Humor Magazine

'Arrrr, 'ere Be Treasure!'

By Davidduff

Didn't Long John Silver say something like that?  I can't remember exactly, it being around 65 years since I read that particular book.  However, I am still exceedingly excited by the treasure trove to be found at Bookbarn (see previous post).  Last night, all alone because the Memsahib is still lazing about in hospital and the barmaid at the Tippling Philosopher over the road said that she was working Friday night, I ate my supper - pork and apple burger on a bun with chips and coleslaw, beautifully cooked, natch! - and somehow, as I discovered this morning, before, during and after I managed to see off most of a bottle of Merlot.  Thus fortified, I thought I would try one of my 'new' second-hand books.

I chose Incompetence by Rob Grant and, no, me neither!  On searching I discovered that he is quite a well-known TV comedy script writer as well as being the author of several books.  I should point out that in line with his central theme the title of the book is variously and incorrectly spelt throughout!  It is a dystopian tale of the near future set in the 'United States of Europe' in which political correctness has reached full loony heights such that, amongst other things, nobody may be disciplined for incompetence lest it breach their human rights!  Consequently, Mr. Grant opens his tale, thus:

The flight was uneventful enough, except the pilot accidentally touched down at a slightly wrong airport and forgot to lower the landing gear, so we left the plane by way of the emergency chute, and I lost my shoes.

I was fairly pooped by the time I'd hobbled through Customs, filled in the usual lost luggage forms with the assistance of a stone deaf baggage complaints officer and taken a three-hour taxi ride to the country where I'd intended to land.  All I wanted to do, once the the hotel receptionist had finished denying all knowledge of my reservation, was to flop down on my bed and sleep for a millennium or two.

Only there was no bed.

By this time I was already weeping with laughter.  'Oh, Bookbarn, Bookbarn, how do I love thee, Let me count the ways  . . .'


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