Stairlift to Heaven (27 page)

“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 replied, quite sharply.

“I’ll do it just as soon as I’ve found out why it is that women like pink,” I said.

“It’s so that men don’t have to wear it,” she said. “Now go and clear that grid. “

I went to clear the grid, a wiser man.

****

MARCH 1 2011
A TIN OF PEAS.

 “Why are you sat holding a tin of peas to your arm?” I said, not unreasonably, to The Trouble, on entering the living room and discovering her in this bizarre pose. She gave me her frostiest look, which is pretty frosty; penguin’s toes have been known to drop off when subjected to less frosty looks. “You’ve no idea?” she asked.

I thought about it for a moment. “You’ve lost it? You couldn’t find a tin of carrots? We’ve had the gas cut off and you’re warming them through with the heat of your body? Any of those things perhaps?”

“Do you remember me asking you to bring a bag of frozen peas in with you from the corner shop?”

“I do. But as I’ve already explained to you, Mr Ahmed had run out. Had a run on frozen pea curry probably, so I got a tin of peas instead. The very tin you are now holding to your arm, my precious sweet marrowfat, unless I’m very much mistaken.”

“And you think that will work, do you?”

“Work? What do you mean, work?”

“I knew you hadn’t been listening properly. The trouble with you, Terence, is that you never do when I’m talking to you.”

“Rubbish.”

“You don’t. If you’d been listening properly you’d have known I wanted the bag of frozen peas to hold to my arm to help reduce the swelling caused when I strained my bicep yesterday. In which case you wouldn’t, on discovering that Mr Ahmed was out of frozen peas, have bought a tin of bloody peas instead!”

“....Yes I would,” I replied calmly, after only a moment’s hesitation while I struggled to come up with some excuse. “That’s why I bought it.”

“What?” This said with utter disbelief. That made two of us who didn’t believe it but I had to say something.

“That’s why I got the tin of peas instead,” I said, managing to maintain a degree of smoothness that Rex Harrison would have been proud of.

The Trouble shook her head as if to clear it. “Am I missing something here?”

“Yes. You’re missing the knowledge that it is a well known fact that holding a tin of marrowfat peas to a ruptured bicep is a sure-fire way of bringing the swelling down. Florence Nightingale swore by it.”

The Trouble was immediately apologetic. “And there was I thinking I was being sarcastic,” she said sheepishly.

“Is it working?” I inquired solicitously. “Has it brought the swelling down any yet?”

She drew back her arm and threw the tin of peas at me. She yelped out loudly in distress, the act of throwing the tin obviously causing her great pain in her strained muscle. I yelped out even more loudly as the tin caught me a nasty crack on the knee. In no time it became swollen. The Trouble suggested I should hold a tin of peas to it to bring down the swelling. She’s getting as bad as I am.

****

March 9
2011.
THE END.

It is my birthday today. I am 70. It is five years since I started writing this journal so it is mission accomplished. And guess what? I don’t feel a day older. I feel five years older. But as I only felt 27 when I was 65 that’s still only makes me 32, still in my prime. I am still reasonably fit, notwithstanding all the ailments I have mentioned within these pages, and I still don’t need a stairlift. But I am a little nearer to one.

****

If you enjoyed reading Stairlift to Heaven would you mind doing me a favour? If you are a member of facebook, recommend it to your facebook friends, if you have a Twitter account, tweet your opinion of it, or if you have neither simply tell anyone in your email address book who you think might like it. Failing that your next door neighbour will do.

Thanks for this

Terry Ravenscroft.

****

Also by Terry Ravenscroft and available on Amazon Kindle

ZEPHYR ZODIAC

Dolly was rinsing the tea cups in the sink when Don came in, quite agitated.

“There’s a young couple sat in our car, Doll!”

“A young couple?”

“Teenagers by the look of them. Sitting there as large as life.”

“In our car? Are you sure, Don?”

“Come and have a look if you don’t believe me.”

Don took Dolly’s hand and led her to the front door. When they looked, the young couple were still in the car. Dolly took in the scene and turned to Don.

“What do you think they’re doing there?”

“I’ve no idea.”

“They look very young.”

“Not to mention scruffy. I sincerely hope they don’t soil the leopard skin seats.”

“Perhaps they’ll go if we just ignore them.”

“They look pretty settled to me. Oh no! Well if that isn’t the limit.”

“What’s the matter?”

“He’s lit up a cigarette.”

“We can’t allow that Don, smoking in our car.”

“We most certainly can not, Doll.”

“That won’t do the leopard skin seats any good at all. I mean sitting in our car is one thing, but....”

They made their way down the drive and stopped at the car. The occupants were oblivious to them. Don tapped on the window, businesslike. The boy would down the window.

“Excuse me but just what do you think you’re doing in our motor car?” said Don.

 “We’re living in it.”

Zephyr Zodiac will be published early in 2012.

****

I’M IN HEAVEN

I pinched myself. I felt it. So it couldn’t be a dream. But if it wasn’t, if I really was in Piccadilly Gardens, how have I got here? I couldn’t have sleepwalked all the way from the hospital, it was over two miles, through city streets. Had leaving patients in corridors due to a bed shortage moved up a level? Had one of the nursing staff dumped me here until I wake up? I wouldn’t put it past them - only yesterday a down-and-out who’d collapsed in the street had been left outside in a wheelchair for want of a bed and only prompt action by a security man had stopped the bin men taking him.

Before I could think of another test of my consciousness - I was still far from convinced, despite pinching myself, that I wasn’t dreaming - a tall man carrying a brief-case and a clipboard approached me. He was aged about thirty-five and dressed in casual but expensive-looking clothes. His long, thin, pleasant -looking face smiled down at me as he indicated the place on the bench beside me.

“Mind if I join you?”

I was still too wrapped up in wondering just what on earth was going on to answer. He sat down next to me nevertheless.

“Allow me to introduce myself,” he said. “I’m The Archangel Phil. Your mentor. I’ll be meeting with you from time to time until you’re nicely settled in.” He opened a packet of cigarettes and offered me one. “I believe you indulge in these things?”

My mouth fell open. Slack-jawed I looked from the man to the cigarette packet and back. He indicated the clipboard. “My information is correct? You do like a smoke?” He took a cigarette from the packet and pushed it into my hand.

My mouth opened and shut silently a couple of times. Words eventually came out. “Can you tell me what’s going on here? I mean why am I in the middle of Piccadilly Gardens?”

“You aren’t. You’re in heaven.”

“What?”

“Heaven.”

Amazon Readers Review -

This is the best book I have read in years! The subject matter is dealt with in such a humorous manner but this is a real page turner! I have read all of Mr Ravenscroft’s books and in my opinion this is THE BEST! Hilarious, sad, fascinating and a scintillating plot to boot! A must read! Very funny.
- Martin K Davies

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JAMES BLOND – STOCKPORT IS TOO MUCH

He took the cool glass and looked straight into the eyes of the object of his affection. “Please, all my lovers call me James.”

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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