Read Nostradamus Ate My Hamster for Free Online Page B

and who stood by patiently waiting (and listening).
    “What will it be then, love?”
    “Perrier water,” said the young man.
    Russell buried his face in his hands.
    “If you’ve had too much, mate, go home and sleep it off.”
    Russell unburied his face.
    The landlord glared him daggers. “I pop out the back for half an hour and that blonde tart gets all the customers drunk. That’s the last time I hire an ex-contortionist go-go dancing sex-aid demonstrator.”
    Russell made a low groaning sound.
    “And don’t you dare chuck up,” growled the landlord.
    “I wasn’t,” said Russell. “This is my first pint, I’ve only just come in.”
    “Well, watch it anyway.”
    “I will,” promised Russell, and the landlord went his way.
    Russell sipped at his beer. It tasted ghastly. Russell gazed about the bar. It was all so very normal. Everything about Brentford was so very normal. Russell felt certain that it always
had
been normal, always
would
be normal.
    There had never really been some golden age, when local lads battled it out with the forces of evil and saved the world from this peril and the next. It was all just fiction.
    The landlord shuffled by with a trayload of empties.
    “Excuse me,” said Russell.
    “You’re excused,” said the landlord. “Now bugger off.”
    “I wondered if I might ask you a few questions.”
    “You might,” said the landlord. “But I doubt if you’d get any answers.”
    “It’s about The Flying Swan.”
    “Ah,” said the landlord, and it was as if some golden ray from heaven had suddenly been turned upon him. He drew himself up from his slovenly slouch and beamed a broad grin at Russell. It wasn’t much of a grin, being composed of nicotine-stained stumps for the most part, but it lacked not for warmth and enthusiasm. “The Flying Swan, did you say?”
    “I did say, yes.”
    “So what would you like to know?”
    “I’d like to know whether it ever really existed.”
    “Really existed?” The landlord slid his tray onto the bar counter and thrust out his chest. It wasn’t much of a chest, being scrawny and narrow, and the shirt that covered it was rather stained, but it lacked not for pride and confidence. “Of course it really existed, you’re sitting in it now.”
    “I’m
what
?”
    “This is it.” The landlord did further grinnings, he turned his head from side to side, displaying sparse sideburns and ears from which sprouted prodigious outcroppings of hair. “I’m him,” he said.
    “You’re who?”
    “Neville. Neville the part-time barman.”
    “You never are.” Russell all but fell off his stool. “You’re Neville? I mean … well, I don’t know what I mean. My goodness.”
    “Pleased to meet you,” said the landlord, extending his hand for a shake. Russell took the grubby item and gave it one.
    “I’m Russell,” said Russell.
    “And how many are there in your party, Mr Russell?”
    “I, er, sorry?”
    “Will you be wanting to hire the upstairs room? We provide costumes.”
    “Costumes?” Russell asked.
    “For re-enactments, of course, cowboy night, that kind of thing. Will there be any Americans in your party?”
    “Americans?”
    “We had a coachload in last year. They brought their own costumes, but we had to charge them for that anyway. It’s all in the brochure. I’ll get you one.”
    “Phone call,” said the blond barmaid, leaning over the counter. Russell could smell her perfume. It smelled like pure bliss.
    “I’m talking to this gentleman,” said the landlord.
    “It’s the brewery, about
that
business.”
    “Shit,” said the landlord. “If you’ll just excuse me, sir, I’ll be right back.”
    “Yes,” said Russell. “Fine, yes. Well, yes.”
    The landlord dropped back into his slouch and in it he slouched away.
    Russell took a big pull upon his pint. This was incredible. The first pub he’d gone into. Incredible! Instant success! And Neville was here and everything. True, he didn’t look exactly how