The Garden of Unearthly Delights by Robert Rankin Page A

of Grimshaw,
welcome.’ The zany’s voice rang out in a confident tone. ‘Tonight the first
ever, the never seen anywhere before, all new commercial newscast. Put your
hands together for your own, your very own Mr Dayglo Hilyte and his lovely
assistant Miss Jenny Tailier.’
    The
crowd gushed out applause. The zany yanked upon the rope, the curtains parted.
The jukebox TV took centre stage.
    The
applause was veritable thunder. Maxwell and Miss Tailier smiled out at the
multitude. And some multitude.
    Several
hundred at least.
    ‘Will
they all be able to hear us?’ Miss Tailier asked.
    ‘Speak
loudly and clearly into your speaking tube. Are you ready?’
    Miss
Tailier squeezed his hand once more. ‘I’m ready.’
    ‘So be
it.’ Maxwell raised his other hand and the eager crowd stilled to its raising.
    ‘Good
evening,’ said Maxwell, in a voice which might almost have passed for Dayglo
Hilyte’s. ‘And here is the six o’clock news.
    ‘Bong!’ went Miss Tailier.
    ‘Bong?’
asked Maxwell, turning in immediate confusion to the news crumpet.
    ‘Bong,’
whispered Miss Tailier. ‘Mr Hilyte said I should go bong when you
announced the news. It’s a tradition or an old charter or something. It’s the
chime of Big Dick.’
    ‘Oh, I
see.’ Maxwell coughed politely. ‘Big Ben,’ he whispered.
    ‘I
prefer a big dick any time.’ Miss Tailier fluttered her eyelashes.
    Maxwell
made that croaking throat sound of his. ‘Here is the six o’clock news,’ he went once more.
    ‘Bong!’
    Maxwell
read directly from the first sheet of paper. ‘Hundreds feared dead as God
accidentally drops his toothbrush on village.’
    ‘Bong!’
    ‘Hundreds what?’ Maxwell’s jaw was hanging slack. ‘What is this rubbish?’
    ‘Bluff
it,’ whispered Miss Tailier between the perfect teeth of a big broad smile.
‘Everyone’s watching you. Just read the script.’
    And
everyone was watching Maxwell. And watching very closely. And being very very
quiet about it too.
    ‘Bong!’
went Miss Jenny Tailier once more for luck.
    ‘Blind
farmer wears out fingers trying to read cheese grater,’ read Maxwell.
    ‘Bong!’
    ‘Mayor’s
wife comes second in beauty contest. A pig wins it.
    ‘What?’
cried the Mayor, who was right at the front. ‘Oh my Goddess.’ Maxwell fumbled
with his script. ‘It’s a misprint,’ he blurbled. ‘I’m sorry. A misprint.’
    ‘Get a
grip of yourself,’ whispered Miss Tailier. ‘Introduce me.
    ‘Indeed,’
Maxwell grinned goofily at the now murmuring crowd.
    ‘Over
to you, Jenny,’ he said.
    Jenny
Tailier smiled a sensational smile. The crowd cheered and clapped with great
enthusiasm.
    ‘Thank
you,’ said Miss Tailier primly. ‘I always appreciate a warm hand on my
opening.’
    ‘What?’ went Maxwell, turning ever paler beneath his
make-up.
    ‘This
week I’ve been out and about on the streets of Grimshaw talking to the men who
have been making the news.’
    Ah,
thought Maxwell. Not bad.
    ‘I
spoke to a man with a foot-long penis, who told me, “It may be twelve inches,
but I don’t use it as a rule.”’
    The
crowd erupted in laughter.
    Maxwell
sank down below the level of the screen. ‘No,’ he implored. ‘Not knob gags.
Anything but knob gags.’
    ‘Also,’
Miss Tailier went on, when the laughter had died away, ‘the vicar who caught
his plonker in the bell rope and was tolled off by the verger.
    ‘No!’
Maxwell raised a hand and clapped it over Miss Tailier’s mouth.
    ‘Boo!’
went the crowd.
    ‘What
is going on?’ muttered Maxwell through seriously gritted teeth. ‘What is
happening here? My news is all rubbish and you’re telling dirty jokes.’
    ‘That’s
what I do’, said Miss Tailier, wrenching Maxwell’s hand away, ‘where I work in
the town’s bordello. I’m a star round these parts, everyone knows me.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘Boo,
boo,’ and ‘hiss,’ went the crowd, and ‘get on with it.’
    ‘Back
to you, Dayglo,’ said Miss