by Harry Riley
‘…within a few minutes he had poured out the sorry tale of his dismissal as an inept and bumbling constable in the police force…’
It was a boiling hot summer’s day as Osborn Lucky walked dejectedly away from the police station. His naturally cheerful countenance wore a frown as he considered his options. He’d just been sacked, in a loud and humiliating manner by his boss, following a series of blunders, culminating in his latest disaster which had wrecked a carefully planned, joint operation, with the Custom’s Authorities and wasted hundreds of man-hours. Osborn was a big clumsy-wild eyed Irishman and had been nicknamed ‘Born Lucky’ for as long as he could remember. At this moment though he felt far from lucky, in fact he felt just about as low as he had ever been.