Mister Robert Rankin is not mortal. He is, obviously, the foulest demon ever to breathe hellfire. He is a demon on a mission – to tear the funny bone from my bleeding corpse and wave it about before having it polished and presented to himself on a nice silver display which will no doubt amuse him for all of time.

Knees Up Mother Earth is the next book I have been lucky enough to find, and I would like to save you all by saying Don’t Read It if you value your life! It’s guaranteed to kill you with laughter. You will die a squibbling mess as you endure Brentford’s attempt to win the FA Cup and thus save the world – nay, the UNIVERSE from certain destruction.

In all seriousness, Mister Rankin is without doubt the absolute king of “Far Fetched Fiction”. He’s a comic genius and I am again so happy his work is being re-released in Australia in the coming months. Reading a book by Robert Rankin is like being dragged through a Carry On movie by Spike Milligan and having a conversation with the Monty Python mob who’re busy fending off the fellows from Red Dwarf who’ve taken it into their heads to rewrite their show in a steampunk manner but Gandalf has arrived to prevent such an atrocity and he’s aided and abetted by the cast of Lock Stock and Two Smoking Barrels. And, if that makes any sense to you whatsoever, you’re going to love Mister Rankin’s work.

Part of the ever-expanding Brentworth Trilogy, Knees up Mother Earth stars the wonderful creations, Jim Pooley and his friend John Omalley who are, for me, one of the finest creations in the whole yoon. Their interaction is spotless in its comedic precision, and there’s a very casual and relaxed humour which is Mister Rankin’s great gift to the genre. It absorbs you and never once do you feel he’s trying hard to be funny.

He just is.

With more of his trademark references and affectionate ribbing of some bizarre sources (including the aforementioned Spike Milligan and Carry On jokes), this novel is like a good friend you don’t want to lose. When I finish a novel by Mister Rankin, I feel so exhausted from the giggles, and so sad I feel like weeping because I hate to see it go. It’s like seeing the credits go up on your favourite show and you feel so lost without it, like you have to face life now, when you’d prefer to spend the whole day just bathing in this wonderful world he has created.

Steampunk urban fantasy comedy. That’s the best I can think of to describe it.

Sometimes I wish I weren’t a hack, so I could tell you just how much I loved this book, and how much I love Robert Rankin’s work.

Please, Mister Rankin, be gentle with my funny bone. There’s not much left of it, and you’re shaking my belief that the hitch hiker’s guide to the galaxy is the funniest book ever written. Please stop. You’re scaring me now.