"Robert Rankin - Brentford 03 - East Of Ealing" - читать интересную книгу автора (Rankin Robert)

'Your lack of enterprise is a thing to inspire disgust.'
'He that diggeth a pit will fall into it. Ecclesiasticus
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Chapter twenty-seven, verse twenty-six,' said Jim Pooley. 'I am not a religious man as you well know,
but I feel that the Scriptures definitely have it sussed on this point. A commendable try though.' Jim
took out his cigarette packet from his top pocket and handed the Irishman a tailor-made.
'Thank you,' said Omally.
'Now, if you really have a wish to make a killing today -' John nodded enthusiastically, it was early
yet and his brain was only just warming up to the daily challenge, '- I have seen something which has
the potential to earn a man more pennies than a thousand buried bedframes. Something which a man
can only be expected to witness once in a lifetime. And something of such vast financial potential that
if a man was to see it and not take advantage of the experience, he should consider himself a soul lost
for ever and beyond all hope.'
'Your words are pure music,' said John Omally. 'Play on, sweet friend, play on.'

As Neville the part-time barman drew the polished brass bolts on the saloon-bar door and stood in the
opening, sniffing the air, the clatter of two pairs of hobnail boots and the grating of rear mudguard
upon back wheel announced the approach of a brace of regulars. One of these was a gentleman of
Celtic extraction who had recently become convinced that the future lay in perpetual motion and its
application to the fifth gear of the common bicycle. Neville installed himself behind the bar counter
and closed the hinged counter top.
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'God save all here,' said John Omally, pushing open the door.
'Count that double,' said Pooley, following up the rear.
Neville pushed a polished glass beneath the spout of the beer engine and drew upon the enamel pump
handle. Before the patrons had hoisted themselves on to their accustomed barstools, two pints of Large
stood brimming before them, golden brown and crystal clear. 'Welcome,' said Neville.
'Hello once more,' said Omally, 'Jim is in the chair.' Pooley smiled and pushed the exact amount of
pennies and halfpennies across the polished counter top. Neville rang up 'No Sale' and once more all was
as it ever had been and hopefully ever would be in Brentford.
'How goes the game then, gentlemen?' Neville asked the patrons, already a third of the way through
their pints.
'As ever, cruel to the working man,' said John. 'And how is yourself?'
'To tell you the truth, a little iffy. In your personal opinion, John, how do I look to you?'
'The very picture of health.'
'Not a little puffy?' Neville fingered his middle regions.
'Not at all.'
'No hint of stoutness there? You can be frank with me, I have no fear of criticism.'
Omally shook his head and looked towards Jim. 'You look fine,' said Pooley. 'Are you feeling a bit
poorly, then?'
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'No, no.' Neville shook his head with vigour. 'It's just that, well . . .'he considered the two drinkers
who surveyed him with dubious expressions. 'Oh, nothing at all. I look all right you think? No higher,
say, than usual?' Two heads swung to and fro upon their respective necks. 'Best to forget it then, a
small matter, do not let it spoil your ale.'
'Have no fear of that,' said John Omally.
The Swan's door opened to admit the entry of an elderly gentleman and his dog. 'Morning, John,
Jim,' said Old Pete, sidling up to the bar. 'Large dark rum please, Neville.' Neville took himself off to
the optic.
'Morning, Pete,' said Pooley, 'good day, Chips.' The ancient's furry companion woofed non-