Leaving me to carry on where he left off and perhaps even prove myself to be the greatest private eye that ever there was.
   And as Laz was retiring, and as I had already bought the franchise and everything, I moved into his office and put a new sign up on the door—
   SOME CALL ME TYLER PSYCHIC DETECTIVE
   I haven’t had any cases yet, but hey, it’s only been a week and I have had other things to do. Like visit the hospital, for instance, after I discovered that Laz had amusingly sewn my left ear back on upside down.
   And then there was last night’s reunion, which I mentioned in the first chapter of this book. In truth it was a bit more than just a reunion - it was my stag night.
   Because I’m getting married today. To the golden girlie from Begrem (where we will be spending our honeymoon).
   I’m rather excited about getting married. I’m particularly excited about the prospect of finally having sex. Even though I’m approaching my seventieth birthday. I reckon I’m still up for it.
   Regarding Begrem, I have decided not to open it up to the tourist trade, nor to avail myself of the riches therein. It felt rather wrong, somehow, and as there have been sufficient wrongs done, I don’t want to add any more of my own.
   And, of course, there was the matter of the head of the CIA going missing. And where he might have ended up. Or down. Questions were asked, but answers weren’t furnished and that one remains open on the files.
   And regarding all those walking-dead folk. What became of them? Well, they’ll all die again in their own good time and their souls will go off to wherever they should go.
   Which, I suppose, means that this is the end of my tale.
   Which seems a bit of a shame, really, but you have to end it somewhere. And I, like Laz, am going out on a high. But it is certainly not over for me. In fact, my career as Some Call Me Tyler, Psychic Detective is only just beginning.
   And if there is any justice in this world, you will soon be reading my exciting adventures and how I solve the most obtuse conundrums and thwart the diabolical plans of criminal masterminds using my extra-special power and the Tyler Technique.
   And so, let me leave you with the words of . . . the George:
   It’s turned out nice again.
   1
   This term was originally coined by a reporter from the Daily Mirror who toured with the band during the 1970s, when eating disorders first became fashionable. And the Kynges were at the forefront of this trend.
   2
   The technique for adapting the beer-bottle top to badge-wear is now lost in the Mists of Time. Those who remember it, remember it, and these few souls remain cool.
   3
   And they would.
   4
   You see? The George Formby anagram, Orgy of Begrem.
   5
   I don’t think this is altogether true, is it? (Ed.)
   6
   Sequined all over. His mum had made it for him.
   7
   Which had arrived through our letter box by mistake, it being meant for Captain Blood, the retired freebooter who lived next door.
   8
   So, some things never change.
   9
   Traditional.
   10
   This, it is to be believed, was the first time this joke was ever used.
   11
   And this was never used.
   12
   And they do.
   13
   As opposed to one that is only occasional.
   14
   Positively the last time.
   15
   This is not entirely true. In fact, it is not true at all.
   16
   The organist was Richie Havens. (Ed.)
   17
   Should the reader yearn to know the full story of Courage Croydon, the best reference book would be Sir John Rimmer’s Croydon’s Croydon: The Man, the Myth and the Sacred Geomancy of the Roundabout system.
   18
   Third wedding Anniversaries are ‘cheese’. And are not easy to get anniversary cards for. As opposed to those silver, gold and diamond. But strange, at times, are the ways of Man.
   19
   Still reckoned to be the most comfortable recliner of all time.
   20
   Which rather impressed me at the time because dogging had yet to become an English national pastime.
   21
   That’s probably enough Cons, now, thank you. (Ed.)†
   † Hey, buddy, don’t footnote Woodbine - I ain’t a footnoted kind of guy.
   22
   Allegedly. But hey, come on!
   23
   Elvis was in fact a natural blond, although not a lot of people know that.
   24
   Everything makes sense when you give it sufficient thought. Doesn’t it?
   Table of Contents
   Title Page
   Copyright Page
   Dedication
   Chapter 1
   Chapter 2
   Chapter 3
   Chapter 4
   Chapter 5
   Chapter 6
   Chapter 7
   Chapter 8
   Chapter 9
   Chapter 10
   Chapter 11
   Chapter 12
   Chapter 13
   Chapter 14
   Chapter 15
   Chapter 16
   Chapter 17
   Chapter 18
   Chapter 19
   Chapter 20
   Chapter 21
   Chapter 22
   Chapter 23
   Chapter 24
   Chapter 25
   Chapter 26
   Chapter 27
   Chapter 28
   Chapter 29
   Chapter 30
   Chapter 31
   Chapter 32
   Chapter 33
   Chapter 34
   Chapter 35
   Chapter 36
   Chapter 37
   Chapter 38
   Chapter 39
   Chapter 40
   Chapter 41
   Chapter 42
   Chapter 43
   Chapter 44
   Chapter 45
   Chapter 46
   Chapter 47
   Chapter 48
   Chapter 49
   Chapter 50
   Chapter 51
   Chapter 52
   Chapter 53
   Chapter 54
   Chapter 55
   Chapter 56
   Chapter 57
   Chapter 58
   Chapter 59
   Chapter 60
   Chapter 61
   Chapter 62
   Chapter 63
   Chapter 64
   Chapter 65
   Chapter 66
   Chapter 67
   Chapter 68
   Chapter 69
   Chapter 70
   Chapter 71
   Chapter 72
   Chapter 73
   Chapter 74
   Chapter 75   
    
   Robert Rankin, Necrophenia  
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