Football Crazy

by Terry Ravenscroft

  “Perhaps they’ll go if we just ignore them.”

  “They look pretty settled to me. Oh no! Well if that isn’t the limit.”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “He’s lit up a cigarette.”

  “We can’t allow that Don, smoking in our car.”

  “We most certainly can not, Doll.”

  “That won’t do the leopard skin seats any good at all. I mean sitting in our car is one thing, but....”

  They made their way down the drive and stopped at the car. The occupants were oblivious to them. Don tapped on the window, businesslike. The boy would down the window.

  “Excuse me but just what do you think you’re doing in our motor car?” said Don.

  “We’re living in it.”

  Zephyr Zodiac will be published early in 2012

  ****

  I’M IN HEAVEN

  I pinched myself. I felt it. So it couldn’t be a dream. But if it wasn’t, if I really was in Piccadilly Gardens, how have I got here? I couldn’t have sleepwalked all the way from the hospital, it was over two miles, through city streets. Had leaving patients in corridors due to a bed shortage moved up a level? Had one of the nursing staff dumped me here until I wake up? I wouldn’t put it past them - only yesterday a down-and-out who’d collapsed in the street had been left outside in a wheelchair for want of a bed and only prompt action by a security man had stopped the bin men taking him.

  Before I could think of another test of my consciousness - I was still far from convinced, despite pinching myself, that I wasn’t dreaming - a tall man carrying a brief-case and a clipboard approached me. He was aged about thirty-five and dressed in casual but expensive-looking clothes. His long, thin, pleasant -looking face smiled down at me as he indicated the place on the bench beside me.

  “Mind if I join you?”

  I was still too wrapped up in wondering just what on earth was going on to answer. He sat down next to me nevertheless.

  “Allow me to introduce myself,” he said. “I’m The Archangel Phil. Your mentor. I’ll be meeting with you from time to time until you’re nicely settled in.” He opened a packet of cigarettes and offered me one. “I believe you indulge in these things?”

  My mouth fell open. Slack-jawed I looked from the man to the cigarette packet and back. He indicated the clipboard. “My information is correct? You do like a smoke?” He took a cigarette from the packet and pushed it into my hand.

  My mouth opened and shut silently a couple of times. Words eventually came out. “Can you tell me what’s going on here? I mean why am I in the middle of Piccadilly Gardens?”

  “You aren’t. You’re in heaven.”

  “What?”

  “Heaven.”

  Amazon Readers Review -

  This is the best book I have read in years! The subject matter is dealt with in such a humorous manner but this is a real page turner! I have read all of Mr Ravenscroft’s books and in my opinion this is THE BEST! Hilarious, sad, fascinating and a scintillating plot to boot! A must read! Very funny. - Martin K Davies

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  ****

  JAMES BLOND – STOCKPORT IS TOO MUCH

  He took the cool glass and looked straight into the eyes of the object of his affection. “Please, all my lovers call me James.”

  Pisa Vass returned his look, unblinkingly. “But I have never been your lover, Mr Blond.”

  She turned from him as if to walk away, but before she could he caught her lightly by the shoulders and applied just enough pressure to persuade her to turn to face him. “A state of affairs I am now going to take the greatest pleasure in rectifying,” he said, permitting his hands to slide down her arms to encircle her slender waist. He nodded towards the bedroom. “Come, my lovely Pisa Vass.”

  “No.” She pushed him away, not at all violently, but firmly enough to make it clear she meant what she said.

  Blond was surprised to say the least. He raised a puzzled eyebrow. “No?”

  “I can't.”

  His brow furrowed. “Can't? What do you mean, you can't?”

  “I'm having my period.”

  “Having your period?”

  “Yes. Sorry.”

  He was completely baffled. “But....I mean you can’t be….the girls I meet are never having their period.”

  “Well I'm having mine,” said Pisa, simply.

  Blond simply couldn’t credit it; for he was speaking the gospel truth. Just like the James Bond of book and film fame not once in his entire career had he encountered a girl who happened to be having her period when he came a calling; that sort of thing just didn’t happen to famous secret agents.

  The girl smiled pleasantly. “I could manage a hand job?”

  ****

  Amazon Reader’s Review:-

  I'd come across Terry Ravenscroft quite recently via an author peer review site, and was delighted to discover how many amusing books he had written. This one lives up to the standard of the others I've seen, and keeps carefully just on the tasteful side of crude - I don't like crudity, sick humour or 'smut' but Terry somehow manages to avoid these things while still dealing with the fundamentals of human existence. And James Blond's spoof credentials don't stop him from reminding us sometimes of the original, which highlights Ravenscroft's skill in humorous writing. There are even aliens! – Janey Fisher

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  ****

  INFLATABLE HUGH

  “There seems to have been a long gap between the date of my brother’s death and his funeral,” observed Pugh.

  “There was a rather unusual burial request,” explained Oldknow. “Certain difficulties had to be overcome in carrying it out.”

  “An unusual burial request?”

  “He wanted to be buried in a vagina.”

  “In Virginia?” Pugh raised his eyebrows. “What’s so unusual about that?” He knew that Aneurin had connections in the southern states of America, and whilst he could see why it might be a bit awkward, not to say inconvenient, burying someone in America who had met his end in Ramsbottom, Lancashire, he could see nothing particularly unusual about it.

  The solicitor leaned back in his seat slightly and peered at Pugh over his spectacles. “Not Virginia, Mr Pugh. A vagina.”

  Pugh wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly. “My brother wanted to be buried in a woman’s minge?”

  Oldknow winced at the crude language of the former Minister for Culture. “I’m afraid so. Not a real one of course. A coffin designed to look like one. He left strict instructions as to its design and construction. He was particularly insistent it should have lots of black pubic hair. ‘Like a bush’ was his most graphic way of describing it. And real hair. It cost a small fortune.

  Pugh didn’t at all like the idea of a small fortune being frittered away from his inheritance by the purchase of a coffin that looked like a vagina with real hair. However he was intrigued as to why anyone would want to make such a request in the first place. He asked the solicitor.

  Oldknow shrugged. “People get buried in all manner of things nowadays; indeed there are specialist coffin suppliers who cater for the most bizarre of tastes. I once heard of someone being buried in a Red Arrows jet coffin. Another in a motor-bike sidecar, alongside her motor-cyclist husband who had met his demise a year earlier. In your brother Aneurin’s case, from what I’ve been told – although I didn’t delve too deeply I must admit - he believed very much in the rejuvenating powers of the vagina.”

  “Rejuvenating powers?” Pugh was surprised to say the least. “He’s not expecting it to bring him back to life, is he?”

  Amazon Reader’s Review:-

  "Apparently your brother maintained the belief that having sex with an inflatable rubber woman was almost as beneficial in crea
ting a feeling of well-being as the real thing. This being the case he viewed his operation more like a public service than a moneymaking operation. Which isn't to say he didn't make substantial profits from the sales ..." Pugh's heart beat faster. Substantial profits. What a wonderful coming together of words.

  With the above opening paragraph of Inflatable Hugh I was hooked. Terry Ravenscroft's tongue in cheek writing had me laughing out loud from beginning to end. From the wily to the ingenuous, from the morally indignant Vigilantes Against Sex Toys to the crafty machinations of politicians, all are depicted with subtle insight into character. In recommending this as a `great' read I could only paraphrase the author's own writing: What a delightful coming together of words! - Rue.

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  ****

  CAPTAIN’S DAY

  The problems posed by having a transvestite on the course were as nothing however once Philip had gone through the operation that transformed him into, if not a whole woman, then minus a set of male genitalia a whole woman. For it was then that Philip Hill, now Phyllis Hill, sought to play in the ladies’ competitions, rather than the men's. Not surprisingly the Sunnymere ladies’ section would not even contemplate the proposition. As far as they were concerned Phyllis Hill was still very much a man. That he was a man now minus a penis and testicles, in addition to being the proud owner, thanks to hormone treatment, of a pair of small but blossoming breasts, didn’t even enter into the argument. The way the ladies saw it was that although Philip Hill may very well no longer have male genitalia he certainly still had the same muscular six feet two inch frame that he’d had before, as well as the two strong arms of the plasterer’s mate he had been (and still was) for the last fifteen years, and therefore had an unfair advantage when it came to propelling a golf ball round the course, especially off the ladies’ tees.

  In an effort to reach some sort of compromise Phyllis had offered to play in the ladies’ competitions but off the men's tees, but to no avail. The ladies would not allow her to play in their competitions full stop, and that was the end of the matter. The club chairman George Grover had pointed out to the ladies’ committee, as delicately as he could, that Phyllis now had a vagina and bigger breasts than his wife, in fact bigger breasts than quite a number of the lady members, but the ladies had been adamant in their rejection of the new member without a member.

  Amazon Readers review:-

  This is a very funny book. It will be enjoyed by golfers and non golfers alike. In fact if Captains day was like this in real life, lots more would take up the game. Refreshingly non pc with events that only the author could ever think of. Great fun and I doubt you have ever read anything like it before. – Cornishblue.

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  ****

  DEAR AIR 2000

  17 Lingland Rd

  New Mills

  Cheshire

  19th March 2006

  Air UK Ltd

  Stansted Airport

  Essex

  Dear Air UK

  I recently travelled with your airline, and what an exciting experience it was! It was the very first time that I have ever flown, but you can rest assured I will be flying with Air UK on many more occasions in the future if my first experience was anything to go by.

  Everything about the flight was excellent - although I believe Air 2000 could give

  you a run for your money as far as the in-flight catering goes with their truly mouth-watering lasagne - but what excited me the most was the sight of your stewardesses. How lovely they looked in their smart Air UK uniforms!

  And this gets me to the point of my letter. Is it possible to buy an Air UK stewardess uniform? I’m sure that if my wife owned one and she wore it at the appropriate time it would be all that was needed to but a bit of spice back into

  our sex life. I look forward eagerly to your reply.

  Yours sincerely

  T Ravenscroft (Mr)

  Air UK’s reply follows

  Amazon Reader’s Review:-

  I thoroughly enjoyed reading this book, couldn’t put it down. Mad-cap humour at its best. My only criticism is that it was too short, I got through it in a day. Going off now to see what else this guy has written that I might enjoy. Highly recommended. - ketch29

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  ****

  DEAR COCA-COLA

  The Jacob's Bakery Ltd

  Liverpool

  Dear Jacob's Bakery

  I am writing to you in my official capacity as secretary of the New Mills Invalids Club. This year marks the 25th anniversary of the club, and we mean to celebrate the occasion in some style, whilst at the same time giving club funds a much needed boost. To achieve this we intend to manufacture and sell to the general public a chocolate biscuit. We are confident that we have the expertise to accomplish this as four of our members used to work for the local sweet and confectionery factory - in fact it was because they worked at the local sweet and confectionery factory that they became invalids, having caught various parts of their anatomy in the machinery, but that's another matter.

  Here is where you come in. I have long been a fan of your Jacob's Club biscuits, as have many of my fellow members, and to this end we would like to 'cash in' on your esteemed name by calling our biscuit a 'Jacob's Club Foot' biscuit. This would at once inform the public that it is a quality product, and also that it supports invalids. Can I have you permission, please?

  Yours sincerely

  T Ravenscroft (Mr)

  Jacob's reply follows

  Amazon Readers Review:-

  Do not read this book whilst holding a cold drink, a hot partner or anything squeezable. The genius of this man's writing is a beautiful thing to read, dry, sharply observed and above all cheap as chips on kindle downloads. As funny as ‘Dear Air 2000’ but without the lasagne although you will never be able to look at Bisto gravy granules in quite the same way ever again. Whatever you do download this and help keep Terry Ravenscroft in Oxfam trousers and 2 bottles of white wine. – Lee Sylvester.

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  ****

  LES DAWSON’S CISSIE AND ADA

  WE DISCOVER CISSIE AND ADA IN AN ART GALLERY.

  ADA: This isn’t doing my feet any good, they feel like a couple of globe artichokes.

  CISSIE: Oh stop complaining will you, we have a lot to get through yet.

  THEY WALK ON. SUDDENLY ADA SEES A STATUE OF A NAKED GREEK GOD. IT STOPS HER IN HER TRACKS.

  ADA: Ooooooh! (SHE QUICKLY COVERS CISSIE’S EYES AND TRIES TO WALK HER PAST THE STATUE)

  CISSIE: What the….what do you think you’re playing at, Ada

  ADA: Just keep walking, Cissie.

  CISSIE PUSHES ADA’S HANDS AWAY

  CISSIE: Get your hands off me, you daft…. (SHE SEES THE STATUE)…oooh! Oh I say.

  ADA: Well I did try to save you from it.

  CISSIE: Yes. Thank you Ada, love.

  ADA: Disgusting, isn’t it.

  CISSIE: Positively scandalous.

  THEY BOTH CARRY ON LOOKING AT THE STATUE, UTTERLY TRANSFIXED, IN AWE.

  CISSIE: I wonder who sculpted it?

  ADA: I don’t know, but he wasn’t short of clay.

  CISSIE: It could be Moore, I suppose.

  ADA: Oh not much more, surely.

  CISSIE: I meant Henry Moore, the sculptor! Or on second thoughts it could be Rodin. He did 'The Thinker' you know.

  ADA: Well that would give you something to think about, that's for sure.

  CISSIE: Honestly Ada, your mind! You’ve got a point though, because he’s
certainly a big lad and no mistake.

  ADA: I thought he had three legs at first.

  CISSIE: I wonder what it’s called? (SHE NOTICES A PLAQUE AND LEANS FORWARD TO READ IT)

  ADA: Be careful Cissie, it could poke your eye out.

  CISSIE: (READS OFF THE PLAQUE) It’s called ‘Waiting’.

  ADA: Yes and he’d be waiting a hell of a long time if he was mine. Hey, can you keep a secret, Cissie?

  The sketch continues.

  Just a few of many YouTube quotes in praise of Cissie & Ada:-

  ‘I'm aching from laughing! Pure genius!’

  ‘What great acting and great scriptwriting! ’

  ‘This is probably the funniest clip of these two ever. "Were you 'virgo intacta'?" "No just bed and breakfast." ’

  ‘Was drinking a cup of tea when Ada said she was approaching the change. When Cissie said "From which direction?" I lost it as I spat a mouthful of tea across the room. Classic, brilliant comedy. ’