Les Dawson's Cissie and Ada Read online

  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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  ****

  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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  ****

  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

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  ****

  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

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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 Reader’s 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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  ****

  STAIRLIFT TO HEAVEN

  .......You have to take your opportunities for a bit of fun when and wherever you find them so when I noticed a man of about my age approaching in the opposite direction I picked up the Zimmer Frame, twirled it round my head a couple of times, and heaved it into the distance. It had not long since been announced that Britain had been granted the 2012 Olympic Games, and with it the Paralympics, and it was probably this, and the thought I’d just had about cripples taking up their bed and walking, that put the idea into my head.

  After I’d gone to recover the Zimmer Frame and started to walk back with it the man had stopped and now looked on, puzzled. I turned to him and said, a little self-critically: “Not bad.”

  His face was a picture of inquisitiveness. “What on earth are you doing?”

  “Training for the Paralympics.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Throwing the Zimmer Frame," I explained. .”It's a new event. Apparently the host country can pick an entirely new event and Britain has chosen Throwing the Zimmer Frame. It just nudged out the Hop, Hop and Hop for the one-legged I believe."

  I returned with the Zimmer to the spot from which I'd thrown it. Two twirls round my head and I launched it again. This time it went about five yards farther.

  "Quite an improvement," the man observed, approvingly.

  "Yes, must be close to my PB that one," I said, pleased with myself. “That’s Personal Best,” I explained.

  "Yes I know, I’m a fan of athletics,” he said. He thought about it for a moment. “Can anyone enter?"

  I shrugged as though I didn’t really know. "Well I suppose.” I qualified this. “You need a Zimmer Frame of course." I had a thought. “It’s possible you could get a grant; you might be able to get funding for one if you show you any promise. I’m sure I’ve heard of pole-vaulters getting grants for fibre glass poles.”

  I retrieved the Zimmer and made to throw it again.

  "Can I have a go?" asked the man.

  I handed him the Zimmer Frame. He drew his arm back and threw it as hard as he could. It landed a good ten yards farther than my last effort.

  "You're a natural,"
I said.

  “Wasn’t bad was it,” said the man, pleased. “For a first stab at it.”

  First stab at it! I had him hooked. I commenced to reel him in. "I tell you what,” I said. “Why don't you get a Zimmer Frame of your own and join me? Apparently there'll be an individual competition and a pairs, one of you throws the Zimmer and the other one throws it back, sort of piggy in the middle but without the piggy, plus a team event, the four man lob - I think that involves passing on the Zimmer to the next thrower like a baton, but we'd need another two for that. I train every morning at ten.".....

  The story continues

  Amazon Reader’s Review:-

  Another exceptional read from Terry Ravenscroft. I could not put this book down, had me laughing out loud and receiving some odd looks! I have also read Dear Coca Cola and Dear Air 2000 and couldn't stop laughing....Mrs Mulzy