Gerald the Great of Gorokoland
A fairy story without fairies
… and not much of a story either.
By Philip Bradbury
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Other books by Philip Bradbury
Non Fiction
Conversations on Your Business
Stepping Out Of Debt And Into Financial Freedom
Whose Life Is It Anyway?
The Lawless Way
Change Your Mind, Change Your World (with Anna Bradbury)
The Twelve Week Miracle (with Anna Bradbury)
The Meaning of Larf
Understanding Men
Dactionary – the dictionary with attitude
Fiction
An Olympic Challenge
The Royal Bank of Stories
Circles of Gold
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Gerald the Great of Gorokoland
A fairy story without fairies
… and not much of a story either
Copyright 2011 © Philip Bradbury
Smashwords edition
ISBN-13: 978-1-4657-0305-7
Typed (with two fingers) by Philip Bradbury
Typeset (with brilliance and majesty) by Philip Bradbury
Front cover designed (with flair and imagination) by Philip Bradbury
All rights reserved. Although this book is copyright and you’re not supposed to reproduce it in any form, I know that some of you will. As a sculptor of words, I’m well aware that it’s so easy for anyone to pretend these words are theirs and receive acclaim for that. If you can live with that then, please, go ahead.
All I can do is ask that you treat the spirit of these words with respect, treat me with respect and enjoy the product thereof. I can live with that.
Philip Bradbury
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Thanks
I give grateful thanks to a wondrous God who gave me the ability to write stuff, thereby providing me with an outlet for my insanity without which I would probably be sitting in my tartan slippers and dressing gown, in a wheel-chair, being fed little blue and green pills by a man in a little white coat as I drool over yet another rerun of Big Brother or the news. This wordly outlet serves to save the health service thousands on my care and allows me to live a quasi-normal life with a very normal – and luscious – wife who I can drool over.
And, to you, thank you for reading thus far. Please, however, do not read any further for you could easily be infected by the FUN (Fairly Useless Nonsense) bug I have released onto these pages. Or, alternatively, you could just have a damned good chuckle, thereby making the world a happier place.
Your choice and bless you and all who sail in her.
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Introduction
This book is best read sitting down as that was how it was written. It is also written slower for the slower readers and we would suggest that you keep your reading speed below 30,000 words per minute lest blurring, vertigo, lack of comprehension, measles and political correctness occur. You could also be booked (ha! ha!) by the reading police, for speeding, when they stop reading. Another suggestion is that you move your eyes and/or your head back and forwards rather than moving the book in front of your eyes. This is a new development in reading technique and, although cutting-edge technology, has now been tested successfully on 2,500 sheep, 30 goats, 400 emus and 3 humans and all experienced vast improvements in their romantic lives. Their reading suffered but who cares when you’re in love.
This is an unfairy story – a fairy story without fairies. The Fairy Union complained about this to the Arbitration Council and I have now agreed to include them in the sequel. There are many other people not included (my mother, the Pope, St. Francis of Assisi, Mussolini to name a few) and if you feel a need to be included in the sequel to the sequel your claim will need to be into the Council within three days, after which they break for their 15-year-long Christmas holiday.
This is a story for children and adults alike (though they’re not really alike are they?) but there are a few big words (like wheelbarrow and porcupine) that adults may find difficult. I suggest that you keep a child within yelling distance to help you with the difficult bits.
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Kings And Princesses
Once upon a time (all good non-fairy stories begin with once upon a time, apparently*) there was a very beautiful princess. Although her red hair wasn’t considered beautiful, her eyes were. In fact one eye was so beautiful the other eye couldn’t stop looking at it. At 6 foot 3 inches, statuesque would have been a description of her, if it wasn’t for her humpback and clubfoot. It was also unfortunate that she was prone to rages when saliva and words were spat out – she gave both the news and the weather. She would also gestulate violently with her arms and the scene could have been comic had one not realised that she was very serious. But she was a princess and princesses are always very serious and beautiful and so it was with this Agatha.
Agatha’s father, the king, was vertically and hemispherically challenged with a diameter nearly equal to his meagre height. In fact, it was His Royal Squatness who started the now-famous Height Watchers club. Being the only person in the kingdom needing steps up to and into his bath, he attempted to add to his vertical lowness by refusing to cut his frizzy mop of hair, wearing black clothes and cowboy boots and by surrounding himself with little people. He was under the Samsonian (or Delilahian) illusion that his strength was in his hair and so his mangy beard stopped near his navel and his previous three meals could be discerned by the remnants intertwined therein. How the queen found this hairy, rotund and florid little man attractive enough to allow conception is the first of the seven mysteries of the Kingdom. How such a feat was ever accomplished is the second mystery, considering that certain private bits were so much shorter than the extent of his portly tummy and neither the king or the queen ever hinted at a possible solution, though some remarked, perhaps unkindly, how similar Agatha’s appearance was to a certain cell-phone salesman and how many different types of phone the queen seemed to have. However, such remarks are mainly the perverted invention of petty, jealous and do-gooding women’s magazine editors whose lives are so empty that they get their kicks from the misery and thrills of anyone else who seems to be having more fun than them – such comments should be deleted and tossed in the recycle-bin of your mind, lest it begin to fester and create sordid stories from very thin air, for huge financial gain and anonymous titillation … I’m actually sorry I mentioned it now … actually, did you hear the one about … ah, I can’t tell you that one!
The kingdom over which her father presided was one of very beautiful people and it did perplex him that he should have a daughter with such a different kind of beauty. Obviously, Agatha was very beautiful (as all princesses are beautiful) but her different kind of beauty made it difficult for him to find a handsome prince willing to wed her. This was further aggravated by the fact that she didn’t seem interested in handsome princes – she was only interested in other princesses and that was not how fairy stories were meant to be. He often wondered if he had been written into the wrong story and wished the storywriter wasn’t so drunk when he’d scribbled this script. However, there didn’t seem to be anything he could do to get his life rewritten. He was stuck in this dumb story and he just had to see it through. He tried many times to contact the storywriter but he was always on the phone, snoring off another hangover or completely deaf. It seemed that once a story is written it could not be changed and so there he was, in this stupid drama with no way of escape.
Apart from the problems with his princess daughter, running a kingdom of beautiful people was a pretty cruisy number. Anything he wanted was provided and everyone thought he was a real groover. There was enough money for all and the happiness meter was always in the high nineties. There were a few people with no clothes, food or shelter but they were helpful in showing the millionaires how well off the others were. Without a few hundred thousand people in the doldrums, the rest thought they were hard done by. There was enough money and food for these wretches, but why give it to them and make the rest unhappy? Just not done for a king to have his friends unhappy.
Of course, there were a few persistent whingers who thought they shouldn’t be whipped or jailed for just asking for food, clothes and shelter but they were the sorts who whinged if their bums were on fire, even after the fire extinguishers were provided. And, naturally, one could expect a few thousand jailbirds and “social conscience” sorts to moan about the lack of beds, hygiene and food in the jails. This political correctness was such a pain but only a passing fad. Such trivial concerns – why couldn’t they just be happy with their lot and just get on with it. If they were a little happier and said nicer things about the king, they wouldn’t have to moan about not being registered on the happiness meter.
This nine-year drought and the locust plague only affected a few farmers and if they didn’t like natural cycles, they should get out of farming and get real jobs in the city – like boot polishers and traffic wardens. There was always enough food for the king and his mates and the rest should just adapt and learn to live on less food. They had the option of becoming liquidarians but didn’t have the sense to pursue that one. They could easily filter the poisonous water through sand – there wasn’t a shortage of that stuff around. Such stupid people. The king and his mates had had the brains to collect enough money to buy the expensive food that had to be imported from that silly kingdom over the water that had a different way of distributing wealth. They always had plenty of produce to sell and so there was always plenty of food, if only the whingers could see that there was a way of obtaining it. That they were forbidden from growing their own vegetables and owning anything (punishable by death) should not have been a hindrance. The king and his friends had found a way so why couldn’t they?
The other wee problem with the teachers and nurses wanting to be paid for their work had been solved by shutting down all the schools and hospitals. Then the silly twits had the gall to moan about that. They got the same pay now, for much less work. They pretended to be concerned for the sick, frail and those wanting to be more educated and informed, but that was only a front for wanting the social status of being needed. Gosh, if God had wanted people to be healthy and educated he wouldn’t have invented disease and ignorance. People wouldn’t have anything to aspire to if they had everything and so the king felt his benevolence in giving the people unfulfilled aspirations was grossly misunderstood.
So, all up, the only real problem he had was his Princess Agatha. Such a nice girl and with the finest clothing, castles, servants, casinos, private jets, ski resorts, education and friends, it was difficult to see why any handsome prince didn’t want her. Her appearance belied a beautiful nature and there must be some man willing to overlook that for the happiness of all he could desire. The other little hurdle of the princess’s aversion to men, and preference for women, was only part of her growing pains and she would soon grow to become normal. But these wimpy blokes seemed unable to see things his way. A seemingly intractable problem which could obviously be fixed if he could have a word with that silly drunkard of a storywriter.
The queen, though a great lover and obedient wife, was a silly chook in some ways. She couldn’t see that Agatha’s preference for women (and her rages) were a problem at all. In fact, Agatha only seemed to get into her rages with the king and was very happy and placid with her mother. That the king was only trying to help Agatha with her problems in giving her his good, fatherly advice, didn’t diminish her rages She was only young and, at 38, didn’t have the worldly wisdom that he did. Women seemed to have such silly ideas on running a kingdom and it was a relief that it was a job for men. If the women were left to run things there would be all sorts of unnecessary changes like feeding the starving, healing the sick, educating the children, releasing the prisoners, helping the farmers and actually being nice to a whole herd of people who really didn’t matter. Such a pointless waste of scarce resources and, who knows, all those healthy and educated people might start up with the idea that they, also, had better ideas on how to run things. Didn’t they know that kings were kings because they really did know better. And after all the changes, the people would realize what a wise and clever king he had been and they would only have to change back again to his brilliant way of doing things. Such a waste of energy, making changes and getting people to think of better things that had already been done. Best to leave the job to those who knew better.
* This is not necessarily a good fairy story … or non-fairy story for that matter. In fact, it could possibly qualify as being the worst on record. This small fact, however, does not stop me from starting like all the good ones do.
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The Ugly Basketballer
Then one day when he was getting really frustrated at not being able to get through to the silly storywriter, an ugly young man (so tall that if he fell over he would be halfway home) turned up and claimed the hand of the princess. You might not notice this young man’s blonde hair as it was so far up but, if you stood on a chair, you might think that a pile of straw had just fallen out of the sky and just landed there, on his head. There were bits sticking out and some bits not sticking out and you might call it messy or untidy or unkempt or some other big word. As he ran his fingers through it (as he did often), you might be reminded of a business or a country that’s in a really big mess. They get new management or new politicians who sweep through with new policies, laws and ideas and, at the end, things have changed. It’s still in a mess (usually a worse mess) but the mess is different. His hair was like that.
Such a pity he was so ugly as it would have been a relief to have Agatha off his hands – her rages were getting worse and the noise and commotion in the court was very unseemly and embarrassing. But ugly blokes didn’t become princes – that was an unwritten law. He wasn’t sure who unwrote the law but it had served them well for the last two centuries and there was no need to change now. Perhaps the young man would consent to some plastic surgery but no, he wasn’t into that one, not at all! All for the sake of a little cut-and-tuck he was giving up on having everything he could ask for. The king would have to take him as he was or not at all. What a dilemma! Then this young man got into a rage when the king tried to give him some of his good fatherly advice and it seemed that there was a great similarity to his daughter – perhaps they would make a perfect match after all. If their rages could be contained somewhere away from the court then there may be a solution to the problem. His mind was racing between the convenience of having his daughter married and under the thumb of a man, and the possible consequences if their rages got out of hand. These unfairy-tale writers were so stupid – why couldn’t he be put in a much easier plot, one with happiness and fun going all the way through?
Then, as it happened, one of his servants dashed in, panting, bowing, scraping and looking very flushed.
“Beggin’ your pardon, Most Mightiest,” oozed the man.
“Yes? What is it, twit?” He demanded in his most gracious manner.
“Well, there’s a commotion in the square and the army’s having trouble keeping the people at bay,” he said, still panting and waving his arms like a broken helicopter.
“Tell them to bloody well shoot the buggers!” he commanded with a beneficent smile, thinking of the greater good of himself.
“They wanted to but some of the wretches have nicked the ammunition,” chattered the servant, with the ominous feeling of an approaching rage.
“Must I do all the thinking round here! Tell the measly swine of a Commander of Forces to shove ‘em all in jail. Pretty bloody simple really!” sneered the king, walking away with a dismissive wave of his hand.
“But … but … the wretches are the ones in jail. They have all escaped and are demanding your guts for garters, or some such thing,” stammered the shrinking servant, slinking off.
The king stopped in his tracks, immobile. Never before had life become so perplexing. First this ugly basketballer wants to marry his daughter and now the wretches were out of garters. If he ever got hold of that stupid storywriter he would string him up by the ears and incinerate his pen.
“Excuse me, Sir, but I may have a solution,” suggested the ugly young man.
“Most Mightiest!” roared the king.
“Yes, it’s a mighty idea,” beamed the ugly young man.
“Not Sir, Most Mightiest! I must be referred to as Most Mightiest, you snivelling worm!” yelled the king, mistaking the young man’s enthusiasm for insubordination.
“So sorry Sir … I mean Most Mightiest … I may have a solution to the problem,” said the ugly young basketballer.
“Only kings have solutions to life’s problems,” said the king sulkily. “You lot are here simply to carry out my commands.”
“Very sorry Your Highn … Most Mightiest. I didn’t realise that,” said the young man, surprised.
“Stupid twit, you should know these things,” sneered the king. “Tell me your idea anyway, and we’ll see if it’s the same one I had.”
“Well Your Hon … Most Mightiest, I was thinking …” started the young basketballer.
“I bloody well hope so,” interrupted the king. “Now, what’s your grand idea?”
“It’s quite simple really, but you mightn’t like it,” said the young man, shyly.
“Probably not, but how will I know if you don’t tell me?” asked the king patiently, his temperature rising.
“Well … if you let me marry the princess really quickly, like right now, you could take a wedding holiday, and let me sort the people out,” blurted out the young man, going very red.
“Marry my daughter? Not on your Nelly!” retorted the king. “What a ridiculous idea.”
“What was your idea?” asked the young man, interested.
“Most Mightiest, twit!” yelled the king.
“What a funny ide … Oh! I am sorry … Most Mightiest, what was your idea?” asked the young man, feeling a right twit.
“Not that anyway,” said the king, frowning and looking furtive.
Suddenly a commotion was heard in the street, of hundreds of yelling and angry people.
“This used to be such a nice street until they put in those condom vending machines …” muttered the king.
“The wretches are breaking into the palace, Most Mightiest!” called the servant, rushing down the corridor towards them. “The palace guards are being overpowered.”
“Perhaps we’ll go with my idea after all. It was better than yours. Now send for the princess, the queen and the bishop! Immediately!!” commanded the king.
The noise outside was getting dangerously loud and menacing. The king looked out the window and was immediately met with a barrage of angry jeers and three soft tomatoes. Reeling back with a look of horror and tomato paste, he retreated to his private chamber, but not before slipping on tomato juice and bouncing off the wall.
The ugly young man and the servant stood stock still, not knowing where to go next.
“Quick, get them,” said the young man, gathering his wits.
The servant rushed down the corridor and the beautiful princess and her mother soon appeared, with a portly bishop in hot pursuit, holding up his skirts and trying not to drop his books.
“The king’s in there,” said the young man, helpfully.
“I’m in here!” yelled the king. “What are you’ll doing out there? Get on with it!”
“Get on with what?” demanded the queen and her daughter, both bustling through the door.
“The bloody marriage, woman!” said the king, wondering why women were always so slow on the uptake.
“What bloody marriage?” asked the queen, still perplexed.
“Agatha to Ugly here,” sighed the king, still wondering why the obvious eluded some people for so long.
“Ugly Here, pleased to meet you, I am sure,” said the queen, curtseying and puzzling at his strange name.
“My name is Gerald. Gerald the Fifth of Gorokoland,” said the ugly young man, correcting her politely. “I would like to marry your beautiful daughter and then let you have a holiday while I sort out the people. This was all the king’s idea.”