(700 words) When I'd called into the Black Swan’s usual Tuesday evening music event, I hadn’t really expected to be snowed on. A local pianist was noodling on the piano whilst a young chap with short black hair and a 'comb-over,' dyed purple and green in part, was brandishing some brass rings at a table. “We’ve got a magician tonight, Andrew someone,” smiled Elizabeth, my favourite barmaid. She wore false eyelashes above her big brown eyes that looked like two caterpillars. “I thought it was Banjo Bert tonight.” “No, that got cancelled. Bert’s suffering from alcohol poisoning. Fred arranged this at the last moment.”