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knowledgeable and erudite. Another of the staff looked down his long, skinny nose sporting a pair of pince-nez perched precariously at the end.

'I think you'll find, my good man, that the esteemed W. Sunset Mausoleum wrote no such book. His literary works included 'Cosmic Gravity and Remote Atmospheric Variables Pertaining To Interrelated Peripherals', and other such gems. We do not...

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Riverstones Home of Books.

Far more in your line and to your British manner of 🤔 thinking. '

'Where happens to be the local, as it were?', said I, fishing among biscuit crumbs, chunks of vegetable samosa, and papers, in rucker, to retrieve a paper plus pen.

'Over to you', I said, trying to appear learned,.....

Edited by itsmeagain
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and, spotting top writer Ronnie Gallbladder, he of the Cormorant Strike a light books, I said 'Hey Ronnie, Ronnie, you look real great and bonny.'

Ronnie looked happy, joining me to discuss Robin and Cormorant in the books.

'Actually.......

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...you're a good bloke, and I saw a megaphone shop around a ten minute walk away. I , meantime, will invite you to sit down in a corner with me..Garçon, mais s'il vous plait, two cups of hot sweet dark tea..'

Once sat down, tea delivered, Ronald Gallbladder, [for I did swear I believed him to be he....) talked about his writing.

('Well you know, Cormorant, Currant, should I say, Strike a Ball...'

Disconcerted,  I corrected this author,  telling him it is Strike a light not a ball.

'Well just testing,  never know when one's asleep does one..'

Now Robert Gallstones was meant to be Scottish  but this gent had a distinct Cockney accent

 'Tell me. Does Robin ever kiss ......

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Robbie Gallstone thought a while, meditativey sucking iced latte with bilberry, through a metal, eco  neutral straw.

'Well, she is very fond of flying. In my short story,  The flying jacket, I have Robin sucking air through the plane toilet air vent, as the plane endured turbulence over Ankara. So , aye, kiss the sky she does..'

Emboldened,  I remarked nonchalantly....

 

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so tell me, is your name really Gallbladder or Gallstone? I'm a little confused. I thought you said on your book's dust jacket that you're Scottish! What's with the Cockney rhyming slang?'

Robbie had the grace to blush and stammered out ...

Edited by poppy
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'you must bear with me old chap..you see, not putting too fine a point upon it, I am here at Duodenum books to grab some cash and generally act as if I am Bobby Gallstone..damn it, I spent 16 days devouring all the bloody incessant long story lines bout Cormorant and Robin, the nascent romantic attraction,  always subdued, hinted at, never made concrete...and you are the first bloke to rumble me...'

I noticed the Cockney accent had receded, to be replaced with a Bill Nighy upper class croak, so beloved of fans of Bill Nighy.

'Please, old man, will you help me.....

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the legality of the whole situation, 'And what's in it for me?' It's all very well for these toffs with their plummy accents wittering on about impatient concrete or some bloody thing and acting all chummy when they want something but when the chips are down ...

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'Right, slow down old chap, one can't get one's thoughts in order very swiftly these days..advancing age, don't you know...never been sprightly, but..', he said, trying to think up a reply. Advancing age, he looks only forty, now trying to behave as if he is at least 70, well am having none of that I can tell you.

'Your mame..',I said menacingly, affecting a snarl like a Rottweiler after being stung by a bee.

'OK, Arthur Reading', he said, his shifty eyes...

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a feeling in the dark recesses of my mind, that he was somehow linked with a black pearl. My curiosity was aroused by his ludicrous  demeanour, pretending to be Robbie Gallbladder, who I know is 71, moustache, jet black dyed hair, and a stoop. Here is a 42 year old bloke,  dyed blonde, or blonde wig,( not gonna allow him near enough for me to find out), reckoning to be an author of such excellent fiction that the mighty BBC see fit to serialise it.

'Tell me what is your mission in Nova Scotia?', I asked, pretending to be....

Edited by itsmeagain
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, a slim woman in her 40s, long brown hair, sidles up to our mystery author and asks why he didn't tell her he was coming to West Side, Eastern Nova Scotia. She hailed him as Mark, saying , ' oh Mark, we had such good times,me and Terence..but you have always been the one for me....'.

Robbie Gallstone, now Mark? The plot thickening like a bowl of old porridge,  I introduced myself to the woman as Richard H Turpin, attached to the Foreign office.

'Much obliged', she said, gamely, trying to present an amiable facade.

I decided to leave, and crossed the road, where I was downing my 5th pint in The Seafarers Arms, when in comes my wife.

'Spending time in the arms of a seafarer!!', and with that, she swooned, ending...

Edited by itsmeagain
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recite the mantra, '@ll your attributes 

ranged in ine

Trust me now, though wilt be fine. '

I roamed into the local train station, asking the staff for a one way to Wichita. He cast me a look, and began humming Wichita Lineman.

I mentioned Chatanooga, he  laughed and began singing the choo choo across the public address system.  I tried to sing...

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