"Robert Rankin - Knees Up Mother Earth" - читать интересную книгу автора (Rankin Robert)

this time nearly dislodging his wig.
тАЬNothing, dear,тАЭ said Norman. тАЬAnd IтАЩm almost done with the
numbering.тАЭ
The numbering.
Norman viewed the figure upon the front page of the Brentford Mercury.
The figure of the debt. The millions owed by Brentford United Football Club тАУ
surely such a sum could be raised if everyone in Brentford dug into their
pockets. TheyтАЩd only need to fork out тАж NormanтАЩs Biro moved about upon the
blank area of newssheet where the theatre review would have been had the
MercuryтАЩs inebriate critic, тАЬBadgerтАЭ Beaumont, got around to filing his report.
NormanтАЩs Biro moved and many figures were written (many, too, were
crossed out and rewritten). Many more were also crossed out. Norman, for all
his love of numbers, wasnтАЩt much of a hand at sums. He really did need a
computer. Norman flung the now defunct Biro aside.
And Norman took to leafing again.
Page two had little to offer Norman, other than an advert announcing the
arrival of Count Otto BlackтАЩs Circus Fantastique, presently pitching its big top
upon nearby Ealing Common. This at least had Norman doing so-so
movements with his head, for he harboured some fondness for the circus.
There was also an article penned by local guru and self-styled Perfect
Master Hugo Rune, extolling the virtues of Runesthetics, a spiritual exercise
programme of his own conception that promised, for a fee, to enlarge that
certain part of the male anatomy which teenage boys generally sought to
enlarge through methods of their own, sometimes with the aid of tapes rented
from the video section of PegтАЩs Paper Shop.
Norman raised an eyebrow to Runesthetics and then lowered it again. He
had once invented a system of his own to further that particular end. It had
involved Meccano. And, later, several jars of Savlon.
Norman leafed on. It was, as ever it was, and ever it most probably ever
would be, the same old, tired old news for the most part. And for the most part
Norman took as ever he had, and probably ever would take, a certain pleasure
and comfort in its same old, tired old sameness. Flower shows, f├кtes, functions
and funerals. And car-boot sales.
And Norman leafed on until he came to the page before last. And there for
a while he dwelt, amidst the small ads.
And there NormanтАЩs right forefinger, its nail sorely in need of a nailbrush,
travelled down column after column тАж
 Until тАж
It stopped.
And the shopkeeper took from the top pocket of his brown shop coat, a
pocket that was in need of some stitching, a pencil which was, as it happened,
not in need of a sharpening. (NormanтАЩs spell in the Navy had taught him, in
addition to the importance of a well-polished shoe, to keep his matches dry,
his underwear clean and his pencil sharp, for obvious reasons.)
And Norman took up his pre-sharpened pencil and encircled an advert
with it:

I HAVE A LARGE COLLECTION OF UNWANTED COMPUTER PARTS
AVAILABLE FOR DISPOSAL.
FREE TO FIRST APPLICANT. TELEPHONE THIS NUMBER FOR DETAILS.