Fiddle of the Sphinx and Other Quirky Comedy Tales: Quintessentially Quirky Tales, #1

By Iain Pattison

Laugh-out-loud stories packed with gags, groans and great fun characters.

If you love sit-coms, sketch shows and quick-fire humour, then these rib tickling tales by humorist Iain Pattison are guaranteed to have you in stitches. Ideal for reading on the train, over coffee or as a bedtime treat, each is a bite-sized chuckle bomb that'll brighten even your greyest day.  

In this collection of Iain's best offbeat stories, encounter:

A horror writer who extracts a fitting  revenge on her unsympathetic publisher.

A mix-up with a giant statue that has the Dalai Lama hopping mad.

A kidnapped woman held hostage in a busy airport departure lounge.

The Horsemen of The Apocalypse facing a scathing performance review.

Willy Wonka turning to desperate measures to rescue his chocolate factory from recession

Plus tinsel-loving Scrooge haunted by ghosts who want him to despise Christmas.

From the unconventional and teasing to the downright surreal, this compilation of madly mirthful satirical delights is packed with word play, wit and unexpectedly silly send-ups. Buy it today to join the fun.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Iain Pattison
• Release date: Jun 17, 2015
• ISBN: 9798215007112

Iain Pattison

Having discovered that he was not The Chosen One of which the ancient prophesises spoke, Iain Pattison ditched his kaftan, sold his sandals and vowed to eke out a living as an author and humorist. Between penning funny tales, he battles to give obscure words like eke a place in polite society. He resides in Birmingham, England but often feels a mysterious urge to return to his cave in Tibet for Bank Holiday weekends.

Book preview

About The Author

Internationally-acclaimed humorist Iain Pattison has been entertaining readers on both sides of the Atlantic for more than 20 years with a succession of short stories that have won prize after prize, appeared in magazines and anthologies, and been broadcast on the UK’s most prestigious speech radio station, BBC Radio 4.

When not penning quirky tales, he is a creative writing tutor, competition judge and public speaker.

Originally from Glasgow, Iain now lives in Birmingham within a stone’s throw of the famous Cadbury’s Bournville chocolate factory. He swears blind it wasn’t him who threw the stone…

To learn more about Iain follow him on twitter @AuthorIain or visit iainpattison.co.uk

Fiddle of the Sphinx

Ramses the First stared out the palace window, surveying the vast flat desert plain in the distance where his mausoleum was going to be. The sandy site was huge, stretching as far as the eye could see. It was awe-inspiring.

He couldn’t help a surge of pride and excitement. This would finally silence his critics, especially those toffee-nosed Romans. This would show he was truly divine – a living God on Earth.

The sepulchre was going to be so large, so tall, so elaborate and richly decorated that even Ra himself would be jealous.

Tell me again, he instructed his two newly-acquired advisors. Tell me how grand and magnificent my burial building will be.

The first stroked his beard and held up his hand, as if painting a picture in the very air. Mighty Pharaoh, it will be the most mind-blowing, wondrous, extraordinarily extravagant sight ever beheld by Man’s eyes. It will make The Hanging Gardens of Babylon look like a window box.

Compared to its majesty the Grand Library at Alexandria will seem a mere second-hand book stall, his companion added.

It will be so massive it will give the Colossus of Rhodes an inferiority complex and he’ll rush to change his name to Titch, they elaborated.

That’s wonderful, Ramses thought. Gosh, it’s going to be even better than I’d dreamt. I won’t be facing eternity in standard accommodation after all – I’m upgrading to an executive tomb!

It will take an army of slaves working round the clock some thirty years to complete it, the duo pressed on expansively. It will use up every piece of stone in the land. Extra chunks will have to be imported and shipped along the Nile.

It would, they promised, still be drawing tourists in 3,000 years’ time – and reaping benefits for the hospitality and trinket trades.

Sounds amazing, and just the sort of thing I’m looking for, the Pharaoh conceded, then suddenly frowned. Just, isn’t it going to be a bit… expensive? The Royal treasury’s a tad empty at the moment what with the famines and the plagues and the compensation claims for all the flooding from that nasty business with the Red Sea parting.

The two exchanged a knowing look that Ramses couldn’t quite figure out.

We thought you might say that, oh Mighty Ruler, the lead advisor admitted, so we’ve come up with a plan.

A plan?

To pay for it all – a fiscal strategy, advisor number two elucidated. A sure-fire way for you to cover the cost of all the building work and materials, and turn in a tidy profit.

A profit! Great! I need a way of raising some dosh, Ramses thought happily. I like these two!

We launch an investment opportunity – in the Royal household’s name – for ordinary Egyptians to put their cash into the construction project. We offer all investors a ten per cent return on their cash, Beardy explained.

With interest rates like that, money will pour in, his sidekick agreed. Before you know it, you’ll be up to your regal eyeballs in gold.

Wow! Brilliant! The Pharaoh was about to congratulate the geniuses when a thought struck him. But how do we pay the interest to the investors – when we don’t have any cash to start with?

Ah, that’s where the clever bit comes in, the wise men said, tapping the sides of their noses. You use the cash that comes in from the second wave of investors to pay the original savers their interest. And money from the third wave to pay the second wave and so on…

And is that legal? the ruler asked.

Oh yes, quite legal. A collateralised debt package – reverse securitised in a credit default swap. Standard banking practice. And if anyone raises any questions, you can always refer them to us… in the Holy Lands, where we’ll be administering the whole operation for our usual twenty-five per cent cut.

Doubts banished, Ramses the First shook on it.

What’s this investment device called? he enquired, pouring them all a deal-sealing drink.

Some people call it a Persian Ponzie, they told him, but in Jerusalem we prefer to think of it as a Sumerian shuffle.

The Pharaoh breathed a sigh of relief. That’s all right then, he said, beaming. For a moment there I thought it might be one of those dreadful pyramid schemes…

Rat Pack

Frank Peters’ voice had an edge of panic I’d never heard before.

Jack, we’ve got trouble, he gulped. The rats are out. Some lunatic’s released them!

Rubbing my eyes. I pulled the phone closer. Frank, my deputy, wasn’t the kind of man to get rattled. It must be serious for him to wake me at three in the morning.

Say again, I instructed, switching on the small table lamp.

The rats. They’ve been released. Gone. They’re running loose somewhere.

I shuddered. I’d dreamt about getting a call like this one day. It was my most recurring nightmare.

Have you got a location fix on them? I asked, fighting to stay calm. Are the homers working?

Negative, Jack. Whoever let them out removed the homers. The rats are off the base and we haven’t a clue which direction they’ve taken. The security fence has been breached in three places and the control panel’s flashing like a Christmas tree. It’s a bloody shambles!

Groaning, I told Frank to order a full alert – troops, police, the works. Send the chopper for me, we can’t afford to waste a second. If the rats reach a populated area before we can catch them it’s going to be Hammer Horror Hour.

I dressed in a daze, a hundred images flashing across my mind – images of laboratory rats injected with God knows what, scampering across the darkened countryside.

I prayed that they’d been infected with something relatively straight-forward like Black Death or rabies. If the rodents had been injected with anything new – anything experimental – we’d be talking soldiers in silver sci-fi suits quarantining half the county.

For about the two-hundredth time, I began to regret accepting the security chief’s