As you will (hopefully) recall from last week, Cloud 109 the virtual world where Gina, Cary and Rabby spend much of their waking moments is down due to a mysterious virus which has yet to be isolated and dealt with.
In the meantime the site itself has had to shut down all it's servers and is losing ten million credits a day.
And it seems that Cary has gone AWOL, or at least he's turned his phone off.
(To get the preceding chunk of this ongoing adventure click here:)
As followers of this strip will realise, there is a lot of the literally real world which comes into play as Gina, Cary and Rabby struggle to make out what's happening on Cloud 109. The photo on the wall with the Ace of Spades impaled with a dart through it's centre harks back to the days when our youngest was in a band called The Riddles with a front man Mr Jimmy Riddle; who bore an uncanny resemblance to Johnny Thunders. Tom who now goes under the moniker of Tommy Chain is chief chain wielder and whip cracker with Brighton band, The Dark Horses. The Horses most recently provided the soundtrack to the recent BBC Radio 4 adverts for The History of Everyday Objects and are about to tour the U.K. with The Black Rebel Motorcycle Club.
Further weird connections, the graffiti behind the group shot was at least partially created by Tom's elder brother Jack when he was working as assistant to the mysterious street artist Eine. Jack who had eschewed university in favor of a rock n roll lifestyle, had quit Hastings and moved to London working a succession of menial jobs until he landed the posting with Eine. This happy state of affairs was sadly compromised by the fact that there was a whole contingent of other young bohos who had also moved up to London from Hastings and were hanging out with remnants from The Libertines, Amy Winehouse's circle, Joe Lean and the Jing Jang Jongs - whatever. Unfortunately these assorted psychedelic types embedded themselves in the consciousness of Eine and with what can only be described as delicious irony he decided that Hastings must have something going for it relocating himself and his young family down to Hastings forthwith. Apparently in the fervent hope that his dear little children would grow up to be as dissolute and flaky as the glorious cavalcade of no hopers currently sofa surfing or sleeping in cars around London's East End have turned out to be.
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