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Authors: Terry Ravenscroft, Ravenscroft
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it off and carrying it under his arm, like they did in old wedding photographs, thus getting the benefit of both worlds. This seemed to him to be the ideal solution and the one he adopted.
He had previously noticed a bowler hat in the window of the local Age Concern charity shop and had gone in to try it on. Unfortunately the hat had been much too large and had fallen down over his eyes. However the old dear behind the counter, who looked to Donny more like she should be receiving some of the profits of Age Concern rather than helping to create them, had seen a possible sale, and was now firmly intent on getting it. She took the hat off him and quickly lined it with folded newspaper. He tried it on again and now it fitted perfectly. The old dear clapped her hands together in delight and assured Donny that he looked very nice in it. Donny looked in the mirror and could immediately see why she should think this. Then she proceeded to put her foot in it by going on to tell him that he looked quite the little gentleman. As Donny had already half-convinced himself that the bowler hat made him look even shorter than he already was the old dear's confirmation of this was all it had taken to decide him against it. But he did want to impress Price. Which is why he decided to take the bowler hat but to just carry it under his arm.
With it Donny initially thought he might wear his powder blue jacket and lazer blue slacks, an outfit that his lovely wife Tracey Michelle liked him in so much, but when he tried it with the bowler hat in the full length mirror at home he found that the two clashed. Then it occurred to him that maybe Price might prefer to see his manager in a more 'hands-on' mode of dress, but found that his lime green track suit didn't go too well with the bowler hat either. In the end he'd plumped for the new cream number he'd bought for acquiring a mistress purposes.
He looked at his watch. A minute to ten. “Any sign of him yet,” he asked George, who was nearer the window.
George looked out. “Not yet. If I know Price he'll make us wait.”
“ Well he hadn't better make us wait too long,” complained Donny. “I want to get my number two in place today.”
Ever since Price had told him that he would be looking to him to get some new supporters for the Town Stanley had been racking his brains as to how he could best accomplish this. So far he hadn't come up with a single idea. And he'd thought of everything short of press-ganging people in the pubs of Frogley during the Saturday lunchtime prior to the match. (If he had happened to have thought of it he would have put it to Price immediately and offered to be in charge of the press gang.)
But four days on he still hadn't come up with anything that would get more people though the Frogley Town turnstiles that wasn't already being tried, or that hadn't been tried before and had failed.
The problem was that Stanley really didn't have the sort of innovative mind that comes up with new ideas. He was a simple man; not mentally deficient in any way, or slow, but simple in the humble, uncomplicated, artless sense of the word. What Stanley was good at, and what he knew he was good at, was hard graft and being loyal to the causes he loved - and certainly nobody was better at displaying these virtues if his performances to the glory of Price's Pies and Frogley Town Football Club were the yardstick. But being a grafter and being loyal weren't much good to you when you were trying to come up with an idea which would fill the Offal Road Stadium to capacity every match day, a fact which Stanley readily admitted to himself as he sat in his living room in his red, yellow and green striped chair with his freshly-dyed faithless dog Fentonbottom at his feet.
Then suddenly, completely out of the blue, or maybe completely out of the red, yellow and green, he had an idea. His son! He was a clever fellow. A big disappointment to Stanley, true, because he had no time at all for
He had previously noticed a bowler hat in the window of the local Age Concern charity shop and had gone in to try it on. Unfortunately the hat had been much too large and had fallen down over his eyes. However the old dear behind the counter, who looked to Donny more like she should be receiving some of the profits of Age Concern rather than helping to create them, had seen a possible sale, and was now firmly intent on getting it. She took the hat off him and quickly lined it with folded newspaper. He tried it on again and now it fitted perfectly. The old dear clapped her hands together in delight and assured Donny that he looked very nice in it. Donny looked in the mirror and could immediately see why she should think this. Then she proceeded to put her foot in it by going on to tell him that he looked quite the little gentleman. As Donny had already half-convinced himself that the bowler hat made him look even shorter than he already was the old dear's confirmation of this was all it had taken to decide him against it. But he did want to impress Price. Which is why he decided to take the bowler hat but to just carry it under his arm.
With it Donny initially thought he might wear his powder blue jacket and lazer blue slacks, an outfit that his lovely wife Tracey Michelle liked him in so much, but when he tried it with the bowler hat in the full length mirror at home he found that the two clashed. Then it occurred to him that maybe Price might prefer to see his manager in a more 'hands-on' mode of dress, but found that his lime green track suit didn't go too well with the bowler hat either. In the end he'd plumped for the new cream number he'd bought for acquiring a mistress purposes.
He looked at his watch. A minute to ten. “Any sign of him yet,” he asked George, who was nearer the window.
George looked out. “Not yet. If I know Price he'll make us wait.”
“ Well he hadn't better make us wait too long,” complained Donny. “I want to get my number two in place today.”
Ever since Price had told him that he would be looking to him to get some new supporters for the Town Stanley had been racking his brains as to how he could best accomplish this. So far he hadn't come up with a single idea. And he'd thought of everything short of press-ganging people in the pubs of Frogley during the Saturday lunchtime prior to the match. (If he had happened to have thought of it he would have put it to Price immediately and offered to be in charge of the press gang.)
But four days on he still hadn't come up with anything that would get more people though the Frogley Town turnstiles that wasn't already being tried, or that hadn't been tried before and had failed.
The problem was that Stanley really didn't have the sort of innovative mind that comes up with new ideas. He was a simple man; not mentally deficient in any way, or slow, but simple in the humble, uncomplicated, artless sense of the word. What Stanley was good at, and what he knew he was good at, was hard graft and being loyal to the causes he loved - and certainly nobody was better at displaying these virtues if his performances to the glory of Price's Pies and Frogley Town Football Club were the yardstick. But being a grafter and being loyal weren't much good to you when you were trying to come up with an idea which would fill the Offal Road Stadium to capacity every match day, a fact which Stanley readily admitted to himself as he sat in his living room in his red, yellow and green striped chair with his freshly-dyed faithless dog Fentonbottom at his feet.
Then suddenly, completely out of the blue, or maybe completely out of the red, yellow and green, he had an idea. His son! He was a clever fellow. A big disappointment to Stanley, true, because he had no time at all for
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