Pink

20th January 2007

Walking to the shops this morning I saw a pink car. I’ve seen pink cars before that were pink on the outside and cars that were pink on the inside but this car was pink on both the outside and the inside. The seats were bedecked in pink covers, the steering wheel wore a fluffy pink glove, a giant pair of pink dice hung in the windscreen and a pink nodding dog sat stupidly in the back window waiting to nod.
A notice in the window ‘Babe on Board’ informed me that the car’s owner was a female, unless there was a man who called himself ‘Babe’ who owned a totally pink car, which I very much doubted. This was confirmed a moment or two later when a woman aged about twenty five dressed in a pink jump suit walked out of the door of a hairdressers shop and made for the car. In addition to the pink jumpsuit she was wearing pink trainers and a pink ski cap and was clutching a pink bag, which was no doubt filled with pink objects, purse, mobile, vibrator etc.
When she got in the car she virtually disappeared from sight, lost in all the pinkness. All you could see was a face and a pair of hands, seemingly floating in a sea of pink.
Years ago there used to be a company called ‘The Black Theatre of Prague’ who appeared on TV regularly, whose act consisted of prancing about against a black background whilst wearing black jumpsuits and white gloves, so that all the viewers could see were pairs of hands seemingly floating about in the ether. This woman was obviously ‘The Pink Theatre of New Mills’.
Why do women love pink so much? I gave this enigma a coat of thought and came up with the idea that it might be because babies are pink and that all women love babies, so by extension loving pink comes naturally to them. But women’s tits are pink and all men love women’s tits and men don’t love pink, so that can’t be the reason.
Why do all women like pink?” I asked The Trouble when I got home.
“That grid in the backyard is blocked again, you were supposed to be clearing it and all you can do is wonder why women wear pink?” she said, quite unpleasantly, for some reason or other.
“And I’ll do that just as soon as I’ve found out why it is that women like pink,” I said. “First things, first.”
“It’s so that men don’t have to wear it,” she said. “Now go and clear that grid”.
I went and cleared the grid.
Ignore this if you have already read it. My books Dear Air 2000 and Football Crazy are now in print. They are priced at £8.99 each and are available from Amazon, but readers of my blog can buy them direct from me for £7.50 including p & p. Just send me a cheque and I will send the book/books by return.

You can write to me at –

Terry Ravenscroft, 19 Ventura Court, Ollersett Avenue, New Mills, High Peak, SK22 4LL

Dear Air 2000

Football Crazy

Connections

19th January 2007

In the Connections game on the puzzles page of today’s Daily Mail appeared the question – ‘What do these six people have in common? – Jeffrey Archer, Frank Bough, Bill Clinton, Keith Richards, Chris Tarrant, Michael Barrymore.” The answer? They were all boy scouts!

Boy scouts for Christ sake.
Of this motley crew, five are serial shaggers who have been unfaithful to their wives and would shag a kangaroo if they could stop it hopping, and the other one is a rampant homo who would shag a kangaroo if he could stop it hopping, provided it was a boy kangaroo. There was I thinking that ‘Scouting For Boys’ was a book and it turns out to be a game you play on Hampstead Heath.
A fine advert for the benefits of sending your young sons off to join the scouts these six reprobates are, I must say. In addition to their sexual shenanigans Archer is a proven liar, Clinton is a proven liar, Tarrant is a proven liar, Barrymore is a proven liar, and I wouldn’t lay very generous odds on Richards and Bough having told more than a few porkies in their time. Baden-Powell must be spinning in his grave.
It’s all very distressing, not least because I used to be a boy scout myself. I mean while I was dib dib dibbing they were probably fuck fuck fucking and telling whoppers and getting away with it. I bet I can tie better reef knots than them though.

Ignore this if you have already read it. My books Dear Air 2000 and Football Crazy are now in print. They are priced at £8.99 each and are available from Amazon, but readers of my blog can buy them direct from me for £7.50 including p & p. Just send me a cheque and I will send the book/books by return.

You can write to me at –

Terry Ravenscroft, 19 Ventura Court, Ollersett Avenue, New Mills, High Peak, SK22 4LL

Dear Air 2000

Football Crazy

A Visit From Martin Kemp

18th January 2007

Please, sit down,” I said to Martin Kemp as we entered my living room.
“Cheers,” said Martin. He took a seat on our three-seater settee and gave one of the cushions an appreciative pat.
“Can I get you a coffee or something?” I said.
“Coffee would be lovely, thank you.” Then he got to his feet and went to our two-seater settee and plopped himself down on it in an exaggerated manner. “Hmm, very comfy,” he said.
“A biscuit perhaps?” I suggested to my guest. “We have chocolate digestive and Hobnobs.
“Have you got another settee?” said Martin?
“Just the chocolate digestives and HobNobs I’m afraid.
“No, I mean another settee to sit on?”
“Sorry, not down here. There’s the easy chair.” I pointed to the easy chair in the corner. Martin got up, walked over to it, patted the seat to test for springiness, then sat down on it, crossing his legs. He expelled his breath in appreciation. Aah.”
I went into the kitchen to put the kettle on and put tea in the teapot. When I returned there was no sign of Martin. “Martin!” I called. “Martin!”
“Up here in the bedroom, on your uncut moquette settee,” Martin called back. “You rather gave the game away when I asked you if you had another settee and you said ‘Not down here.”
“Silly me.”
“Have you any more settees?”
“Only an old one in the garage covered in oil one with the springs sticking out that we threw out years ago.”
I heard his footsteps coming down the stairs and then the front door opening and closing. As soon as he had entered the garage I locked it and sent for the men in white coats.

Ignore this if you have already read it. My books Dear Air 2000 and Football Crazy are now in print. They are priced at £8.99 each and are
ilable from Amazon, but readers of my blog can buy them direct from me for £7.50 including p & p. Just send me a cheque and I will send the book/books by return.

You can write to me at –

Terry Ravenscroft, 19 Ventura Court, Ollersett Avenue, New Mills, High Peak, SK22 4LL

Dear Air 2000

Football Crazy

Sat Nav

17th January 2007

I have cost Atkins Down The Road a hundred pounds.
It was last week that he proudly told me about the new Sat Nav system he’d had fitted to his car. He’d drove the car the fifty or so yards from his house to mine so that I could inspect its fine design and desirability for myself, then offered me a ride in his car so that he could demonstrate the wonders of the Sat Nav. I accepted and we got in the car.
“I’ll just tell it where I want to go,” he said, punching in this information on his new toy.
“Where are we going then?” I asked.
“Disley,” he replied, naming a village about a couple of miles away.
“You already know how to get to Disley,” I felt obliged to point out.
He looked at me with the sort of bemused tolerance look that teachers use when dealing with retarded members of their class. “Yes but the Sat Nav doesn’t know that I know does it? I could be a one-legged Latvian banjo player on his first visit to England for all the Sat Nav knows.”
“Then again it might want to take us via Hardnott Pass in the Lake District and a track ending up in a farmer’s field,” I suggested.
“Do I detect a note of jealousy?” said Atkins, meanly.
I ignored the taunt. We set off. We’d travelled only a few yards before a voice said: “In fifty yards take a left turn.”
Atkins smiled at me and nodded towards the Sat Nav box perched atop the car’s dashboard. “Smart eh?”
“It’s a woman,” I said.
“What?”
“It’s a woman,” I repeated. “Bloody hell Atkins, you of all people. I mean it’s bad enough having a woman sat at the side of you telling you what to do, now you’ve got another woman in the car telling you what to do.”
The smile left his face faster than shit off a shovel. (Does shit depart a shovel particularly quickly? I’d have thought it would stick to it. I must shit on a shovel one day and put it to the test). “I never realised that,” Atkins said, crestfallen.
Anyway he took the Sat Nav back to shop where he got it from and asked for one with a male voice. They didn’t do them in that model. They had two with male voices in other makes, but they were dearer. Atkins bought the cheaper of them, which was a hundred pounds more than the one he’d bought with the woman’s voice. He told me he would gladly have paid two hundred pounds more. Who wouldn’t

Ignore this if you have already read it. My books Dear Air 2000 and Football Crazy are now in print. They are priced at £8.99 each and are available from Amazon, but readers of my blog can buy them direct from me for £7.50 including p & p. Just send me a cheque and I will send the book/books by return.

You can write to me at –

Terry Ravenscroft, 19 Ventura Court, Ollersett Avenue, New Mills, High Peak, SK22 4LL

Dear Air 2000

Football CrazyÂ