we’ll have to wait,
I’ll miss the midnight movie.
So after we had watched the show
We lowered little boats to row,
And got our harpoons out to throw.
But by that time the whale had buggered off.
“And?” said the nippers. “What happened next?”
“Nothing,” said Ted. “That was it. I did see a mermaid on the way home. But I’ll tell you all about that another day.”
The nippers entered into a brief discussion, arrived at a consensus agreement and, without further ado, stoned old Ted to death.
9
“Stone me,” said Jim Pooley.
“And that’s the God’s honest truth, I’m telling you,” said Geraldo, rattling his empty glass once more.
Jim considered the phrase “You are a lying git” but dismissed it as redundant. The tale simply
had
to be true. He had never told anyone about The Pooley. Certainly all who knew him knew of his quest for the six-horse Super-Yankee. But he had wisely refrained from mentioning the name he intended to give it.
Jim finished his pint and set down his glass. The health-farm glow had fled from his cheeks and he felt far from well.
“I need the bog,” he said.
“Then give me the cash and I’ll get in the round.”
Jim fumbled in his pocket and dragged out a oncer. “Take it,” he said. “Get a pint for yourself and a vodka for me.”
“Fair enough. No, wait just a minute.”
“I can’t,” said Jim, making haste to his feet. “I think I’m going to be sick.”
“But this poundnote. Is it all right? Who’s this bearded bloke on the front?”
Jim took to flapping his hands as he ran to the bog. Generally in moments of acute agitation he flapped his hands and turned around in small circles. But this time he had to flap on the hoof.
“I hope it wasn’t something I said.” Geraldo took his empty glass to the counter.
Within the bog of the Flying Swan, Jim made for cubicle three. And here he emptied the contents of his stomach into the white china bowl.
“Oh my God,” went Pooley. “Oh my God.” And he reached for the chain to flush away the horrors.
“Don’t pull that,” said a voice from above.
“Oh my …” and Jim’s hand hovered.
“God,” said the voice. “This is God.”
“God?” said a pale and trembling Jim, glancing all round and about.
The bog was empty but for himself. But for himself and—
“God?”
“Don’t pull that chain,” said God once more. Jim’s hands began to flap.
“And don’t flap your hands,” said God.
“I’m sorry, sir,” said Jim, who was now on the point of collapse.
“And down on your knees when you’re talking to me.”
“Oh, yes, sir, I’m sorry.” Jim knelt down in the cubicle, his nose too near to the horrors. This was all he needed! A telling-off from God!
“Pooley,” said God.
Jim shuddered at his name.
“Pooley, I am displeased with you,”
“But it isn’t my fault,” said Jim to God. “I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“What, never?” God asked.
“Well, sometimes,” said Jim. “But you’d know all about those.”
“You’re a bad man, Pooley,” said God.
“But I don’t mean to be. I’d never knowingly do harm to anyone. I can’t be held responsible for things that happen in the future.”
“What are you on about?” God asked.
“The future, sir, what happens in the future.”
“So you want to know what happens in the future, do you?”
Pooley nodded dismally.
“Is that a yes or a no?”
“It’s a yes, sir,” said Jim.
“It’ll cost you,” said God.
“What?”
“The information will cost you.”
“Do you want me to put money in the poor box at St Joan’s?”
“No, you can leave it here on the floor. I’ll see that they get it.”
“Eh?” said Jim.
“Are you querying God?”
“Oh, no, sir, I’m not.”
“Then I will give you a name and an address and you will give me a fiver.”
“I don’t think I have a fiver left,” said Jim. “It’s been a very expensive evening.”
“What about the fiver
I’ll miss the midnight movie.
So after we had watched the show
We lowered little boats to row,
And got our harpoons out to throw.
But by that time the whale had buggered off.
“And?” said the nippers. “What happened next?”
“Nothing,” said Ted. “That was it. I did see a mermaid on the way home. But I’ll tell you all about that another day.”
The nippers entered into a brief discussion, arrived at a consensus agreement and, without further ado, stoned old Ted to death.
9
“Stone me,” said Jim Pooley.
“And that’s the God’s honest truth, I’m telling you,” said Geraldo, rattling his empty glass once more.
Jim considered the phrase “You are a lying git” but dismissed it as redundant. The tale simply
had
to be true. He had never told anyone about The Pooley. Certainly all who knew him knew of his quest for the six-horse Super-Yankee. But he had wisely refrained from mentioning the name he intended to give it.
Jim finished his pint and set down his glass. The health-farm glow had fled from his cheeks and he felt far from well.
“I need the bog,” he said.
“Then give me the cash and I’ll get in the round.”
Jim fumbled in his pocket and dragged out a oncer. “Take it,” he said. “Get a pint for yourself and a vodka for me.”
“Fair enough. No, wait just a minute.”
“I can’t,” said Jim, making haste to his feet. “I think I’m going to be sick.”
“But this poundnote. Is it all right? Who’s this bearded bloke on the front?”
Jim took to flapping his hands as he ran to the bog. Generally in moments of acute agitation he flapped his hands and turned around in small circles. But this time he had to flap on the hoof.
“I hope it wasn’t something I said.” Geraldo took his empty glass to the counter.
Within the bog of the Flying Swan, Jim made for cubicle three. And here he emptied the contents of his stomach into the white china bowl.
“Oh my God,” went Pooley. “Oh my God.” And he reached for the chain to flush away the horrors.
“Don’t pull that,” said a voice from above.
“Oh my …” and Jim’s hand hovered.
“God,” said the voice. “This is God.”
“God?” said a pale and trembling Jim, glancing all round and about.
The bog was empty but for himself. But for himself and—
“God?”
“Don’t pull that chain,” said God once more. Jim’s hands began to flap.
“And don’t flap your hands,” said God.
“I’m sorry, sir,” said Jim, who was now on the point of collapse.
“And down on your knees when you’re talking to me.”
“Oh, yes, sir, I’m sorry.” Jim knelt down in the cubicle, his nose too near to the horrors. This was all he needed! A telling-off from God!
“Pooley,” said God.
Jim shuddered at his name.
“Pooley, I am displeased with you,”
“But it isn’t my fault,” said Jim to God. “I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“What, never?” God asked.
“Well, sometimes,” said Jim. “But you’d know all about those.”
“You’re a bad man, Pooley,” said God.
“But I don’t mean to be. I’d never knowingly do harm to anyone. I can’t be held responsible for things that happen in the future.”
“What are you on about?” God asked.
“The future, sir, what happens in the future.”
“So you want to know what happens in the future, do you?”
Pooley nodded dismally.
“Is that a yes or a no?”
“It’s a yes, sir,” said Jim.
“It’ll cost you,” said God.
“What?”
“The information will cost you.”
“Do you want me to put money in the poor box at St Joan’s?”
“No, you can leave it here on the floor. I’ll see that they get it.”
“Eh?” said Jim.
“Are you querying God?”
“Oh, no, sir, I’m not.”
“Then I will give you a name and an address and you will give me a fiver.”
“I don’t think I have a fiver left,” said Jim. “It’s been a very expensive evening.”
“What about the fiver
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