Read Online Nostradamus Ate My Hamster by Robert Rankin - Free Book Online Page A

early, he could have ended up in England by mistake. In Brentford, in fact.
    Well he
could
! It’s possible.
    So the close (very close) encounter Miss Turton had in nineteen fifty-five could have been with a Nazi
Flügelrad
pilot and an engineer, or someone, stopping off on the way to the future for a bit of “how’s-your-Führer” and Russell might really have seen Mr Hitler looking just like he did back in the nineteen forties.
    I told you it was possible.
    And I
did
tell you you’d kick yourself afterwards for not seeing how obvious it was.
    Well, I
did
.

7
    “
Blimey, Russell,” said Frank, “you smell like sh –”
    “Yes,” said Russell. “I know, I was sick.”
    Frank made delicate sniffings at the air. “It’s beer,” said he. “Now, don’t give me a clue, I’ll get it. It’s bitter.” Sniff, sniff, sniff.
“Best
Bitter.
Garvey’s
best bitter. The Bricklayer’s Arms. Am I right, or am I right?”
    “You’re right,” said Russell mournfully.
    “Flavoured crisps often throw me,” Frank brushed imaginary dust from his jacket shoulders. “But not cornflakes. I know my vomit. Elizabeth Taylor was sick all over me once, did I ever tell you about that?”
    “I thought it was Greta Garbo who was sick all over you.”
    “No, it was definitely Elizabeth Taylor, she’d been drinking stout.”
    Russell sat down at his desk and put his head in his hands. And then he looked up at Frank and then he began to laugh.
“Stout?”
he said. “Elizabeth Taylor had been drinking
stout
?”
    “No, you’re right,” said Frank. “It
was
Greta Garbo.”
    “Has anyone been in?”
    “I’ve only been back five minutes myself. But no, no-one’s been in. You’ve a memo on your desk, though.”
    “A memo?” Russell perused his empty desk top. “Where is it?” he asked.
    “I threw it away,” said Frank.
    “Why?”
    “Because it was exactly the same as the one I got.”
    “But it was addressed to me?”
    “Yes, but it was the same memo.”
    “So what did it say?”
    “Yours or mine?”
    “Mine.”
    “Same as mine said.”
    “So what did yours say?”
    “None of your business, Russell.”
    Russell sighed. “Where is
my
memo?”
    “In
my
waste-bin.”
    Morgan now entered the office. “I’ve just found a memo on my bench,” he said.
    Frank said, “Let’s see it.”
    Russell said, “No, don’t you let him.”
    Morgan asked, “Why?”
    “Read it out,” said Russell.
    Morgan read it out. “To all staff,” he read. “As you are well aware, business has been falling off in alarming fashion of late. To such an alarming fashion has it been falling off, that it has now reached a state of no business at all. Such a state of no business at all is not a state conducive to good business in terms of profit margins and expansionism. Such a state of no business at all is more conducive to a downward curve into bankruptcy and receivership. Therefore you are asked to attend a meeting in my office at 3 p.m. to discuss matters. This meeting will be held at 3 p.m. in my office and you are asked to attend it, in order …” Morgan paused.
    “Yes?” asked Russell.
    “Well, it sort of goes on in that fashion.”
    “Is that the same as the memos we got, Frank?”
    Frank shrugged. “More or less.”
    “We’re all going to be made redundant,” said Morgan.
    “No, no, no.” Frank shook his head. “It’s just a temporary slump. The British film industry has temporary slumps. Things will pick up. I remember Richard Attenborough saying to me once –”
    “It’s nearly three,” said Morgan.
    “Uncanny,” said Frank. “‘It’s nearly three and I’m pissed, Frank,’ he said. ‘Give us a lift home in your mini.’ His wife was a beautiful woman, didn’t she marry Michael Winner?”
    Frank took the phone off the hook (to give any incoming callers the impression the Emporium was doing lots of business), and the three men trudged off towards Mr Fudgepacker’s office.
    Russell definitely