Read Online The Dance of the Voodoo Handbag by Robert Rankin - Free Book Online

everything else. And we are influenced by everything in space.
The stars and galaxies exert influence, but they are thousands of light years
away, man-made satellites are a whole lot closer. They exert a far stronger
influence.’
    ‘I find
that difficult to believe.’
    ‘Well
you would, you’re a Telstar. Consider the youth of today. All into name brand
sportswear and name brand trainers and burger chain dinners and manufactured
pop music. Why do you think that is?’
    ‘Search
me,’ I said.
    ‘They
all have the Sky TV satellite in their birth charts.’
    ‘Bugger
me.’
    ‘No
thanks. And I’ll tell you something more. ‘What’s that?’
    ‘I’ve
finished my pint and I’d care for another.’
    ‘Incredible!’
    I purchased
another pint of best bitter for the mendicant and a Death by Cider for myself.
    ‘A
strange thing happened to me on my way to this pub,’ said the mendicant. ‘Would
you like me to tell you about it?’
    ‘That
would be nice.’
    ‘No it
wouldn’t, but I’ll tell you anyway. How old would you say I am?’
    I
viewed his grizzled visage. ‘Sixty maybe, sixty-five.’
    ‘I’m
sixty-six’
    ‘Well,
you don’t look it.’
    ‘I keep
myself fit, that’s why. I walk twenty-five miles a day on average. Have done
for the last thirty years. I did the Hippy Trail in the Sixties and went to
Woodstock and—’
    Would
you mind just telling me about this strange thing that happened to you, because
I have to go in a minute. I’ve got an appointment to see the doctor.’
    ‘Are
you ill?’
    ‘No, I
have to get some sleeping pills for my wife.’
    Why?’
    ‘Because
she’s woken up again.’
    Oh how
we laughed.
    ‘All
right,’ said the mendicant. ‘I’ll tell you my tale, but it’s an odd one, and
you must make of it what you will.’
    ‘Go
ahead then.’
    ‘All
right. Now, as I say, I get about a bit. I wander the world, and I sleep rough,
the stars above and Mother Earth below and that kind of stuff. Well, the other
week I was camped out in the middle of the big roundabout just outside
Brighton.’
    ‘The
one on the A23?’
    ‘The
very same. Hitch-hikers always stand there thumbing lifts to London, you’ve
probably seen them.’
    I
nodded. I had.
    Well, I’m
sitting there and I see this young bloke with his bit of cardboard with London
scrawled on it, standing there thumbing, and I see this old yellow and cream VW
Camper pull up to give him a lift. And I hear the driver say “London?” and the
hitch-hiker say “Yes, please.” And then they go off together.’
    ‘So?’ I
said. What’s unusual about that? I’ve seen that happen loads of times.’
    ‘Me
too. But not an hour later the van is back. Same van. And it picks up another
hitch-hiker. “London?” says the driver. “Yes, please,” says the hitch-hiker and
off they go.’
    ‘An
hour later?’ I said.
    ‘An
hour later. And an hour after that the van is back once more.’
    ‘And
picks up another hitch-hiker?’
    ‘Another
one. I watched all day. Eight hitchhikers, he took.’
    ‘But he
couldn’t have taken them to London and been back to Brighton in an hour.
Perhaps he only took them as far as the motorway.’
    ‘Perhaps.
Well, I’m quite comfortable on the roundabout and I think maybe I’ll stick
around for another day. And I do, and bright and early the next morning, the
old VW Camper is back, and he’s picked up another London-bound hitchhiker.’
    ‘Perhaps
it’s some kind of community bus service or something.’
    ‘Or
something! Well, I sit there all day and count another six hitch-hikers going
away in the VW and then I have to move off the roundabout because a bloke from
the council arrives to cut the grass. I mention to him about the VW, and he
says that he’d noticed it picking up hitch-hikers and it had been doing so for
the last five years.’
    ‘Definitely
some community bus service, or something, then.’
    ‘Or
something. Well, you hear strange tales when you’re on the road and you