Dear Coca-Cola (20 page)
Authors: Terry Ravenscroft
“
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
Buy at –
UK
US
****
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
Buy at –
UK
USA
****
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 creating 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.
Buy now at –
UK
USA
****
FOOTBALL CRAZY
Superintendent Screwer fixed Sergeant Hawks with a beady eye. When would they ever learn? “Where there is football, Sergeant, there is football hooliganism. Having been previously stationed at Leeds I know that for a fact; and I know all about the cancer in our society that football hooliganism has become.”
“
With respect sir, what few supporters the Town still have are nothing like Leeds United supporters.”
Screwer glared at him. If Hawks had been the office door the paint would have blistered.
“
Respect?” he screamed. “Respect, Sergeant Hawks? You aren't showing me any frigging respect! If you were you wouldn't be arguing with me, you would be making plans to adequately police Frogley Town's opening game of the season!”
Hawks bit his lip. Retirement and that cottage in the Lakes suddenly seemed much farther away. “Yes sir.”
Screwer drew in his horns a little. “Football supporters are the same the world over, Sergeant. Animals. Nothing more, nothing less. Take my word for it, just because the fans of Frogley Town have yet to reveal their true colours doesn't mean to say that one day they aren't going to.”
“
No sir.”
The horns shot back out again as if spring-loaded. “Well just let them! They will not find the Frogley Police Force wanting. Not while my name is Herman Screwer they won't. We'll be ready for them, Sergeant. Ready to whip then into line; ready to break them; ready to smash the brainless bastards into submission!” He suddenly smashed his right fist into his left hand. The splat of the bone of his knuckles colliding with the flesh of his palm made Hawks wince. “Crowd control, that's the name of the game. What are we like for tear gas?”
Amazon Reader’s Review:-
Apart from being very very funny, Football Crazy is unique. For me it's a marvellous mixture of Tom Sharpe and Ripping Yarns with its larger-than-life characters that come alive in your head as the story unfolds and the world of football superstars meets the rich tycoon who's going to bring the return of long-awaited success. Except we're talking Frogley Town and a meat-pie millionaire. Oh - and Superintendent Screwer who would see civil unrest in an impatient bus queue. As is the way with the best caricatures, we've sort of met the main characters before. We know elements of Donny Donnelly, Joe Price and Superintendent Screwer do actually exist in the real world; we can't quite place who and where but we recognise them when we see them. I really do recommend this book, it's a cracking story and, football fan or not, it will bring a smile to your face. It's crying out to be made into a one-off TV special. -
Anthony J McCrorie
Buy at –
UK
USA
****
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.
