A visit to a drugs den above a fishmongers with Miss South America

‘Stand outside the fishmongers in 20 minutes and call this number,’ she said, ‘and I can arrange it.’ On Saturday evening I was scrubbed up for a big night out. I was wearing a black jacket and black jeans, which is overdressed for a night out in this seaside town. But Jupiter, said Shelley von Strunckel, was making a spectacular conjunction with Uranus, my ruler, lending me enormous powers of attraction. So I thought I might as well dress up for the occasion. After 20 minutes, I stood outside the fishmongers and called the number. Half a minute later an anonymous-looking door next to the shop opened inwards, and she waved me inside and led the way up a flight of uncarpeted stairs and into a small, brightly lit kitchen with two good-looking women in it, both wreathed in welcoming smiles. My arranger introduced me with some pride as ‘a writer’.