"Robert Rankin - Brentford 01 - The Antipope" - читать интересную книгу автора (Rankin Robert)

idea.
'You don't swim at all do you, Norman?' asked the astute Omally, sensing money in the air.
'Sadly no,' said Norman, 'but I wade.' With these portentous words he left the saloon bar.
Little was heard of Norman for some weeks and his wife answered Omally's repeated enquiries with the
encouraging 'You certainly see some sights' and 'It takes all sorts to make a world doesn't it?'

The Irishman was pretty much at his wits' end when his eye caught a tiny paragraph on an inside page of the
Brentford Mercury: 'Local Man to Wade Channel.' Omally read the short paragraph once, then again slowly; then,
thinking that he must have misread it, he gave the thing a careful word-for-word scrutiny.

Norman Hartnell, local Rubberware Foreman (not to be confused with the other Norman Hartnell) stated
yesterday in an exclusive interview with the Mercury that it was his intention within the forseeable future to
have constructed certain marine apparatus which will make it possible for him to become the first man to
wade to France from England. Mr Hartnell (not to be confused with the other Norman Hartnell) told the
Mercury in this exclusive interview when asked his reason for this attempt that 'Kind words butter no
parsnips.' Mr Hartnell is 43.


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'What other Norman Hartnell?' queried John Omally, whose only claim to fashion consciousness was tucking his
shirt in all the way round even when wearing a jacket. There was still no word from Norman, and Omally even
took to phoning the offices of the Brentford Mercury daily for news. He was not a man to be cheated of his
pennies, and the more time passed the more he became convinced that whatever plans were hatching in
Norman's obtuse cranium, he, Omally, was due at least part of any income deriving from their fruition. 'It was
me reading about the Channel swimming that started it all, was it not?' he asked. Those present at the bar nodded
gravely.
'You have a moral right,' said Neville.
'You should get a contract drawn up,' said Jim Pooley.
'He owes you,' said Archroy.
That Saturday the Brentford Mercury, which had for some days been refusing to accept John Omally's
reverse-charge calls, announced in large and impressive type: BRENTFORD CHANNEL WADER NAMES THE DAY. Omally
read this startling headline over the shoulder of the paper's owner and gasped in disbelief. 'He's naming the day
and he still hasn't brought me in on it.'
'Pardon?' said the stranger.
'Fares please,' said the bus conductor.
 Omally, who had in his palm a number of pennies exactly equal either to his bus fare or to the price of a copy
of the Brentford Mercury, shouted, 'Stop that dog,' and leapt off the bus at the next set of traffic lights.
On the well-worn bench afront the Memorial Library he studied the newspaper. There were the headlines,
below them a photograph of Norman smiling hideously with the caption: 'All roads lead to Rome, says plucky
Brentonian.'
Omally read paragraph after paragraph, desperately trying to pluck out something substantial enough to merit
legal action. Yes, the plucky Brentonian had been working for some months now upon certain marine apparatus

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suitable to his requirements. He had made several unsuccessful tests with these (Omally raised his eyebrows at this
intelligence). He had gauged his exact course through careful study of coastal topography and undersea