“Work together?” said Jim. “As in music?”

“As in Apocalypso music, yes. You’ve got it all figured out, haven’t you?”

“Not all,” said Jim.

“But you really think that the Gandhis could be the next big thing?”

“I know that for a fact,” said Jim.

“Then I trust you, mate. Put it there.”

And Ricky put out his curious hand and Pooley gave it a shaking.

Omally’s hand was shaking too. Both of his hands were shaking, in fact, and most of the rest of him also. Omally sat hunched at the bar counter of the Flying Swan. The time was but a little past five-thirty opening, but John had already put three pints of Large inside himself, and looked in the mood to put down several more.

Neville watched John as he pulled him the pint. And Neville did not like what he saw. He had known Omally to have the occasional off day, but he had never seen him look as grim as this. Neville passed the pint across and took himself off for some polishing.

And then the door to the bar swung wide and in breezed Pooley. Omally looked up and let out a groan and sank once more to his pint.

“Evening, John, evening, Neville,” said Jim. “Two more of those, please, I think.”

Neville hastened back to the pumps and John sank a little bit lower.

“So, then, John,” said Jim. “How did the day go for you?”

“Ooooooooooooooooh,” went Omally.

“Not too well by the sound of it.”

Omally shook a dismal head. “I don’t know what to say,” he said. “It doesn’t make sense, it just doesn’t.”

“No luck with the record companies?”

“Madness,” said John. “Absolute madness. Norman copied the tape and we played it together. It’s incredible, just like you said. You know that horrible wart thing Norman had on his neck?”

“Oh yes,” said Jim. “Very nasty, that.”

“Cured,” said John. “It vanished away. And his bald spot’s thatched over.”

“The music does that. It’s in her voice.”

“I know, I heard it, and I’ve spent half the day playing the tape down the telephone to record company executives.”

“And they weren’t keen?”

“They said that they’d heard stuff like it before. That every so often a singer turns up who can do this sort of thing.”

“But they weren’t interested.”

“No. None of them. It doesn’t make any sense. Here we have something that’s worth millions of pounds and no record company will touch it.”

“Well, never mind,” said Jim.

“Never mind? Have you gone mad?”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Jim.

“Doesn’t matter? But we could have made a fortune.”

“We still can,” said Jim. “Because I have this.” And he whipped out a grubby sheet of paper.

“And what is that?” Omally asked.

“Contract,” said Jim proudly. “Signed by each of the Gandhis and giving us exclusive rights to their music”

Omally took the contract from Jim and examined it. “You got them all to sign,” he said. “You worked so hard. I’m so sorry, Jim.”

“You don’t have to worry, John. It’ll be better this way.”

Neville passed the pints across.

“I’ll get these,” said Omally. “I owe you that at least.”

“No, I’ll get them,” said Jim. “I’ve got plenty of money.” And with that he pulled out a roll of twenties that had Omally gasping.

“How?” went John. “Where?”

“Investment capital,” said Jim. “The Gandhis all wanted to buy in.”

“You got money from the band?”

“Money up front to pay for recording time.”

“But none of the record labels will touch them.”

“Brentford Records will.”

“Brentford Records? There is no Brentford Records.”

“There is now,” said Jim. “And we are they. As it were. None of the big companies will touch the band, John. So Ricky and I came up with an idea. We’ll set up our own independent record company and market the music ourselves. Beat the big boys, eh?”

Omally’s mouth fell hugely wide. “You are a genius, Jim,” he said. “A fu—”

“I’ll settle for just a genius. But that’s what we’re going to do. Have a pint on me, Neville.”

Have a pint on me? Neville’s face folded in horror. If last night hadn’t been bad enough, have a pint on me!

As Neville fought to find some words, Ornally had plenty to say.

“You’ve done it, Jim,” he cried. “You’ve pulled off the big one.”

“Pretty smart, eh?” said Jim. “And I never went near the bookies. I just set my mind to the task in hand and I came up with a solution.”

“We must drink to this,” said Omally. “Drink to this historic moment. At some future time, when Brentford Records is the biggest record company in the world, we’ll look back upon this hour and say that this was the turning point in our fortunes. This was the moment when everything fell into place.”

“Let’s not get too carried away,” said Jim.

“Nonsense,” said John. “You did it and you’ll take the credit. History will record this day as the day you pulled off The Pooley.”

Neville finally found some words. “Why has Jim fainted?” he asked.

Cab-Arthur Roper

Loved cantilever bridges.

And the sound that the wind made

When it blew down chimneys.

Cab-Arthur Roper

Could call up spirits.

Ask them questions

And write down their answers in a small black book.

Cab-Arthur Roper,

Some called him mad.

Some called him master.

Some even said he was not of this world.

Duck-Barry Martin

Had twenty-three pistols,

And a cellar full of mushrooms

That no one was allowed in.

Duck-Barry Martin

Lived with two women,

And breathed into their nostrils

Which made them obey him.

Duck-Barry Martin,

Some called him Baz.

Some called him Duck Boy.

Some even said he was Jesus come back.

Wild-Norman Peacock

Opened safes for robbers.

Let free pigeons from their lofts

And spoiled babies’ Christenings.

Wild-Norman Peacock

Never worked for a living.

Was registered as a charity.

Received a grant from the Arts Council.

Wild-Norman Peacock.

Some call him clever.

I, for one!

Now, although Jim’s day had been hot on success, it hadn’t been big on adventure.

Jim was not an adventurous type. He was more your chit-chat-in-a-bar-and-get-things-sorted kind of body. As opposed to, say, your macho-manly-man-gung-ho-abseil-into-the-embassy-shoot-all-the-terrorists-rescue-all-the-hostages-and-shag-six-chicks-before-tea-time blokish sort of bloke.

Not that Jim wasn’t a manly man. He was. He lacked not one jot for manly mannishness. He just wasn’t big on adventure.

But, then, who is?

Life, as we have seen from this small slice in Brentford, is mostly composed of conversation. Few people ever actually do very much. And if they do do anything, it is rarely of an adventurous nature.

There are exceptions, of course. There are always exceptions. There will always be one or two folk in every community who positively thrive on action and adventure. But you will rarely, if ever, get to meet these people. Because they will be off somewhere else, getting into action and having adventures.

In fact, the only time you will get to meet them is when they are home for a while between adventures and you have a conversation with them in a bar. And if it’s past the ten o’clock watershed, you probably won’t believe anything they tell you anyway.

But they do exist and every community, no matter how small, can usually boast at least one.