Read Online Stairlift to Heaven by Terry Ravenscroft - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Terry Ravenscroft
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something they might want to change to because if I did that they’d probably rope me in to train with them. The Downhill Stairlift was the first paraplegic-sounding event that sprang to mind. Surely none of them would go to the expense of buying a stairlift? But hang on. Downhill Stairlift? Wouldn’t that be a Winter Paralympics event? Was there such a thing as the Winter Paralympics? Skiing down the side of a mountain at a hundred miles-an-hour is difficult enough as it is without being hampered by having only one arm or one leg or partial sight, so probably not.
“So which event are you going in for then?” asked Mr Jefferson, breaking into my thoughts.
Fortunately inspiration came to my assistance. “Putting the Truss,” I said. “In fact I’m just off to the hospital for a new one, nice seeing you all again,” and with that I limped painfully down the drive and out of their lives forever. I hope.
****
June 10 2007. FLATULENT CHAIR.
There has been a lot in the newspapers recently about the teacher who sued her former school for £1 million in compensation after the school failed to replace her chair, which apparently made flatulent noises when she moved. She was quoted as saying: “It was a regular joke that my chair made farting noises and I regularly have to apologise to pupils and parents that it isn’t me, it’s my chair.” Many columnists, amongst them such luminaries as Richard Littlejohn and Keith Waterhouse, have put in their two pennyworth, but surprisingly for men of their eminence neither Littlejohn nor Waterhouse latched onto the most important feature of the case. Which is: is this woman stark-staring mad? Has she not considered the benefits of owning such a wonderful chair? For having established with her pupils and their parents that it is not she who is making the farting noises the woman can fart away to her heart’s content, safe in the knowledge they’ll think it’s the chair. Just think of the fun she could have in class. She’d be able to pick out a particularly irksome pupil, let rip with a couple of ripe ones and say, “Who was that? Smells like one of yours, Jenkins. Write out ‘I must not fart in class 1000 times and let me have it by morning at the latest’.”
I don’t know about demanding £1 million from the school, she should be paying them a £1 million for providing her with a chair like that.
****
June 14 2008. THE REAL GREECE.
Everyone, I’m sure, has seen the words many times in travel adverts or above articles by travel writers - ‘Come to the real Spain’ or ‘Visit the real France’ or ‘Now enjoy the real Italy’. In today’s Sunday Times travel supplement I saw another one, ‘Visit the real Greece’. No thanks, I’ve tried it. However I wouldn’t mind visiting the unreal Greece, which would be a Greece where: -
The food served in the tavernas is hot, rather than something which has made its way from the kitchen to your table via the North Pole.
You can walk around town without your nose being assaulted by the stink of drains every few yards.
They don’t have at least twenty different spellings of the word hamburger. Just three of many examples I’ve seen are humbleburger, harmburger and hambugger, which, although misspellings, were spot on as to the quality of the hamburgers in question.
Power cuts are the national sport.
You can walk past a restaurant without being accosted by a young Greek who is far better-looking than you and who implores you to step inside for ‘many of our lovely foods’ and won’t take no for an answer.
You can dine outside without being up to the arse in stray cats.
You can put used toilet paper down the lavatory instead of having to put it in a bin overflowing with other used toilet paper.
There is a sporting chance of getting hot water in a reasonable quantity when you turn on the hot water tap.
They have plugs for the sinks so that you don’t have to fashion one out of rolled up
“So which event are you going in for then?” asked Mr Jefferson, breaking into my thoughts.
Fortunately inspiration came to my assistance. “Putting the Truss,” I said. “In fact I’m just off to the hospital for a new one, nice seeing you all again,” and with that I limped painfully down the drive and out of their lives forever. I hope.
****
June 10 2007. FLATULENT CHAIR.
There has been a lot in the newspapers recently about the teacher who sued her former school for £1 million in compensation after the school failed to replace her chair, which apparently made flatulent noises when she moved. She was quoted as saying: “It was a regular joke that my chair made farting noises and I regularly have to apologise to pupils and parents that it isn’t me, it’s my chair.” Many columnists, amongst them such luminaries as Richard Littlejohn and Keith Waterhouse, have put in their two pennyworth, but surprisingly for men of their eminence neither Littlejohn nor Waterhouse latched onto the most important feature of the case. Which is: is this woman stark-staring mad? Has she not considered the benefits of owning such a wonderful chair? For having established with her pupils and their parents that it is not she who is making the farting noises the woman can fart away to her heart’s content, safe in the knowledge they’ll think it’s the chair. Just think of the fun she could have in class. She’d be able to pick out a particularly irksome pupil, let rip with a couple of ripe ones and say, “Who was that? Smells like one of yours, Jenkins. Write out ‘I must not fart in class 1000 times and let me have it by morning at the latest’.”
I don’t know about demanding £1 million from the school, she should be paying them a £1 million for providing her with a chair like that.
****
June 14 2008. THE REAL GREECE.
Everyone, I’m sure, has seen the words many times in travel adverts or above articles by travel writers - ‘Come to the real Spain’ or ‘Visit the real France’ or ‘Now enjoy the real Italy’. In today’s Sunday Times travel supplement I saw another one, ‘Visit the real Greece’. No thanks, I’ve tried it. However I wouldn’t mind visiting the unreal Greece, which would be a Greece where: -
The food served in the tavernas is hot, rather than something which has made its way from the kitchen to your table via the North Pole.
You can walk around town without your nose being assaulted by the stink of drains every few yards.
They don’t have at least twenty different spellings of the word hamburger. Just three of many examples I’ve seen are humbleburger, harmburger and hambugger, which, although misspellings, were spot on as to the quality of the hamburgers in question.
Power cuts are the national sport.
You can walk past a restaurant without being accosted by a young Greek who is far better-looking than you and who implores you to step inside for ‘many of our lovely foods’ and won’t take no for an answer.
You can dine outside without being up to the arse in stray cats.
You can put used toilet paper down the lavatory instead of having to put it in a bin overflowing with other used toilet paper.
There is a sporting chance of getting hot water in a reasonable quantity when you turn on the hot water tap.
They have plugs for the sinks so that you don’t have to fashion one out of rolled up
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