrabble through the wheelie bin....but at the same time she finds it rather touching.

She almost felt as though she were intruding on a most personal scene and felt her face immdeiately redden in the cool backness of the room; the Albinian picking up on it almost immediately began swinging his great torch about the room, causing the green in her eyes to dance mischievously.

Whilst her green waltzed gaily around the room, the Albanian flashed his monstrous torch with hideous abandon, causing Eve...

to make comparisons with a Fellini film or perhaps Ron Jeremy.

At which point, John reappeared, sporting a slightly foetid Star Spangled Codpiece, 'Found it' he chortled.

"The plot??!!" Eve and the Albanian both gasphed...

'No, that's somewhere in the wreckage of my life, but these' he leered 'have served me well'

...in the absence of any other illicit substance, sniffing a foetid codpiece was positively alluring...

emboldened by this response to his underwear John lunges at the Albanian's torch...

the rancid smell burned away the starting of the mustache from the curled corners of her pink lips (not to mention every hair from inside her nostrils!) but...ahhh...the memories of those orchids strewn about that land mine infested white sand beach were sweet.

It was the word 'captivated' that jogged his memory now....Fak....could it be...yes it was....Fak the Albino Albanian from the detention camp...or as they all knew him back then, White Night Irene!

Strange how no one in the room quivered at the thought of a wavy-line flash back sequence; a faint air of burned hair accompanied the melifluous orchestral sweep to.....

a new 'fro? Man, that hydrogen-pyroxide solution had always burned his eyes....but speaking of burning sensations - where was Eve - had her wooden leg kept her from nimbly dodging the flashback sequence wave-line???

..an unfortunate consequence of the blonding process, but non the less striking, as was her stacatto timbre of duende across the non-existent storyline...

And so the triangle struggled to take shape there in the obliterated mess of the wheelie bin, crackling on and off like a shorted out neon light, perhaps a last ditch, feeble gag reflex of an attempt at stitching a storyline to this quickly unraveling tapestry.

...they were all struck dumb!