Read Online Waiting for Godalming by Robert Rankin - Free Book Online
Authors: Robert Rankin
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speaks inside my head. The father of lies. The spawn of the pit. I am possessed.
I am possessed
.”
“Turn it in, you twat, it’s me, Barry.”
“Barry?”
“Barry, chief. Your Holy Guardian Sprout. The cute little green guy who sits in your head and keeps you on the straight and narrow. The little voice that speaks to you and only you can hear. Your bestest friend, who helps you solve your cases. Your little gift from God’s garden.”
“Ah,” said I. “
That
Barry.”
“That would be the kiddy, chief.”
“Yeah. Well, I knew it was you all the time.
And
I knew it was my office. I just thought I’d add a bit of atmosphere and excitement. And demonstrate my skills with the old Gothic prose.”
“Best stick to what you do best, eh, chief?”
“Being the best private eye in the business?”
“That would be the kiddy, chief. You wish.”
“I didn’t catch that last bit, Barry.”
“I said that would be the kiddy, chief, you’re bliss.”
“Thanks, Barry.”
I lifted myself into the vertical plane with more dignity than a belted earl at a defecophiliacs’ disco. Made my way across my office with more style and suavity than a dandy in the underground and sat myself down on my chair with more polished aplomb than a plump pink plumber from Plympton. [7] And with a certain amount of care in comfying up the cushion, as my piles were playing me havoc at the time.
Before me, on my desk, I spied my snap-brimmed fedora and my trusty Smith and Wes Craven.
“My hat, my gun,” said I with some degree of amazement.
“Say ‘Thank you Barry’,” said Barry.
“Eh?”
“Say ‘Thank you Barry for putting thoughts in a couple of heads and getting my hat and gun back so I can set out once more on a case without looking like a hatless, gunless, gormless git.’”
“There’s no bullets in this gun,” said I, examining same with my eagle eye. “I had at least two bullets left, I’m sure. I remember shooting that black guy in the alley who asked if I wanted to buy the
Big Issue
. And I put two in the head of that fat woman, because she was taking up too much space in Fangio’s and I’ve never seen the point of fat people. And one in the kid with the lollipop, because I can’t be having with dogs and children either. And …”
“‘Thank you, Barry’ not a happening thing at the moment, then, chief?”
“Yeah, sure, Barry, thank you. But like I was saying, I’m certain I should have had at least two bullets left. And bullets don’t grow on trees, Barry. Bullets cost bucks.”
“You ungrateful schmuck.”
“What did you say, Barry?”
“I said you’re a wonderful buck, chief.”
“Yeah, I guess that I am.” And guessed that I was. That’s one of the things that I liked about Barry. He recognized greatness. “So, little green buddy,” I said. “What have you been up to? You weren’t with me in Fangio’s when I got bopped on the head.”
“I always like to miss that part, chief. Rattles me all about inside this empty skull.”
“So where have you been?”
“Been up in Heaven, chief. We Holy Guardians have to check in every week. Put in our expense chitties. Write out our reports. Get a bit of fertilizer rubbed into our leaves by a bra-less Charlie Dimmock lookalike with five-star bottom cleavage. But it’s mostly paperwork. You know how it is.”
“I do,” said I and I did. “So how are things, topside, amongst the choirs celestial? God keeping well, is He?”
“Well, that’s the thing, chief. Actually things aren’t exactly hunky-dory in Heaven at the moment. God’s gone missing again and His wife’s getting pretty upset.”
“God’s
wife
? I didn’t know that God had a wife.” And I didn’t. I knew that every dog had its day and that a trouble shared was a trouble halved and I even knew that if you take two mobile phones, call one of them with the other, then place the two of them ten inches apart on a table with a raw egg between them, the egg will be
I am possessed
.”
“Turn it in, you twat, it’s me, Barry.”
“Barry?”
“Barry, chief. Your Holy Guardian Sprout. The cute little green guy who sits in your head and keeps you on the straight and narrow. The little voice that speaks to you and only you can hear. Your bestest friend, who helps you solve your cases. Your little gift from God’s garden.”
“Ah,” said I. “
That
Barry.”
“That would be the kiddy, chief.”
“Yeah. Well, I knew it was you all the time.
And
I knew it was my office. I just thought I’d add a bit of atmosphere and excitement. And demonstrate my skills with the old Gothic prose.”
“Best stick to what you do best, eh, chief?”
“Being the best private eye in the business?”
“That would be the kiddy, chief. You wish.”
“I didn’t catch that last bit, Barry.”
“I said that would be the kiddy, chief, you’re bliss.”
“Thanks, Barry.”
I lifted myself into the vertical plane with more dignity than a belted earl at a defecophiliacs’ disco. Made my way across my office with more style and suavity than a dandy in the underground and sat myself down on my chair with more polished aplomb than a plump pink plumber from Plympton. [7] And with a certain amount of care in comfying up the cushion, as my piles were playing me havoc at the time.
Before me, on my desk, I spied my snap-brimmed fedora and my trusty Smith and Wes Craven.
“My hat, my gun,” said I with some degree of amazement.
“Say ‘Thank you Barry’,” said Barry.
“Eh?”
“Say ‘Thank you Barry for putting thoughts in a couple of heads and getting my hat and gun back so I can set out once more on a case without looking like a hatless, gunless, gormless git.’”
“There’s no bullets in this gun,” said I, examining same with my eagle eye. “I had at least two bullets left, I’m sure. I remember shooting that black guy in the alley who asked if I wanted to buy the
Big Issue
. And I put two in the head of that fat woman, because she was taking up too much space in Fangio’s and I’ve never seen the point of fat people. And one in the kid with the lollipop, because I can’t be having with dogs and children either. And …”
“‘Thank you, Barry’ not a happening thing at the moment, then, chief?”
“Yeah, sure, Barry, thank you. But like I was saying, I’m certain I should have had at least two bullets left. And bullets don’t grow on trees, Barry. Bullets cost bucks.”
“You ungrateful schmuck.”
“What did you say, Barry?”
“I said you’re a wonderful buck, chief.”
“Yeah, I guess that I am.” And guessed that I was. That’s one of the things that I liked about Barry. He recognized greatness. “So, little green buddy,” I said. “What have you been up to? You weren’t with me in Fangio’s when I got bopped on the head.”
“I always like to miss that part, chief. Rattles me all about inside this empty skull.”
“So where have you been?”
“Been up in Heaven, chief. We Holy Guardians have to check in every week. Put in our expense chitties. Write out our reports. Get a bit of fertilizer rubbed into our leaves by a bra-less Charlie Dimmock lookalike with five-star bottom cleavage. But it’s mostly paperwork. You know how it is.”
“I do,” said I and I did. “So how are things, topside, amongst the choirs celestial? God keeping well, is He?”
“Well, that’s the thing, chief. Actually things aren’t exactly hunky-dory in Heaven at the moment. God’s gone missing again and His wife’s getting pretty upset.”
“God’s
wife
? I didn’t know that God had a wife.” And I didn’t. I knew that every dog had its day and that a trouble shared was a trouble halved and I even knew that if you take two mobile phones, call one of them with the other, then place the two of them ten inches apart on a table with a raw egg between them, the egg will be
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