Poles Apart

23rd January 2007

Thanks to the influx of Poles in our town recently Atkins Down The Road and I have a new daft game. It’s called Pretending To Be Polish and we played it for the first time today during the half hour journey on the train from New Mills to Manchester. During the off peak hours the trains are emptier than an MP’s promise so as usual we had the whole coach to ourselves.
The game started when the conductor came round shortly after we’d boarded the train. “Tickets please,” the conductor announced cheerily. He didn’t stay cheery for long.
“Warsaw,” I said, taking out my wallet.
“Pardon?”
“Warsaw. Come back Englands.”
“Return,” said Atkins. “He mean Warsaw return.”
“We don’t go to Warsaw. Manchester, that’s where we go”
“Warsaw,” I repeated, a bit more firmly, taking a fiver from my wallet.
“We don’t go to Warsaw. We only go to Piccadilly.”
“Piccalilli?”
“Piccadilly! It’s the terminus.”
Atkins came to the rescue again. He pointed to me. “Pole.” Then he pointed at himself. “Pole.” Then he held up two fingers. “Three Poles. No spik English very gut. No understand.”
“Warsaw,” I said, pushing the fiver into the conductor’s hand.
“For the last time we don’t go to fucking Warsaw,” said the no longer cheery Conductor.
Atkins’s face lit up. “Understand fucking,” he said. “Fucking awful weather. Fucking Scouse bastards.”
“Warsaw,” I said. “No Piccalilli.”

The conductor spelled it out slowly. We…do…not…go…to…Warsaw! Go….Manchester!”
The conductor’s slowly enunciated words obviously made sense to my fellow Pole because Atkins now gave a huge beam. “Go Manchester!” he said. The conductor smiled. Atkins continued. “Go Manchester United! Manchester United go! Wayne Rooney, Cristiano Ronaldo,Go! Please don’t take out Socks Jar away.”

“Red Navy!” I said.
“Army,” said Atkins.
“Army Navy!” I said.

“Oh bollocks to this,” said the conductor, and went on his way.
It was almost as rewarding  as playing blind men.

Ignore this if you have already read it. My books Dear Air 2000 and Football Crazy are now in print. They ar e 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

You can write to me at –

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

Dear Air 2000

Football Crazy

First Gentleman

22nd January 2007

THE CLINTONS ARE HAVING BREAKFAST.

“Hey Hilary honey, do you realise that if you make President that ah’ll be the First Gentleman.”

“We might just have a problem there, Honey”

“Honey?”

“Well what on earth makes you think that you could ever be called a gentleman, Bill?”

“No, ah’ll make it honey, you can be sure of that. Ah’ve already started giving up mah seat on the subway and holding doors open for ladies.”

“I think it might take a bit more than holding doors open, Hon.”

“There is more. Ah prefer blondes. And they do say that gentlemen prefers blondes, don’t they.”

“Monica Lewinsky wasn’t a blonde as ah recall.”

“Who?”

“And that’s another thing. I think you’ll find that Gentleman don’t go around having their cocks sucked by other women.”

“That gal was lahing, Hon. Ah’ve told you before. That was a big fat lah that girl told.”

“Surely you’re not still denying that bitch gave you a blow job are you?”

“Like ah’ve already explained a hundred times, Hon, ah’d been bitten by a snake and Monica was sucking out the poison.”

“The only snake she was sucking was you trouser snake, Bill. Anyway this conversation is academic because if I make it to the White House I’m going to ditch you and have someone else as my First Gentleman.”

“What!”

“Congressman Northcott.”

”Congressman Northcott? But that guy is nothing but a pussy licker, Honey, just as goddamn pussy licker.”

“Yes?”

“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

You can write to me at –

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

Dear Air 2000

Football Crazy

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