Hobby groups in Ballachulish

It is one of the most infuriatingly oblique books I have ever read; it is also incredibly funny. The story - if there is one, I have read it several times and I'm still not sure - is buried layers and layers deep; almost literally (in the literal sense of 'literal' not the recently fashionable, non-literal sense of the word) with many pages having footnotes, footnotes to the footnotes, and then footnotes to the footnotes of the footnotes that often take up more space on the page than the text they are annotating. It's a science fiction novel of sorts: This is the back cover blurb: "When the internet - and the collective memory of the 21st century - crashes, the past is reassembled from the downloaded memories of Ginger, wife of ex-President Wilson. The transcripts take the reader on an intellectually breathtaking tour. In David Mamet's baroque, fragmented world, nothing is certain except the certainty of academics. In playing with the ideas of perception, understanding, and accuracy, he dares to doubt them all. When the truth is quicksand, the gag becomes a lifeline of stoic nobility." "After the Cola riots, the fire at the Stop 'n Shop, and the death of my kitten, what remains? Can any sense be made of the texts found in the capsule or stuffed in the airlock? Does the Joke Code still operate? Has anyone seen my copy of Bongazine? Who were the members of the Bootsie club? Does the Toll Hound dance? What was the meaning of the message written in Mrs. Wilson's urine? Can Jane of Trent unlock this paranoia? What were Chet and Donna doing in the boathouse? And just who does Ginger think she is?" I'm still not sure I have the answers to any of those questions but I'm going to have another go at finding them out soon.