Monday, 1 January 2018

Fun with Bev and Carol - Promotion now ENDED!

Just to let you know I'm running a price promotion on all my humorous memoirs beginning on November 28th for three - seven days (depending on the ebook).  At the bottom of this post I've included a short extract from Bunny on a Bike so you can see whether you empathise with a rather easily distracted Bev as she undergoes a particularly challenging test to become a Playboy croupier.

There are four books in the Bev and Carol series (all but one are available in paperback too):




Here's the extract, where Bev and Carol take the second maths test included in the Playboy selection process:

More Maths (this time, ‘mental’)

Keith was right, there was more to come.

‘Please record your answers on the paper provided, clearly numbered and legibly written.  Take care to keep to the correct numbering.  You will hear the questions once and have ten seconds to calculate and note down your answer.’
We had made it through to the final hurdle.  There were twenty-seven of us left, which meant that seven of us would not get a job, according to a girl called Desdemona, who, apparently, hadn’t heard of a ‘geezer’ called Shakespeare.
Suddenly maths seemed more important.  I had scored ninety-five on the written maths test, one more than Carol. Result!  Keith had got eighty-three.

We were spaced out, spatially speaking, so that copying would be impossible this time, and I knew that I was on my own.  In some twisted way, this was invigorating as I felt, unjustifiably, that I was up to the challenge. I flexed my mental muscles and took a deep breath – oxygen to the brain, in lieu of a gin and tonic - memories of my French Oral exam at ‘O’ level came flooding back.  Carol gave me a look that said, ‘You have a bogey on the end of your nose.’  And I stared back with a, ‘Your right boob is more droopy than your left one.’  We were as relaxed as we could be under the circumstances and ready for the first question.

‘Question one.  Seven times nine?’
The numbers fed into my brain and it spoke to me: Easy peasy.  Ten sevens are seventy, less seven, means nine sevens are sixty-three.  It appeared that I had forgotten my nine times table.  Oh well, never mind.
‘Question two.  Eleven times thirteen?’
Bit more tricky. Ten thirteens are one hundred and thirty, plus thirteen, makes one hundred and forty-three.  Thank you brain. And so it went on.  After a few minutes, I heard a soft blubbing noise behind me, and Desdemona was led away by one of the assistants. One down, six to go.   I looked over to where Keith was sitting and he winked at me.  I stuck out my tongue and smiled broadly, waiting for the test to continue.

‘The next five questions require you to calculate a payout of 3:2 on an initial blackjack bet,’ announced the woman at the front of the room.
I looked over at Carol and saw her nodding to herself.
‘Question fifteen.  If a bet of £10 is placed what would be the payout for a blackjack?’
I nodded to myself and realised that I had no memory of the new instructions. 
‘Remember, the calculation is a payout of 3:2,’ said the woman, helpfully.
Come on brain.  Three to two.  £10.  Times three?  Divided by two?  Three, six, nine, the goose drank wine, the monkey…  Oh, shit!
‘Question sixteen.  The same calculation for a bet of £50?’
Write something.  Write SOMETHING.  We had always been taught to write something down, even if we didn’t know the answer.  What would be reasonable?  Three to two.  Three is more than two.  I plucked a number from nowhere and wrote it down, still trying to make sense of the question. I imagined throwing poisoned darts at my maths teacher.
‘Question seventeen.  And for a bet of £60?’
How long could this go on for?  When would there be a question I could answer? Think! Sixty pounds.  That’s a lot of money.  I could do with that in my building society account.  That would give me…  How much have I got?
‘Question eighteen.’ 
The questions were getting faster.  That’s not really fair, is it?  I looked around at the others to see whether they agreed with me. 
The woman continued,  ‘The payout on a bet of £5?’
It’s a ratio.  It’s a RATIO!  Three to two.  If you bet two pounds, you get three for a win.  Yes!  Yes!  Yes!  Now, what did she say?
‘Question nineteen.’
No, wait!
Right.  £25.  Divide by two, equals £12.50.  Times by three, equals…
‘And the last question.  Question twenty.  A bet of £250?’
£37.50.  Quick, write it down.  And £250?  That would be, that would be …£375.  Got it!

‘Thank you everybody.  That is the end of the test.  Please help yourself to refreshments in the lounge area.  You will be informed of your results shortly and those of you who have been successful will receive further instructions.  Good afternoon.’

Bloody Nora!

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