<div class="floatleft">(https://st2.depositphotos.com/1177973/8764/i/450/depositphotos_87640648-stock-photo-man-in-hat-making-piano.jpg)</div><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: georgia;"><strong>Name:</strong> Headley (Head)<br/><strong>Location:</strong> From the hallway to the kitchen<br/><strong>Time:</strong> early in the party<br/><strong>Wearing:</strong> His usual white shirt and suspenders, and hat. A Jacques Brel mask<br/><strong>Tagging:</strong> Open<br/><strong>Notes:</strong> apprehensive<br/></span><hr/>Head wasn’t quite sure who the pretty couple who had given him a ride in their limo were, and they had spent most of the journey so occupied with each other it seemed impertinent to enquire.  Still he was glad of the invitation, and Mia’s p.a. had been so helpful when he’d made up a story about his limo not turning up to enable him to hitch the ride.  He put on his Jacques Brel mask, and took a deep breath.<br/><br/>The champagne on arrival was tempting but he was aiming for two sets on the piano, one early, one late, and for the early one he thought he’d stay sober.  So he whispered into a waiter’s ear, ‘Any chance of an Earl Grey tea’, and after re-phrasing that so it made sense to the non-English, was soon guided to the kitchen where a benign Spanish-speaking woman couldn’t find Earl Grey, but found ‘manzanilla’, which would do.  Chamomile to calm the nerves. Not that he was nervous, of course not.  It’s just that Head had lost some of his confidence lately.  He’d started to feel that life was a party he wasn’t invited to, but here he was all the same.  Only behind a piano would he be himself again.<br/><br/>Or Jacques Brel, of course.