By Tamara Hunter
And the other entry for ‘effete’ (I rather liked this one…I shouldn’t really say that though!)
Teddy wove through the crowd towards the exit, shrill laughter sending fingers of pain stabbing into his throbbing temples as he sidestepped coke-addled socialites dripping with hip and black-clad dandies who simpered as he slid by; an increasingly urgent need to escape from these, the grinning loons and effete hangers on who had sucked all the pleasure out of this night, HIS night, hastened his footsteps and began to spiral into hyperventilating panic as he sought sweet respite in the serenely forgiving conservatory, where the hippeastrum watched silently and failed to laugh, expecting nothing of him – no jokes, no lunacy, no platinum-selling humour – nothing but a biologically beneficial exchange of air and the shared pleasure of cool, black night.
Waxings 