Okay… so… this chapter was completely written by Mrs Old Gregg. Don't worry, I've not stolen it :) she asked me to continue the story as she's already written a lot of stories. The chapters after this are mine though :)

Disclaimer: Don't own Boosh, never will. All rights belong to Noel Fielding and Julian Barratt and their amazing minds.

Summary: Vince sat back and sighed whilst his pyjama clad legs folded beneath him. He remembered being seven and telling his parents "When I'm older, I wanna be a rock 'n' roll star!" But it just never happened.

Title: The Dreams that never were

Chapter 1- Losing it

"What do you want to be when you're older Vince?" Vince grinned and stared up at his teacher.

"I wanna be a Rock 'n' Roll star!" The class burst into hysterics.

"Yeah right Noir, you? You look more like Kate Moss than Kurt Cobain." The class laughed at the cynical comment cast by the joker of his class whilst the teacher pondered how Mickey knew who Kurt Cobain was.

"No, I'm gonna be on stage in front of millions singing and when I am, you'll all be shitting yourselves!" Mrs Bancroft shot her glance up at Vince.

"Vince, you're seven, where did you learn that kind of language?" His innocent blue eyes pleaded her apology for snapping and she knew he didn't know what it meant.

"My daddy shouted it at my mummy once." He naïvely mumbled with a frown, close to tears at the tone in his teacher's voice. "I thought it meant pooing yourself." She smiled to herself and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Never say that again Vincent okay? It's a bad word, promise me?" He nodded and giggled the word,

"Promise!"

Vince smiled fondly at the memory. She was the best teacher in the school but she left when he was in year five and they got another teacher who wasn't as kind hearted and selfless. Sipping at the warm cup of brown liquid he clutched, he rewound his memory and listened to the sentence Mickey had said over and over again.

"Yeah right Noir, you? You look more like Kate Moss than Kurt Cobain." He also thought about how he was right. His dreams about being a rock and roll star had seemed to fall, he'd lost his chance.

"Well I've been in an electro band several times." He used to whine defensively to Howard. Every time he'd reply with,

"You performed at the Velvet Onion on a Saturday with me, that's hardly a world wide rock and roll star is it?" Howard was also too right. The stark light tumbled through the curtains and fell onto his face. He was always miserable, he didn't know why, but he was. He was meant to be the sunshine kid but he was only lately realising that the emotions he'd bottled up were profoundly important to him. Howard hung his coat on the hook and stared at Vince.

"You okay little man?" He mumbled and straightened his hat before landing his sympathetic glare on the faded electro king.

"H'ward?" He sighed, his lashes resting on his high cheekbones. "Do you think I'm wasting my life?" Howard raised a questioning eyebrow and perched on the arm of the nineteenth century arm chair Naboo had found in a scrap heap- he was hoping to sell it soon and Tony Harrison had taken an interest-.

"No, why would you think that?" Howard mumbled and hesitated to put his arm around Vince; he hated touching people, even his mother.

"Well I used to think I'd be in a rock and roll band. Well, just a rock and roll star actually. I dreamed of being talk of the town and all that and… well I'm a shopkeeper in Dalston who lives with a jazz musician, short shaman and a violent gorilla." Howard smiled, he was expecting jazz freak. "I just thought thing's would be different." Howard's eyes lit up as he saw a poster on the wall that Bollo had pinned up.

Wanted, singer for a rock band, name undecided, needs to be completely against jazz, have big hair, a good look and a good dress sense… oh and a good voice.

Underneath the ad was an address.

"Vince, you interested in being a lead singer?" Vince stared up at him with big, baby-like blue eyes and nodded. "Thought you might be."

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