Bold as Love by Gwyneth Jones Read Free Book Online Page B

examined it thoroughly, running the biometrics and God knows what other information through the datalink in his visor.
    ‘Right you are, Sir. I suppose you know what you’re doing.’
    ‘I hope I do.’
    They started to walk together, falling ino step. ‘Flag of St George,’ said the policeman, with a nod down the river to Westminster. ‘It’ll be funny to see it on its own. Like a football match. But it’s about time, in my opinion. About time we got back to basics.’
    ‘To the reality of the situation,’ agreed the Ax. ‘That’s what we need. Some reality.’

TWO
Innocence and Experience
    Pigsty didn’t get his sexy secretary, not yet, but when Paul Javert explained his proposal, two days later, it was in a Committee Room in Whitehall. The Home Secretary wanted to set up a Counter Cultural Think Tank (he was relying on them to suggest a catchier title), enlisting cultural icons sympathetic to both sides of the debate to advise the government and reassure the public. He’d decided that pop music was the key: universally accessible as no other art form, non-elitist, fun, and yet longtime associated by the punters with principled, non-violent protest against the Establishment…
    There were six suits. Paul Javert, Mr Weekend the notetaker (whose name was Benny Preminder), another man from the LSE; and three women who hadn’t been at that gig. Paul Javert was in slinky black, like a fantasy thriller hero. The others were in hopeless leisurewear, it must be giving Allie serious pain to sit beside them. It was very clear this time that they had a special relationship with Pigsty, who sat flanked by equally well—hard Organs , putting his feet up, scratching, farting, and looking insufferably smug. Fiorinda wondered if the suits genuinely believed that Pigsty Liver was a leading social satirist. Maybe they did. The Pig, with his ageing raver ironmongery, was regarded as a talent-free idiot by anyone Fio knew: but he was a household name, and might look convincing to the unwary, sitting there bravely outlawed from suit-wearing, as one who has nailed his colours to the mast.
    Mr Javert’s other recruits (most of whom had been at the LSE; a few who hadn’t) were something else again. Besides Aoxomoxoa and the Heads, and Ax Preston (rest of the Chosen weren’t here), he had Rob Nelson of Snake Eyes , Ken Batty from Direct Action , Martina Rage from Krool , the heavy metal feminists. DK the DJ (Dilip Krishnachandran), the Perfect Master of IMMix, Roxane Smith the veteran critic; and that new techno boy-duo (reckoned interesting by the Heads, though Fiorinda didn’t get it) who called themselves The Adjuvants . Plus an Islamic ghazal singer from Leicester, who wore a burqa and was supposed to be the Next Big Thing. All in all, a well-filled shopping trolley. Realism prevented her from including herself (probably thrown in to improve the girl quotient), but if you’d given someone who knew the score free rein to collect the tastiest people on the English Indie scene, this was what you might get. Everyone clocked everyone else, covertly. Nobody explained to Mr Javert that he hadn’t enlisted any pop musicians, unless you counted Pigsty and the Organs.
    Fiorinda had come back against her better judgement because the Heads were coming. She amused herself pondering the fate of dead metaphors, while the others played the wish-list game. What colours? ‘Mast’ could be a word for penis, and ‘nail’ means a piercing, but what are these colours Pig’s nailed to his willy? Something to do with nail varnish? Pigsty has stuck his ampallang thingy to his willy with puce nail varnish, which shows he is incredibly brave and determined. But what is this grist that the suits say we must give to their mill?, and if we’re talking about eco—warriors lying to the media, what has that to do with pots calling kettles black? When do cows come home, and what have roosting chickens to do with bad guys getting their come-uppance?