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Veronica's journey through the capital had led her from Hampstead to Southwark and now, after a somewhat bibulous sojourn in the heart of the Square Mile, she was making her barefoot and ever more exposed way towards Shoreditch. Many complimentary, if somewhat earthy and obscene, comments had been passed in tones loud and clear enough for her ever burning ears to apprehend. It was nice to be approved of, she reflected, but the terms in which that approval was expressed left much to be desired!
Outside a shabby looking public house she saw a man standing and handing out notices to passers-by. As she drew level with him, this person drew an envelope form his pocket and handed it to her. Thank Heaven! She had been thinking she must have taken a wrong turning. By this time she was well and truly in the midst of a part of London she had rarely, if ever, seen before. Veronica, as she looked around her at the crumbling seediness of this blighted region, could well imagine how this kind of area had been the exclusive preserve of pimps and gangsters since time immemorial!
Thanking the man with her never failing courtesy and inbred politeness, she walked on, opening the envelope as she went. It read "My dear lovely Veronica! I do so hope you are enjoying today as much as I most certainly am! Will you please be so kind as to keep on your northward way until you come to that ever bustling and cosmopolitan area called Shoreditch. You will espy ahead of you, once you come upon Hackney Road, a pub which goes by the simple and honest name of "Browns". I would like you to make your sweet way into this unique establishment and buy a glass of cider shandy and a ham sandwich. (I feel that you may have already imbibed a little too freely of the more intoxicating beverages!) Do not feel obliged, on account of me, to comply with any unwelcome demands that might be made of you. If you wish to do so yourself, however, please feel free! You must be ready to move on after three hours rest and recreation in this place! Yours ever A V-Clatworthy."
Three hours. That would bring her up to just after five in the evening. She only hoped that the place in question would be not too noisy and ghastly. Young as she was, the exertions of the day had begun to take their toll on her and she would dearly like to rest and nap for a while. Her feet were beginning to feel very sore after their long walk and the effect of the cold wind against her skin had been severely to deplete her reserves of energy. Yes! She could certainly use a break right now!
And then the words, spat out with such venom, of the other woman in the ladies room, came back to her! What had she said? That's right! "Try Browns in Shoreditch - you'd go down a treat there - bloody whore!"
Suddenly the thought of spending a few hours in this place seemed a little less attractive! It was obviously no place for a respectable lady. But! She had ceased to be a respectable lady, the moment she had agreed to this ever more shameful bargain. She had never seen Marlowe's Dr Faustus, but, if she had, the moral would by no means have been lost upon her!
She had, however, shaken this infernally malicious ancient's hand, and felt in consequence, that she was ineluctably obliged to see the thing through to the end. So on she went, her feet slapping onto the pavement as she picked up speed and sent the blood flowing through her veins to warm her chilled body just a little. Soon she was at the nineteen thirties building called "Browns".
She noticed that opposite the pub was a church. She saw something on the church notice board that greatly interested her. "THE SEVEN DEADLY SINS - A Series of Lent Lectures. Next Wednesday The Right Reverend Vernon Vane-Clatworthy will talk about "Avarice" at 3.30 pm All Welcome." She recalled that her benefactor's only surviving relative, a distant cousin, was a Bishop.
"Well, I don't suppose I'D be all that welcome, not dressed like this!" thought a rueful Veronica. She remembered that she had always worn a hat in church in the past. Now she was scarcely decently covered at all! Shame overcame her once again and she hurried across the road to go into the pub and find out what new horrors were in store for her.
The moment she entered the place she realised that she was in the kind of den of iniquity that she had heard her male colleagues talk about from time to time.
The whole place was filled with a pulsating rhythm that hurt her ears. At one end of the room was a small stage upon which a lady even more scantily dressed than she was "dancing". It was a grossly suggestive dance that this woman was performing and it was clear from the glassy stares of the group of onlookers, that it was reaching a vital stage. Sure enough, within seconds of Veronica entering the place, the last remaining item of clothing, apart from a pair of plastic shiny thigh length boots, was whipped off exposing her shaven pubic mound to view. There was a ripple of applause from the watching throng.
The "lady" then approached the edge of the stage, squatting lewdly and gave the men in the front row an opportunity to view in clinical detail those parts referred to - in this case ironically! - as "Private." Veronica could not bear to look any longer as the woman gently massaged her slit with her right hand index finger which she then pressed against the lips of one of the onlookers, an elderly gentleman who obviously thought that Christmas had arrived over eight months early this year!
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