Free Modem Times 2.0 by Michael Moorcock Page B

his many achievements in office was not to repeal the employment laws passed by Margaret Thatcher’s government to weaken trade union power. But Blair, as a young and politically ambitious barrister, was a staunch supporter of trade union rights.
    —New Statesman
, June 25, 2007
    “I KNOW WHERE you’re coming from, Jerry.” Bunny Burroughs closed his laptop. Of course he didn’t. He had only the vaguest idea. Jerry didn’t even bother to tell him about
The Magnet
, Sexton Blake or George Formby. They certainly had some memories in common, but even those were filtered through a mix of singular cultural references that changed the simplest meaning. Bunny’s baseball and Cornelius’s cricket: the list was endless. Yet somehow exile brought out the best in them. They would always have Paris.
    Jerry sniffed. “Are you still selling that stuff?”
    “Virtual vapour? It’s very popular. While thousands die in Rwanda, millions watch TV and concern themselves with the fate of the mountain gorilla whose time in the world is actually less limited. Assuming zoos continue to do their stuff.” He held up a can. “Want a sniff?” He peered round at the others. “Anybody?”
    “If I had a shilling for every year I’ve thought about the future, I’d be a rich man today.” Bishop Beesley hesitated before slipping a Heath Bar between his lips and breathing in the soft scent of chocolate and burned sugar. “Sweet!” He let a sentimental smile drift across his lips. “I know it’s a weakness, but which of us isn’t weak somewhere? I live to forget. I mean forgive. I’ve a parish in South London now. Did you know?”
    “I think you told me.”
    “No,” said Bill.
    “No? It’s only across the river. We could.”
    “No.” Jerry continued to look for a channel. “I don’t cross running water if I can help it. And I don’t do snow.”
    “It’s really not as cold as people say it is. Even Norbury’s warmer than you’d guess. Kingsley Amis grew up there. And Edwy Searles Brooks. Brooks was the most famous person to come from Norbury. St. Franks? Waldo the Wonderman? And Frank Bellamy. You know. In
The Eagle
. Not to mention rock and roll. Martin Stone, England’s greatest electric guitarist—”
    Jerry shuddered. He’d be hearing about the wonders of Wimbledon next. Tactfully he asked if Beesley knew a second-hand tire shop easily reached.
    “There’s even a beach of sorts.” The bishop breathed impatience. “Where Tooting Common used to be. The water’s invigorating, I’m told. Though they haven’t axed the chestnut trees.”
    “They must be borders,” suggested Bill.
    “Still plenty for the little ‘uns.”
    “Plenty?”
    “Conkers.” The bishop put a knowing hand on Jerry’s arm. “Don’t worry. No ward of mine has ever come to harm.”
    “Conkers? No, you’re barmy. Bonkers.” Jerry shook him off, swiftly walking to the outside door.
    “Pop in. Anytime. You’ve not forgotten how to pray?” The bishop’s voice was muffled, full of half-masticated Heath.
    Jerry paused, trying to think of a retort.
    Bunny Burroughs stood up, his thin body awkward beneath the cloth of his loose, charcoal grey suit. “I am a gloomy man, Mr. Cornelius. I have a vision. Follow me. Of the appalling filth of this world, I am frequently unobservant. Once I revelled in it, you could fairly say. Now it disgusts me. I am no longer a lover of shit. I came on the streetcar. That’s what I like about Europe, the streetcars. Environment-friendly and everything. They have a narrative value you don’t run into much any more. Certainly not in America. My mother was German. Studied eugenics, I think. On the evidence. But I’m English on my father’s side. I fought on my father’s side.”
    He turned to look out of the window. “The slaveships threw over the dead and dying. Typhoon coming on.” He picked up the laptop. “Trained octopi drove those trams, they say.”
    Jerry said, “OK. I give up. When can you get