Frankie Lassut

The Atomic Shepherd (Tales from the English Lake District, #10) (eBook, ePUB)

• Format: ePub

Produktbeschreibung

Each year, the World's Biggest Liar competition is held at the Bridge Inn at Santon Bridge, way up there in the wilds of the Cumbrian North West of England. Whoever tells the most convincing lie gets the trophy.
Frankie couldn't make it in 2012, so he wrote out his lie instead and put it in this book so the world can now enjoy it instead of a few yokels in the pub. Unfortunately, Frankie's lie is actually the truth, about his old mate Joss Naylor, who used to be involved in the competition. The book is also filled out with several other stories all suitable for the competition ... the 2013 winner is shown, but not his story of course.
Included is the tale of Beatrice Potter, a woman who lived in Frankie's old home town of Millom in Cumbria.
Enjoy!

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Produktdetails

• Verlag: Frankie Lassut
• Erscheinungstermin: 5. Dezember 2013
• Englisch
• ISBN-13: 9781910103128
• Artikelnr.: 46921987

Autorenporträt

I am the one being shaved; the other one Nim, is is a looney bin now!
I went to see a psychic years ago who ended up as my girlfriend; she didn't see that one coming! But she was extremely honoured. However it ended badly i.e. it rained heavily as I buried her body and I got soaked. No! You don't really want to hear about it, it's depressing; I was joking about the burial. She told me that I was to uncover a talent I had ... Well, another psychic told me that as the first one was dead; I was lying when I said I was lying. Nothing happened for quite a while. Suddenly I realised I needed a 'job' quite badly as I was beginning to drink halves. No, not a boob 'job'! I went for the cheap option i.e. the surgeon gave some socks to shove up my jumper when I go out. I got a 'job' (have you got boobs on your mind?) because someone told me that bus-driving was easy because you just sit on your butt and turn the wheel. She was about six, a wise woman ... that's called an oxymoron. Fantastic! I thought get the job and in a couple of days I'd be driving all the nice passengers around and about seeing all the sights for a fraction of the cost of a tour bus; and we'd have a roof in case it rained. Easy! First of all though there was the training; and I entered hell.

I was born in Cumbria in a little ex-iron ore mining town called Millom. It was only small, a one- horse town; the horse was called Peg. It had a pedigree name too, but I can't remember it at the moment: Peggy Suss? However, I got fed up and left as I was the only man in a town full of women and they were all lesbys; I've always been lucky. I went to Blackpool and attended the photographic college. I then moved to Coventry and met the psychic who would tell me what was going to happen. I could say now that the rest is history. Well it is, but obviously not history as that's all made up anyway. Then I got the job bus-driving, which as I said is easy 'you just sit on your butt and turn the wheel'. The bus station management weren't pleased that she had said that though, so she was tried and sent to Guantanamo Bay; they have a section for young kids who are bad to the bone.

The job was so mad that I thought it would be a good idea to write out some posters and stick them all on the wall of the bus station. The other drivers enjoyed them, but the management tore them down, the badstars (that's an anagram of astards +B). I carried on and ended up with a manuscript for a book, which, by ...