Football Crazy Read Online Free PDF Page A

manage? What about the Town, how would he pay the printers for the Development Fund Prize Draw tickets?
    He imagined what the scenario would be when he faced Price across his office table. “Well it were like this Mr Price....” No, take your cap off. And wring it in your hands like Willie Mossop did in that picture with Charles Laughton. That's better. “Well it were like this, Mr Price....and thank you for giving me t' chance to explain, Mr Price....very much, Mr Price....but I'd no idea you see, no idea at all, I didn't know a thing about it, I didn't see a thing.
    “ Bollocks, Sutton.”
    “ Yes Mr Price.”
    Yes, that was how it would likely be. That was definitely how....
    “ Are you going to stand there all day, Stanley?” The foreman was getting annoyed, he couldn't stand here all day, he had his job to do or Price would be after his neck too.
    Stanley wasn't far away from tears. “But….but I haven't done anything, Bert.”
    The foreman however had had enough. He took a threatening step towards Stanley. “Or have I got to bloody well drag you there?”
    Stanley instinctively grabbed hold of the rails surrounding the platform in case the foreman should be as good as his word. But he knew he would have to go eventually. Better to get it over with. Forlornly he let go off the handrail and walked down the steps of the platform, putting his fate in the hands of God. However he wasn't very hopeful, God not having troubled himself overmuch on Stanley's behalf up to now.

    Donny had bought a new suit especially for the occasion. It was cream worsted, the finest that Next could supply. To complement it he wore a pink shirt, open at the neck so that he showed a little attractive chest hair, cream loafers, his fake Rolex wristwatch, and, of course, his gold medallion. He knew he looked good, and on the short walk from the car park of the Imperial, Frogley’s leading hotel, to the entrance of the hotel's Moorland Cocktail Bar, this was verified for him when he received a loud wolf whistle. He would have preferred it if the compliment had come from the lips of a pretty young woman rather than a young man with spots, but in Donny's view that didn't detract from the whistler's opinion of his appearance one little bit.
    He breezed into the bar. At twelve noon there were only about half a dozen people in; two ladies who lunch, who at the moment were two ladies who drank glasses of chardonnay and slagged off their friends; two young men who looked like they could be homosexuals, seated close together in a dark corner sipping pina coladas; a man who had the look of somebody who has done something wrong but hasn't yet been found out; and a very large man in a very large suit which quite possibly contained as much flannel as Michael Parkinson.
    The only other customer in the bar was a man with a briefcase seated on one of the barstools, more than likely a sales rep thought Donny. He was chatting to the young woman behind the bar. Donny couldn't blame him. She was gorgeous. Long black hair and short black dress, always a lethal combination.
    The dress showed off the girl’s figure without at all flaunting it, the neckline cut so that you could only just see the start of her cleavage. Very classy, thought Donny, as he casually draped himself on a bar stool at the opposite end of the bar to where the sales rep and the girl were chatting.
    A moment later the girl noticed him. She immediately walked over to him and smiled a welcome. “Can I get you something, sir?”
    Donny could smile too. “A large brandy and coke, please.” Then, with only a trace of magnanimity - whilst wanting her to know that he always did this sort of thing he didn't want her thinking he was a bighead - “And whatever you're drinking.”
    “ Thanks, I'll have a gin and tonic.”
    Donny watched her as she made the drinks. She was a corker and no mistake, she really was.
    “ I'm Big Donny Donnelly, by the way,” he said. “But then you probably