The American Way [antikvár]

'Look Joe, I've been listening to that British Prime Minister. All he talks about is productivity and overmanning. I guess the punters like it, but what's he doin' about it. Shit all, that's what. 'Cos the Brits don't know what the f**k to do. They can't tell the fly shit from the pepper. Well we can help them. I want you to make them an offer when you're over there.' 'What offer's that?' 'I wanna do the whole goddam British public service.' Chapter One P.T. sat alone at a corner table in one of Kensington's more fashionable pubs. His surroundings were familiar -the oak-panelled walls sporting prints of a Sussex foxhunt, the thick heavy smell of smoke and real ale, the rhubarb, guffaw, rhubarb of what is often called conversation. 'I was already driving a two-litre sports car when I was seventeen,' declared a male voice at a nearby table. A burst of the speaker's laughter followed this presumably remarkably amusing statement. 'I don't mean to put her down, but she's not the one who should be doing the design work,' a creatively dressed female informed her uninterested companion. 'She's too juvenile to cope with the emotional intensity running through her life at the moment,' one worldly man confided to another. 'Hello.' (pronounced Hillau) 'This is Melissa. She works at the BBC.' 'Oh.' 'Gosh.' 'How super.' (pronounced Soopa) These were P.T.'s people. They shared his interests. They did the things that he did. They too were only concerned with themselves as he had been. P.T. had been happy with these people. Life had been so simple before. However events had changed all that. Cruel fate had dragged P.T. away from his peers and thrust him out into