Category: Razzamatazz

BBC Radio Five Live spent an hour yesterday morning discussing the proposition ‘Is the British aristocracy any use?’ I could have saved them the trouble. To put it as politely as I can members of the aristocracy are about are as much use as a chocolate teapot. To put it as impolitely as I can they are fucking parasitical freeloading sponging bastards.
However, thinking about it  today, I concede that they are of some use. Because if it wasn’t for the aristocracy there would be no such thing as chinless wonders. Which would mean that there was one less thing for we commoners to laugh at.
Then there’s the adverse affect it would cause on the silver spoon industry. For if there were no aristocrats they wouldn’t need silver spoons, one of which their children would be born with in their mouths.
And what about braying? We need people who bray otherwise we wouldn’t be able to take the piss out of them, so who would do the braying if there were no aristocrats?  We can’t expect Stephen Fry to do it all.
Finally we have the effect it would have on public schools if there was no longer an annual supply of the offspring of the aristocracy. I can just see the headlines. ‘Eton and Harrow to close down due to shortage of toffee-nosed gits’.
No, on reflection the aristocracy are of tremendous use. Long may they live. The twats.

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.

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Dear Air 2000

“Shall we go for a walk?” I said to The Trouble yesterday. “We usually do on New Year’s Day.”
She looked doubtfully through the window. “The weather looks a bit dodgy don’t you think?”
She was right, it did look dodgy, the skies as murky and grey as an Afghan’s underpants . But I fancied a walk and bravado triumphed over common sense. “No, I’ve seen it like this before,” I said confidently. “I’m sure it won’t rain for hours.”
“I’ll get my oilskin and sou’wester,” said The Trouble, with her usual lack of faith in my judgement.
She didn’t put on her oilskin and sou’wester, she hasn’t got either, she was just being facetious, but she did put on waterproof clothing and Wellington boots. I should have done the same, but I couldn’t very well without looking face, having said that the weather would remain fine.
We set off walking on the nature trail to the village of Hayfield about two miles away. The trail used to be a railway line before Dr Beeching wielded his axe and is fairly straight and flat, and set as it is in picturesque surroundings it makes an excellent short walk.
The surface, usually prone to be a bit muddy, had been newly laid with crushed limestone, which was being put to the test by quite a few youngsters who had obviously been given mountain bikes for Christmas. The ‘in’ colour this year for childrens’ mountain bikes would seem to be a sort of purple, which in a couple of instances matched the colour of the perspiring faces of the parents who were trying manfully to keep up with their offspring.
About forty minutes later we arrived in Hayfield. We turned round to head back and we hadn’t walked more than a hundred yards when the heavens opened.
“Probably just a shower,” I said, more in hope than expectation.
The Trouble gave me a sweet smile, took her rain hat from her pocket and pulled it down over her head.
It rained every step of the way home. Poured down. If Noah had still been around he would have started building another ark. The newly laid crushed limestone very soon turned into, if not a quagmire, then at the very least a quag. Walking on it was like trying to walk through treacle.
On the way we met the returning bicycling families. Except that now the parents had dismounted and were not only pushing their cycles but those of their children as well. Little Brad and Britney were trailing some yards behind them either crying or moaning
I couldn’t have been more wet if I’d jumped in the lake that borders part of the trail. Plus I was at least two stones heavier due to the fact that I had on a fleece under which I was wearing a woollen sweater. If there is anything more absorbent than a fleece and a woollen sweater it is a pair of denim jeans, which I was also wearing.
I don’t know if anyone has ever calculated how much water a pair of jeans can soak up but if it is anything less than a decent sized reservoir I’d be greatly surprised. The man who invents denim tampons will make a fortune. I can see the TV commercial now. ‘Super absorbent AND a fashion statement!’
Lugging two extra stones for two miles while literally soaked to the skin is not to be recommended, especially when accompanied by someone relatively dry who keeps saying things like ‘I told you I didn’t like the look of the weather’ and ‘You should have worn your waterproofs’. So by the time I arrived home I was thoroughly pissed off as well as being pissed on. Happy New Year! 

Thanks to all the people who have bought my books. I hope the post at this time of year isn’t holding them up for too long. I really appreciate your support and hope you enjoy reading them.

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

I visited America for the first time recently. I didn’t go to one of he usual holiday haunts such as Florida or New York City but to the northern part of New York State. This used to be Red Indian Country and many of the names of the towns and villages have Indian names; Ithaca, Wanuka, Fukoffpaleface, names like that.
Thanks to my being exposed to American films and TV ever since I was a child nothing came as a surprise to me while I was over there. It was exactly as I had expected it would be. The clothes were loud, the trucks were big, the cars were big, the highways were wide, the people were wide.
I came into contact with many wide people at breakfast every morning at the local diner. I can honestly say without exaggeration that I was always at least ten stones lighter than anyone else breakfasting there.
You could eat as much as you liked for five dollars as long as you didn’t choose anything healthy. One dish was rashers of bacon smothered in honey served on a pile of pancake. You could have it just as it was or with a side order of extra cholesterol.
The waitress I had was brilliant and typical of all the waitresses who served me while I was over there, unlike the harpies who masquerade as waitress in this country. Cheerful, pleasant, efficient, she couldn’t have done more for me. Well she could have let me play with her tits I suppose but she did quite enough to earn the obligatory ten per cent tip you have to pay over there without resorting to that.
The first time I went to the diner I demonstrated my knowledge of U.S. English by ordering eggs sunny side up. The following day, to test the waitress, who I had been assured by an American friend would remember how I liked my eggs, I just ordered eggs.
The waitress said with a flashing smile that showed about fifty brilliant white teeth, “That would be sunny side up sir?”
I smiled showing the ten grey teeth I have left and said, “I think I’ll have them over easy today thank you.”
On the third day I ordered eggs again. She gave me the all-American tooth show again. “Sunny side up or over easy?”
I said. “I think I’ll have them over hard today.”
This threw her completely. Apparently they don’t do eggs over hard in America. Just sunny side up and over easy. I could have explained to her that all the griddle chef had to do was cook my eggs over easy and do them a bit longer but I didn’t want to risk provoking an international incident so I settled for my eggs sunny side up again.
The name of the diner, one of a countrywide chain, was Friendly’s. I believe there’s another chain called Unfriendly’s which is exactly the same as Friendly’s except that when you give them your order they tell you to fuck off, but I didn’t come across one.

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.

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

Dear Air 2000