Whirligig Read Online Free

Claypole.
    â€˜Really? Or some sandwiches? Or something else? They have pretty much anything here… It was at that table over there that my grandfather once ate a record number of oysters, but, ah… A snorter, perhaps? Bit early to start opening the pipes, but be my guest if you…’
    Claypole watched a nearby codger in a light-blue blazer being served something lurid involving prawns, avocado and aspic.
    â€˜Nah. Brr. Let’s get on with it,’ said Claypole, and barrelled himself into a red leather sofa opposite Peregrine. His intention – to make a proprietory gesture – was undermined somewhat by the fact that he bounced perilously on the unexpectedly well-sprung seat. Peregrine sat slowly, still smiling magnificently. They exchanged small talk as Claypole rehearsed to himself the chain of events that had led him to this place at this time.
    Claypole had thirty-four Facebook friends. So when Peregrine’s niece, Coky Viveksananda, who had 196 Facebook friends, requested to become number 35 some months previously, he was in no position to turn her down. She assured him in her message that theirparents had known each other many years ago, and that they had met as children. He accepted her request and replied that indeed he remembered her, which he did not, and then examined her Facebook profile. There was a picture of a petite girl in shades, possibly of southern Asian origin, sitting on a lawn somewhere and smiling shyly. Her friends had names like Max von Strum and Felicia Hungerford and appeared to Claypole to be either smug or vacuous. But she listed her hobbies as ‘necromancy and darts’, and her job as ‘Brigadier-General of Starfleet Command’, and gave no other personal details, showing an amused disdain for the social networking medium that Claypole admired but could not bring himself to exhibit. No other communication had occurred between them until three days previously. Coky wondered – in a pleasantly un-pushy message – if he would be interested in meeting her uncle in regard to a business opportunity. So here he was, sitting opposite the laird of a desolate estate on the west coast of Scotland consisting of a bleak and bulky Gothic revival house, a few chilly cottages and a considerable chunk of… apparently nothing very much, according to its squire.
    â€˜Bugger all. It’s useless,’ said Peregrine, with simple sincerity. ‘The Loch Garvach estate is some of the worst land in Europe. Three thousand acres of good-for-nothing floating bog.’
    Claypole was surprised. He thought everywhere was used for something.
    â€˜Oh yes, indeed,’ added Peregrine, driving home the point. ‘You can’t even walk on most of it.’
    â€˜Brr.’ This was Claypole giving his usual cough, but this time it was nearly a laugh. Peregrine himself laughed unashamedly. It was loud, deep and used hisfull throat, even a bit of tongue.
    â€˜So what have you been up to, then? What keeps Gordon – sorry, Claypole – out of the alehouses?’
    Claypole seemed to study his hands for a moment before speaking.
    â€˜I’ve been in the pre-school entertainment biz. Brr. Multimedia…’ Claypole drummed the fingers of one hand on the other. ‘I realised that phone Apps was the way to go. It’s happened in everything. And I had this bunch of content – movies and text – which I converted to a kick-ass App. Content’s about communities and fans these days, not…’
    Peregrine was looking at him with bewilderment. ‘By “movies”, do you mean films?’
    â€˜Er… yeah.’
    â€˜American films?’
    â€˜No, just films. Cartoons,’ said Claypole, blushing. ‘Cathy the Cow, then Colin the Calf.’
    Peregrine squinted. ‘And by “text”, you mean books?’
    â€˜Yeah.’
    â€˜For children?’
    â€˜Pre-school. Yeah.’
    â€˜Babies, in