It's a question I feel we have all wondered… why does Vince Noir hate Jazz? Well here's my interpretation of the whole fandango. It'll probably be only two or three chapters in all (I tried to cramp it down into a one shot but it'd be a very long one!)

Why Vince Hates Jazz

Howard Moon was in his element.

He was on his hands and knees, in a crusty old book shop, searching through a mouldy, decrepit bookcase for mouldy, decrepit Jazz reference books. Every so often he made a noise like 'Hoo-shanna!' and shoved another rotting book onto a growing pile of tomes.

He pulled out a small black book and opened it and wrote down the titles (the ones that hadn't crumbled off the covers and spines with age) excitedly; with an HB pencil worn down to a stub. Later he would enter the book names into a larger black book, along with their authors and publish dates. This was what life was all about.

Vince eyed Howard. This was exactly what life wasn't about. Outside, it was a beautiful day, the great lion of autumn had opened it's mouth and roared into the world, turning the treetops golden and red, making the conkers as shiny as mahogany inside their spiney cases, changing the weather from still to bright, breezy and thrilling.

And Vince was stuck inside a book shop, which smelled like mildew and Camel cigarettes. The bookshop owner (who also smelled of mildew and Camel cigarettes) looked up every so often and moved his eyes slowly down Vince's body, and then licked his lips. Vince was starting to feel slightly uncomfortable.

He wanted to be outside. This was the season of scarves, bonfires and toffee apples. Autumn was Vince Noir's favourite season. Not only was it the precursor to winter and Christmas, it also followed summer. Vince's least favourite season. And not because he didn't like getting a suntan.

Vince hated British summers. He didn't mind going away to hot and exotic places. There was just something about the stifling days and the long summer sunsets in England, which reminded him of something buried and intangible in his past.

Howard made another excited noise, which broke Vince out of his reverie.

"Are you done yet? I'm bored!" complained Vince, leaning up against a table then standing up quickly because he felt something go 'squelch' as he leaned back.

"Vince, I hope you realise that within these books that I have found could be the key to the New Sound that we have been searching for? Aye? These wise old jazz wizards could be the key to our success." said Howard

"Ah… a Jazz fan I see." said the man behind the counter, in an odd sounding English accent. It was kind of Croydon mixed with a deep American twang.

"Yes sir." said Howard striding towards the man's 'desk'.

It was less of a desk, more of a massive pile of paper, gas bills, books, tea mugs, a couple of phones and maybe a file or two, a testament to the fact that there may have once, long ago, been a filing system, which had since been abandoned for the pursuit of reading John le Carre novels and eating prawn cocktail crisps.

Vince sighed. He had a feeling that Howard would start chatting to the man about Dizzy Gillespie, and if that happened, there would be very little chance of escaping the shop before sundown.

"I have something that may interest you…" said the book shop owner, rifling through his drawers. (His desk drawers, for the sick minded amongst you).

"This.. is an extremely rare book. Limited printing run, written about 20 years ago, seemed the author and his wife died not long after it went to the publishers, there was no one to collect the royalties and the publishing house dropped it. Still, it's extremely comprehensive." the book shop owner, with a final heave, managed to dislodge the book from the draw.

He placed the thick, dust jacketed book on the table in front of them. He then wiped the dust and breadcrumbs off the cover to reveal the book's title…. and the author.

The History of Jazz; a Comprehensive Guide by Vincent Noir

Howard turned to Vince, startled by what he'd seen. Vince stood, motionless, staring at the book in front of him. Then he turned on his tail and fled the book shop, knocking over a pile of Mills and Boon 'novels' in his haste.

The door had already banged shut before Howard had a chance to react to Vince's behaviour. He turned to run after him, turned back, said to the shop keeper 'Can you save them?' gesturing to the pile of books, and then turned back to run after Vince when the shop keeper nodded the affirmative.

"Vince!" Howard yelled after the younger man as he ran out of the shop door. Vince was already down the road, heading for the park. He didn't turn around when Howard yelled his name. Instead he picked up his pace. He didn't want Howard to catch up, he didn't want to talk about it he didn't even want to think.

His mind, however, had other ideas. The thoughts were whirling around inside him, like a washing machine on overdrive. Why, after all these years, had that book resurfaced? Why had he reacted like that? Why did it still hurt so much?

A gust of cold wind blew straight at Vince, making his eyes water slightly, providing him with a distraction from his melancholic confusion. He pulled his green scarf tighter around him and shoved his hands into his black felt trench coat pockets.

"Vince!" Howard again.

Vince knew he should stop, turn round and wait for his friend, and assure him he was alright. But Vince didn't feel like lying to Howard again. Despite the fact he'd got so damn good at it over the years.

Instead, he quickened his pace, ignoring the gnawing pain of a stitch that was slowly growing in his side…..

"Are you OK, darling?"

Stop….

"Does it still hurt?"

Please stop…

"Dad will be home soon."

Just stop it please….

' Summertime and the livin' is easy…'

"Good morning Vince!" said Verity Noir, opening Vince's Magic Roundabout curtains, making folds in the design so Ermintrude and Dougal folded like accordions.

The summer sunshine streamed into the room, forcing Vince to open his eys and then clamp them shut again.

"Hi, mum" mumbled Vince, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes with his one good hand.

"Are you OK darling? Does it still hurt?" asked Verity , walking up to Vince and sitting down on the bed next to him.

"Nah, it's not too bad." he said.

He looked up at his mum. She had shiny blue eyes, like his own, and raven black hair, which fell in waves, like an inky sea. She wasn't very tall, but she had the kind of energy and personality which gave the impression of someone much taller. She was wearing a plain red t shirt and jeans and her hair was plated and then coiled round into a bun.

She gave Vince a big hug, enveloping him in her comforting scent of wild flowers and shampoo.

"There's my brave little punk! If you will go smashing up bass guitars though darling."

"I was being Joe Strummer, mum! And the doctor said I only had to wear the cast for a few weeks!"

Verity laughed, her eyes lighting up at the sounds of her son's protests.

"Well then, Mr. Strummer, are you just going to lie around in bed all day or are you going to let your mum help you get dressed?"

"Mum, I'm nearly eight years. I'm capable of dressing myself." said Vince in a 'duh' voice.

"Oh really? With one working arm and one in a cast? OK then give me a laugh, I'll be downstairs getting breakfast sorted. Dad will be home soon!" she said as she sailed out of the room and down the stairs...

"Vince?"

"Vince!"

Vince opened his eyes, to see the face of Howard looming inches away from his own, the older man's face etched with concern which quickly turned to relief.

"What… what happened?" asked Vince. He could feel a dull pain in his legs and back.

"You collapsed! I thought you'd fallen over but then I caught up with you and you hadn't moved…" Howard's voice was still a little shaky.

"Oh.." Vince sat up slowly, feeling numb. "I only had a Pop Tart for breakfast, I knew I should've had some toast but when I came to the bread bin there was only some of that weird bread that Naboo buy's from the Magic Mart and I didn't fancy it, because it tastes like ice cubes even when it's been toasted-"

Howard cut Vince off mid ramble. "Vince, what happened?"

"I fainted, you saw me."

"No… what really happened?" asked Howard looking into Vince's eyes, waiting for an answer.