Continental Drift [antikvár]

'Okayyyy!' called the young man, throwing his head back and blinking a little in the bright spring sunshine. 'Let's get mooo-ving!' He reached for the sunglasses which lay on the loudspeaker beside him, and which were already beginning to vibrate and jump to the rising beat of the music. Clapping them on to his face with one practised movement, he gave a fluid little shimmy, stabbed heavenwards with the microphone, and - returning it to the level of his chin -completed the sentence with, 'Bee-cause - here come - da Village People! Whoo, boys!' The music swung on, exhorting young men to Go West. Apart from the one with the microphone, however, and a balding technician sitting in a white van with a vast roof aerial, there were few men under sixty in sight. The Market Square at this hour was the preserve of women shoppers, pensioners and limch-hour schoolchildren perching on the stone horse-trough with bags of chips from McDonald's. Smaller children, shopping reluctantly with their mothers, began to boimce to the music, slowing down their burdened parents still further and threatening the stability of overladen baby-buggies. Shopkeepers looked on, mildly diverted. A small dog lifted its leg against the placard bearing a snaky logo and the legend RADIO 2C ROADSHOW - COMING 2 C YOU! 1