The Dance of the Voodoo Handbag (25 page)

Was it
R + R = C, C
²
= B, or was it B = R
²
x C
²
?

Rune
explained that you’d have to break the Rs up: R(1) would be original
randomness, also known as R
⁰
R(2) would be the second act of
randomness, post-coincidence, but prior to R(3), when two post-coincidence
events coincided simultaneously to create a third (R(4)). B itself was a
combination of R(1)
²
x R(2)
²
x R(3)
²
x R(4)
²
.
Recurring.

What
were the catalysts that sparked the original random events? asked the grey
beards. And how did these fit into the equation? Could these be called ORs?

Rune
took up a piece of chalk and went over to the blackboard.

He
never gave another lecture on the subject.

And he
never worked out the equation.

Some
say that he spent the rest of his life trying. But others, who are better
informed and were present at the lecture, state that Rune laid about the grey
beards with his stout stick before adjourning to the pub for a pint.

A pint
of good old English beer, probably.

I gave the Jolly Gardeners
a miss. I mean, come on now, did you really think I was going to make my way
back there and walk straight into a trap?

You
did? Then shame on you.

I
dreamed up a pub of my own. I called it Rob’s Bar, placed myself behind the
counter, and peopled it with all the folk I’d ever wanted to meet.

There
was Captain Beefheart playing dominoes with Salvador Dalí, Aleister Crowley
chatting up Madonna, Hugo Rune arguing with Einstein, Oscar Wilde coming out of
the Gents, and Long John Holmes going into the Ladies.

I
sipped my good old English beer, served a pint of Death by Cider to Jimi
Hendrix, and smiled upon the congregation. They were all chatting happily
away, in fact they all seemed to be on first—name terms. It’s typical that, isn’t
it, the way the rich and famous chum up together. I was about to serve Bob
Dylan (the young version, not the present-day plonker) when I had to leave the
bar for a moment to eject David Bowie whom I hadn’t invited.

I
returned to the bar, served Bob and then bashed my knobkerry down upon the
counter. ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ I said. ‘If I might just have your attention
for a moment.’

The
hubbub continued and I was ignored.

‘Ladies
and gentlemen, please.’

More
hubbub.

I
bashed my knobkerry down with some force. ‘Ladies and gentlemen,
please.’

Further
hubbub.

‘Please!
Please! Please!’ and Bash! Bash! Bash! The hubbub ceased and heads turned in my
direction.’

‘Thank
you,’ I said. ‘Now you are probably wondering why I brought you all here.’

1 gazed
at them and they gazed at me.

Well,
in case you
were
wondering, it’s this—’

And
they all started hubbubbing all over again.

‘Now
stop that!’ I bashed with considerable vigour. ‘I have asked you here because I
have admired your work in the past and I would value your—’

Chris
Eubank came forward and handed me something.

What’s
that?’ I asked.

‘Autographed
photo,’ said Chris.

Well,
thank you very much, but that’s not what I want.’

Chris
snatched it back. ‘Just watch it!’ he said. ‘Twat.’

‘I
would value your opinions,’ I continued. ‘You see, each one of you has in some
way helped to shape my life. A record here, a painting there, some show or
event I went to.’

‘Excuse
me,’ said Hugo Rune, ‘but who exactly are you?’

‘I’m
Rob,’ I said. ‘And this is my bar. My dream bar actually.’

‘And
are you famous?’

‘No.’

‘Then
what possible interest would you be to us?’

‘Now
stop all that,’ I said. ‘I’m well aware of how you rich and famous chum up,
that’s only to be expected. But if it wasn’t for the little people like me to
buy your records and so forth, you wouldn’t be rich and famous.’

‘I
think you miss the point,’ said Rune. We are rich and famous because we are
different. We are the herd leaders, we change society, alter the direction of
the herd.’

‘And
that’s why I’d value your opinions, you see, I’m in a lot of trouble. I’m
trapped here and I need all the help I can get so—’

‘Have
to stop you there,’ said Rune. ‘You really are missing the point. Do you recall
Margaret Thatcher saying “There is no such thing as society, only groups of
individuals”?’

‘Yes,’
I said.

Well, she
was talking out of her handbag. What she should have said was “There is a group
of individuals. And there’s the rest. And the rest equals society.”‘

‘You
pompous prat,’ I said.

‘It is
the privilege of the dwarf to insult the giant.’

‘The
dwarf on the giant’s shoulders sees the furthest of the two.’

‘Not if
he doesn’t get a leg-up.’

‘And
you’re not going to give me that leg-up. Is that it?’

‘You’re
a statistic,’ said Rune. ‘A sales figure. Those at the top do not view you as
an individual. Only as a percentage.’

‘You
callous bastard.’

‘Callousness
does not enter into it.’

‘Come
on,’ I said. ‘Anyone here. I’ve supported you. The least you can do is help me
out when I’m in trouble.’

‘Help
you out?’ Rune raised a startling eyebrow. ‘And where were you when
we
needed
helping out? Take Mr Keith Richards here.’ Keith waved and I waved back. Where
were you when he was going through his heroin addiction? Did you turn up at the
hospital offering to change his bed pan?’

‘Some
fans did.’

‘But
not
you.’

Well,
not me personally.’

‘In
fact you’re probably one of those bastards who secretly enjoys it when someone
famous goes off the rails. Gets involved in some scandal, loses all their
money. You get a vicarious thrill from that. The tabloids wouldn’t sell any
copies if it wasn’t for people like you who glory in the problems of the
famous.’

We don’t—’

‘Aha!’
said Rune.
‘We,
that’s what you said,
we.
You’re not an
individual. You’re one of the herd that buys the tabloids.’

‘I am
an individual. But come on, give me a break.’

‘No,’
said Rune, ‘we won’t. Take Ms Madonna here.’ Madonna waved and I waved back. ‘She
has millions of fans. Imagine if every single one wrote to her asking her for
advice. She might well want to give it, and indeed she is a very caring person,
but she wouldn’t have time. She couldn’t possibly answer all those letters. So
she does what she does. She entertains, and that makes millions of people happy
all at once.’

‘So you
won’t help me out? That’s what you’re saying?’

We can’t,’
said Rune. We have already helped you out. You said it yourself. Each one of us
here has in some way helped to shape your life. That is what
we
do.
Through our music, our books, our paintings. It’s not callous that we cannot
deal with you personally. It’s just not how it works. Do you understand what I’m
saying?’

‘Yes,’
I said, and nodded gloomily. We’re not bad people,’ said Rune. ‘No, I
understand that.’

‘It’s
simply how it is.’

‘Yes,
OK.’

‘You
must do your thing and we must do ours.’

‘All
right, I get the message.’

‘It’s
the way of the world, it’s—’

‘I said
all tight!
Don’t labour the point. You’re not going to help me, but it’s
not your fault that you can’t.’

‘Precisely,’
said Rune.

‘Then
you might as well all piss off.’

What?’
said Rune.

‘Piss
off, you’re no use to me.’

We’re
having a drink and a chat,’ said Rune.

‘Yeah
well, there’s no point in it now.’

‘That’s
hardly for you to say, is it?’

‘It
is
for me to say, now piss off the lot of you.’

‘You
ill-mannered little twat,’ said Hugo Rune. ‘Don’t call me a twat, you fat
bastard.’ And then Hugo Rune swung his stout stick and hit me in the face, and
I swung my knobkerry and hit Chris Eubank, and Chris Eubank chinned Max Miller
and John Steinbeck head-butted Edith Sitwell and Andy Warhol kicked Tod
Browning in the knackers, and everything sort of fell to pieces all around me.

I sighed as Lawrence of
Arabia punched my lights out.

‘That’s
showbiz,’ said Lawrence.

Faster Dad Faster

(The shoulder-carrier’s revenge)

Faster Dad faster,

The little one cried,

To his wretched dad with the acne.

Faster Dad, gee up,

Hurry on, me up,

We must be home,

In time for our tea up.

Poor Dad persisted

This pitiless toil

For his sly ungrateful offspring.

Blast, curse and blow it,

Hold on and stow it.

He wished he could rip off,

His son’s head and throw it.

Faster Dad faster,

The little one shouted.

His father struggled on manfully.

Hurry Dad, do Dad,

Am I worrying you Dad?

Here, was that
my head

You ripped off and threw Dad?

18

It’s
all true, or ought to be; and

more and better besides.

SIR WINSTON CHURCHILL

(of King Arthur)

I wasn’t angry. I was
upset. I was hurt. I was sore from the hammering Lawrence gave me. But I wasn’t
actually angry. I suppose I should have expected it. But you don’t, do you? It
was yet another revelation.

I was
learning all the time.

I sat all alone in Rob’s
Bar sipping good old English beer and listening to the screams, as the private
militia I had created in my head took the famous people I’d dreamed up and fed
them one by one into a big leaf-shredder of my own imagination. It was clear
that I was going to have to do this thing on my own. I might meet up with
others on the way who could help me out a bit, but for the most part this would
be a one-man operation.

The
work of an individual with a mission.

But
where to start? That was the problem.

And I
really wasn’t all that keen on going it alone.

There
had to be someone I could turn to. And then it dawned on me that there was.
There was one individual who would help me out. Someone who had already tried
to help me out.

The
ancient mariner in my Uncle Brian’s dream. He’d warned me to stay clear of
Billy Barnes, so he’d known the danger I was in. But who was he and where was
he?

‘Right,’
I said. ‘Find the ancient mariner. So how might I go about this?’

And
then a thought hit me, so I went with it.

Billy Barnes had been
thinking. High in his penthouse, comfy in his chair, television on, glass of
something tasty and feet up on the chauffeur.

‘I’m
not paid enough,’ said Billy. ‘I am worth a great deal more to Necrosoft than I’m
being paid.’

The
chauffeur, kneeling, naked but for her gloves, which Billy had lined with
pleaser, said nothing. She had learned when it was acceptable to speak and when
it was not.

‘You
agree, don’t you?’ said Billy.

‘I do,’
said the naked woman.

Billy
took a sleek remote controller and angled it towards the TV screen. ‘I’ve been
six months with Necrosoft now,’ he continued. ‘And in my capacity as
information gatherer, I have gathered twenty-three subjects at Dyke’s request.
I enjoy my work, but I do not feel appreciated. Do you know what I mean?’

The
naked woman turned her haunted eyes upon Billy. She knew exactly what he meant.
And a great deal more.

‘Now,
here.’ Billy thumbed the controller and the TV screen displayed a wealth of
facts and figures. ‘Here we see projections for the expansion of the Necronet.
Nationwide advertising, interfacing with financial bodies, involvement with
government departments. This is top secret stuff by the way, I gathered it
whilst unobserved. Necrosoft has a finger in almost every profitable pie there
is. Look at that, and that.’