'Tasters' - extracts from the book:-

Love is Funny

Now let the fun begin.....

 

From the start:-

    The yellow and white Learjet was perfectly lined up on the glide-slope as it emerged from the thin covering of whispy clouds to effect a faultless landing at the small airport known as 'Great Chewberry', situated in the rural south west of England. Emblazoned along the side of the business jet was the name of its owner, 'Ben Abraham Construction', with the company logo displayed proudly on the tail.

    Though what was not displayed was the fact that Ben Abraham Construction also owned and operated the increasingly busy little airport.

    Exiting the runway, the plane taxied to the parking apron, where the twin jet engines were quickly killed, and, almost immediately, the door containing built-in steps hinged outwards and downwards to reveal an attractive woman in her mid thirties. Classy, elegant, wearing a tailored cream trouser suit, with Pat Abraham you could almost smell the money. She paused momentarily at the top of the steps, checked her watch, then descended to walk briskly to the left front door of a dark green Jaguar XF parked nearby, the doors unlocking automatically as she approached, and got in to sit on the left front seat, only to find some-one had stolen the steering wheel. Then she remembered - this was England - the steering wheel was on the right. She'd lived here for years, but at heart would always be American.

    She was somewhat stressed and the elegance slipped for just a moment as she gave vent to her feelings.

    "Damn!"

    Getting out, she walked round to the actual driver's side and this time did ease onto the correct seat behind the wheel, started the near-silent engine, and drove quickly away from the airport.

    She was late, and knew she was late. Would he still be there? Would he have waited? Her heart in her mouth, she 'put the pedal to the metal' and prayed that he would.

        *        *        *        *        *

    At another airport, not a million miles away from Great Chewberry, John Montgomery Lansdowne walked out of the front entrance and looked expectantly towards the staff car park. Mid-thirties, in his native East End of London as well as locally he was known as 'Jack the Lad'. Attractive to women, he had a knack for cutting deals - the epitome of a likeable rogue. He was dressed 'smart casual' - a light tan suit with open-neck shirt.

    'Old Barrow Airport' was owned by the local council, and they had poured money into it with scant regard to economic reality. At considerable public expense it had been extended and modernised, and was shortly due to celebrate with a change of name to the rather more ambitious 'Old Barrow International'. But not until a sizeable group of senior employees and council officials had been on an all-expenses paid jolly to Amsterdam. Or as they would put it - a study tour to learn how Schipol itself had grown and was run.

    Anxiously Jack checked his watch, and again looked towards the staff car park, this time being rewarded by the sight of young Eddie driving a silver 3-series BMW convertible with the top down, as it emerged from the car park and stopped in front of him. Jack flipped a two pound coin to Eddie, who caught it  adroitly as they swapped places.

    Again Jack checked his watch - he was late - would she still be there? And he also had to make a call en-route.

    "Damn!" he said aloud.

    He gunned the throttle on the little convertible, the wheels spinning as they fought for grip, and drove rapidly away from the airport complex.

        *        *        *        *        *

As the big day hots up:-

    In the check-in hall, things were getting busier, with crowds gathering to queue at the desks and shuffle their suitcases along the floor as they crept closer to their turn to hand them in. A pretty auburn-haired girl came out from the staff area to sit at her desk to start processing the passengers to Dublin. Her head down, she switched on her computer, logged herself in, and rummaged in a drawer for the appropriate luggage labels. But when she looked up the sight that greeted her nearly caused her to faint, for the first in the queue was a gorilla.

    It appeared that the gorilla spoke to her, "We have four seats booked for Dublin."

    It was then that the clerk noticed the four tickets in front of her, with the names Guy Gorilla, Gordon Knott, John Smart and Raymond Black. "Good God - you can talk!" she said to the gorilla.

    "Of course I can talk," came the reply.

    Clearly shaken, she responded with an incredulous, "And you think you'll need four seats?"

    "There are four of us!"

    The penny dropped, and she peered over the top of her desk to see three dwarfs, two of them Caucasian and one West Indian. "I'm so sorry - I thought the gorilla had spoken to me."

    "Are you alright, Miss? Guy's pretty clever, but not that clever."

    "Guy?" she repeated, phrasing it as a question.

    "Guy the gorilla," the dwarf confirmed.

    The West Indian dwarf now spoke. "We really would like to get checked in, Miss. We're the advance party for the Circus Maximus - most of our colleagues are flying out tomorrow."

    She looked at them in astonishment, "The Circus Maximus?" she said, "Don't you mean the Circus Minimus? And you four are all flying today?"

    "Yes - to Dublin," the one called Gordon confirmed.

    "A rapidly growing city," added Raymond Black.

    "Is it?" the clerk asked, still in something of a daze.

    "Yes," chipped in John Smart, the West Indian, "It's always doublin'. I've got an appointment with Dr Malbec tonight - he specialises in dwarfs."

    The girl was bemused. "Specialises in dwarfs?"

    "Yes, he's very good, but you have to be a little patient to see him."

    She shook her head. "Can we please check your names - I see we've a John Smart, a Gordon Knott, and a Raymond Black?"

    "Yes," from the three in unison.

    She spoke to Gordon. "Are you Mr. Smart?"

    "I'm Knott," he replied.

    Then to Raymond, "So are you Mr Smart?"

    "No."

    "So who's Black?"

    "Are you taking the piss, Miss, or a racialist?" from John, the West Indian.    He indicated Raymond, "He's Black."

    "So who's Smart?" she asked in exasperation.

    "We all are!" they answered in unison, as they fell about laughing, every one a born public entertainer.

    The clerk looked at the fourth ticket. "And you want to take, 'er Guy with you - in an ordinary seat?"

    "Of course - he's one of the family. His name's on his ticket." John Smart reached up onto the desk, picked up the remaining ticket, and passed it to her. "See - it's made out to Guy Gorilla."

    "But when they took the booking they wouldn't have known he was a gorilla - they'd have thought he was a human."

    "But for a very small hiccup in his DNA he would be!" from Raymond.

    She thought things were getting out of hand and sought to establish her authority. "No, I'm sorry. He can't go as a passenger - he'll have to go in a cage."

    "But he doesn't have a cage!" Gordon protested.

    "He doesn't even like being on a lead - see how much happier he is when he's not," from Raymond, unclipping the lead he had been holding from the collar round Guy's neck.

    "I do so wish you hadn't done that - is he dangerous?" the check-in girl asked.

    Gordon shook his head. "Definitely not - although he is very amorous."

    "But not dangerous?"

    "No - just amorous. He loves females."

    "Female gorillas?"

    "Female anything, I suppose," said John.

    At first unnoticed, Guy wandered off at quite a fast ambling pace.

    The girl was shocked. "You mean like even female people?"

    "Especially female people," John Smart confirmed.

    It was then she noticed Guy had gone. "Then you'd better go catch him!"

    Saying which and in something of a panic the three circus performers set off in pursuit, with Guy the gorilla ignoring all their calls to come back.

        *        *        *        *        *

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