With the release of Rankin's 22nd novel on hardback comes the paperback issue of his 21st, Waiting for Godalming. Which keeps up the proud tradition (or old charter or something) of the genius' previous work.

Having kept a close eye on Lazlo (some call him Laz) Woodbine's career with interest, since he first appeared in the Armageddon Trilogy, I have been waiting for many years for a Woodbine novel. I was not disappointed. Waiting for Godalming, chronicles the world's greatest detective's most difficult case, when he is called upon to solve the most despicable crime of all time, the murder of God.

In the frame is the highly suspicious Colin, God's other son, who was edited out of the bible when Jesus got artistic control. He has inherited the Earth rather than the meek and is up to his ears in something dodgy.

Lazlo's main strengths are gunplay, dark alleys, talking toot in bars and a big rooftop finale. His main weakness seems to be a Guardian angel sprout living inside his head called Barry, who talks to him.

Meanwhile on the other side of town, small time thief, Icarus Smith has discovered the 'Red Head' reality pill that reveal the hidden demons among us. Prof. Bruce Partington has invented a 'spectremeter' which raises the ghosts but can't make them go away again and just what is the mysterious Ministry of Serendipity up to with barbers' chairs?

Compared to the normal anarchic Rankin plot, Waiting for Godalming has an unusually sober and straightforward plot. Albeit under a flood of running gags, self referential japes, authors interjections, allusions to a million Sherlock Homes titles and mad one liners.

And although this isn't the best Rankin book, it is far from his worse and a damn slight funnier than the dozens of Pratchett clones that seem to be clogging up the book selves. Along with Terry Pratchett and the vastly underrated Tom Holt, Robert Rankin proves that some British fantasy comedy writing is just as hilarious as ever.

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