Something Rotten (Thursday Next 4)

'I feel almost sorry for him,' said Joffy, who was a lot more forgiving than me. 'Poor Yorrick.'

'Yes,' replied Hamlet sarcastically. 'Alas.'

43

Recovery

TOAST PARTY UNVEIL MANIFESTO

Mr Redmond van de Poste, whose ruling Toast (formerly Common-sense) Party took control of the nation last week, announced the party's manifesto to rescue the country from economic and social collapse. Mr van de Poste began by announcing mandatory toast-eating requirements for all citizens on a sliding scale based on age, then proposed a drive to place a new toaster in every home within a year.

'In the long term,' continued Mr van de Poste, 'we will instigate a five-year plan to upgrade all our manufacturing facilities to build a new brand of supertoaster that will sweep aside all competition and make England the toast capital of the world.' Critics of the 'Toast manifesto' indicated alarm at Poste's strident calls for a North Atlantic Toast Alliance, and pointed out that excluding non-toast-eating nations would create unnecessary international tension. Mr van de Poste has not yet responded, and has called for a reform of Parliament.

Article in The Toad, 4 August 1988

I went home two weeks later to a house that was so full of flowers it looked like Kew Gardens. I still didn't have complete command of the right-hand side of my body but every day it seemed a little bit more like part of me, a little less numb. I sat and looked out of the open French windows into the garden. The air was heavy with the scents of summer and the breeze gently played upon the net curtains. Friday was drawing with some crayons on the floor and I could hear the clackety-clack of Landen's old Underwood typewriter next door, and in the kitchen Louis Armstrong was on the wireless singing 'La Vie en rose'. It was the first time I had been able to relax for almost as long as I could remember. I was

going to need an extended convalescence but would go back to work eventually — perhaps at SpecOps, perhaps at Jurisfiction, perhaps both.

'I came to say goodbye.'

It was Hamlet. I had learned from him earlier that William Shgakespeafe had managed to extricate The Merry Wives of Windsor from Hamlet, and both plays were as they should be. The one enigmatic, the other a spin-off.

'Are you sure you're—

He silenced me with a wave of his hand and sat down on the sofa while Alan gazed at him adoringly.

'I've learned a lot of things while I've been here,' he said. 'I've learned that there are many Hamlets and we love each one of them for their different interpretation. I liked Gibson's because it has the least amount of dithering, Orson because he did it with the best voice, Gielgud for the ease with which he placed himself within the role, and Jacobi for his passion. By the way, have you heard about this Branagh fellow?'

'No.'

'He's just starting to get going. I've got a feeling his Hamlet will be stupendous.'

He thought for a moment.

'For centuries I've been worrying about audiences seeing me as a mouthy spoiled brat who can't make up his mind about anything, but having seen the real world I can understand the appeal. My play is popular because my failings are your failings, my indecision the indecision of you all. We all know what has to be done; it's just that sometimes we don't know how to get there. Acting without thought doesn't really help in the long run. I might dither for a while, but at least I make the right decision in the end: I bear my troubles, and take arms against them. And therein lies a message for all mankind, although I'm not exactly sure what it is. Perhaps there's no message. I don't really know. Besides, if I don't dither, there's no play.'

'So you're not going to kill your uncle in the first act?'

'No. In fact, I'm going to leave the play exactly as it is. I've decided instead to focus my energies towards being the Jurisfiction agent for all of Shakespeare's works. I'll have a go at Marlowe, too-- but I'm not keen on Webster.'

'That's excellent news,' I told him, 'Jurisfiction will be very happy.'

He paused.

'I'm still a bit annoyed that someone told Ophelia about Emma. It wasn't you, was it?'

'On my honour.'

He got up, bowed and kissed my hand.

'Come and visit me, won't you?'

'You can count on it,' I replied. 'Just one question: where on earth did you find Daphne Farquitt? She's the recluse's recluse.'

He grinned.

'I didn't. By the morning of the Superhoop I had managed to gather about nine people. There's a limit to how much anti-Kaine sentiment you can muster going door to door in Swindon at two in the morning.'