I was lying like a tramp on the floor with a real bee-hive on my head. I was vomiting, cursing and yelling, "Don't mess with the diva!" I was pretending to be Amy Winehouse on one of her better days, or Amy Sxxxhouse as she should be known. I kicked my scrawny, legs, picked my pimples until they bled and roared, "I just want to be alone, do you hear me? I just want to be alone with my alcohol, heroin, cocaine, cannibas, cigarettes and cremola foam!"
"Don't look at me!" I shrieked, to the empty house. "You don't know me, so don't judge me. I'm never going to change, NEVER, do you hear me? I WON'T go to the Betty Ford clinic!" I screamed. "You have to make a car before they let you out. LEAVE ME ALONE!" I shrieked, as I rolled in my own puke, kicking and flinging like a Tasmanian devil on red bull.
Suddenly, I heard the front door close. I jumped to my feet which I always have near me and sallied forth to see who or what had entered my abode by the use of the portal, known as-the door. It was Tommy my cat. Tommy took off his flat cap and hung it up behind the door. No trial or anything--he just hung it. "Ah Tommy!" I yelled, "Kay-me-a-fault-yah, you're as welcome as the flowers in May, so you are, come on in and pull up an antique bean-bag and tell me how you got on at Alcoholics Anonymous".
Tommy pulled off his wet German leder-hosen and said, "I'm not going back".
"Why ever not?" I asked "and you getting along so well. Since you began going to
Alcoholics Anonymous, you haven't had one drink".
"That's because I don't drink!" yelled Tommy. "I feel a fraud, sitting in a circle saying "My name is-Tommy and I am an-alcoholic. It's not right. I shouldn't be sitting there, listening to their stories and eating their biscuits. Its not right!" yelled Tommy "I am not now, nor ever have been-an alcoholic!" "But you may be in the future," I yelled. "So why leave seeking help until the last minute?" "Do you think so?" said Tommy, watching the steam rise from his gutteral, German leder-hosen. "Yes I do!" I shouted. "Which is why I have enrolled you in Gamblers Anonymous next Monday and a very select group called Anonymous-Anonymous on Friday night".
I made sure all the doors and windows were locked, then Tommy and I went outside for a good night's sleep in the flower bed. "That yellow pansey hogged all the bed clothes last night." grumbled Tommy "If it does it tonight, I will pull off its pistil".
"Oh Matron." I giggled, as I snuggled in beside the hollyhock.
Next morning I got up at the crack of dawn. That Dawn McGinty gets the whole of Belfast up with her chronic flatulence. The poor girl needs help.I must go round there tonight and take her to Farters Anonymous, which is held in a well ventilated garden shed on the Malone Road.
You would be surprised at who attends, doctors, solicitors, judges, high court sheriffs and high class ladies with double-barrel names, like Shotgun Nellie, all leaping to their feet and yelling, "My name is Algernon and I am a-farter!"
I clung on to the leg of Steven Nolan's massive trousers. As the Lard Man dragged me down the Donegall Road I yelled, "Please Steven, just one peep, just one peep up the leg of your trousers?" "NO!" yelled Tubby "The only people who will see up my trousers are Hello or OK magazine."
"Give me a preview!" I screamed. "Give me a preview of the wonders that will soon be seen and drooled over by all and sundry." "All and Sundry are a firm of solicitors!" yelled Tubby.
"They represented me when I was falsely charged with eating a waitress at McDonalds".
"Damn you Steven Nolan!" I screamed "There was a time you would have paid people like me to look up the leg of your trousers, but now, I'm not good enough. Now, only the rich and famous can see what is hinted at in the book of Revelations"
"Push off!" yelled Tubby, "look up the leg of your own trousers."
"What do you think I am?" I shrieked "a-a contortionist?"
"Keep your voice down." hissed Tubby. I jumped back but I still got my shoes wet.
"Keep your voice down. Don't go bringing religion into it. Let's go down behind the wheelie-bins, but its just one quick peep-right?"
Lordy, lordy, lordy, brothers and sisters. Oh the wonders I have seen. My eyes have been opened to the glory of the Lord. Today I stand here and I am not afraid. I may not get there with you, because I may be going another way. I have stood on the mountain brothers and sisters and I had a dream. I forsee a day when ALL men and women, black, white and yellow will line up beside the wheelie-bins and peep up the leg of Steven Nolan's massive trousers. I have a dream, yeh man, I have a--dream.
Now, knock hell out of that old tamborine and sing, "When the saints go marching in"
(This not quite your cup of tea? why not go to....
www. rosie-ryan.blogspot. com ) Rosie makes exceedingly good tay.
Monday 30 June 2008
Friday 27 June 2008
THE CHRONIC BOREDOM OF A FEM AND A FELINE
Tommy my cat and I were bored, oh so bored, bored out of our tiny brains. We were bored by boredom bordering on a bulimic, Bulgarian budgerigar buffing a buffoon in Buffalo.
When boredom reaches that state, it needs to be tackled befor it leads to telepathic tedium.
Boredom can kill, especially if you are in the habit of driving jumbo jets or cutting someone's heart out and putting in another. Neither Tommy or I were engaged in either of these pursuits, but we still were--bored.
We had tried everything to beat the boredom. We watched the TV for two hours, maybe we should have switched it on. We read books, wrote books, ate books and danced on books, leaving me to believe that books will not cure boredom. We played scrabble, but the only word we could come up with was-boredom. I even took all my clothes off and pranced buck naked in front of the window. That had nothing to do with boredom, I was just paying the window cleaning man..
I ran at the wall with my head-missed- and went flying into the scullery.
"Tommy!" I shrieked "This boredom is boring into my brain,. What can we do Tommy?" I screamed, "what can we do to beat this boring boredom?".
Tommy was so bored, he was writing his name on the white bearskin rug in a very novel way.
"Tommy!" I yelled "is that-pee?" "No" said Tommy "its a T, don't you know how to spell?"
"Tommy!" I yelled, "let's go down to the undertakers and try on some shrouds".
"Been there, done that" said Tommy "and still waiting for the T-shirt."
I ran at the wall with my head again-missed- and landed up with my head in the kitchen sink.
"You haven't quite got the hang of that." said Tommy "Watch me and I'll show you how to do it."
When Tommy came round, he was still bored, so books, scrabble, watching TV, or running at the wall with your head will not cure boredom. Just goes to show, what the so-called experts know.
Suddenly I had the answer, "Tommy!" I yelled "let's climb into a big pair of trousers and go round Belfast pretending to be Steven Nolan". "What a wheeze," yelled Tommy, "let's do it now, before we forget!"
He's not well liked is Steven Nolan, no, no, no, not well liked at tall. Oh the abuse we got!
"Lard bum, fat boy, Tubby, big head, man mountain, jelly belly!" was just some of the abuse we got--and that was from his mother-Big Audrey.
Then, as Tommy and I manouvered the large pair of trousers round a sharp corner, we ran into the lad himself. Steven stared at us, tears streamed down his obese face and he roared like a water buffalo."Its--its my long lost brother Ludovick. Ludo!" he bellowed, "Ludo, where have you been? I'm sorry I put you into a box and sent you to Australia for eating my prawn cocktail crisps when we were just wee boys. You look-great" yelled Tubby "Have you been working out?" Then the jolly green giant, opened his arms and lumbered towards us.
"Give me a hug, Ludo" he bawled. "Give old Stevie a hug, "I'm going to kiss the gub off you!" he
bellowed. Tommy and I took to our heels, pursued by Tubby, with his rose -bud lips pursed.
The large pair of trousers were going flat out. We went through red lights and over round-a-bouts. Tubby thundered behind, arms out stretched and lips pursed out like a goldfish.
Then the terrible Tubby ran out of steam. He stood at a corner yelling, "LUDO, LUDO,LUDO!"
A wee woman came out to sweep her front step and said, "Ah, they don't want to play ludo with you son, why don't you go home and if you're bored, well, you can always watch TV, read a book, play scrabble, or run at the wall with your head. My husband, wee Sammy, God rest him, used to run at the wall with his head when he was bored. Aye, he died with a fractured skull up in the Royal".
There's a moral there somewhere, but I can't see it, probably keep away from big trousers.
(After that, you will be looking for something intellectual, why not go to......
http://www.rosie-ryan.blogspot.com/
When boredom reaches that state, it needs to be tackled befor it leads to telepathic tedium.
Boredom can kill, especially if you are in the habit of driving jumbo jets or cutting someone's heart out and putting in another. Neither Tommy or I were engaged in either of these pursuits, but we still were--bored.
We had tried everything to beat the boredom. We watched the TV for two hours, maybe we should have switched it on. We read books, wrote books, ate books and danced on books, leaving me to believe that books will not cure boredom. We played scrabble, but the only word we could come up with was-boredom. I even took all my clothes off and pranced buck naked in front of the window. That had nothing to do with boredom, I was just paying the window cleaning man..
I ran at the wall with my head-missed- and went flying into the scullery.
"Tommy!" I shrieked "This boredom is boring into my brain,. What can we do Tommy?" I screamed, "what can we do to beat this boring boredom?".
Tommy was so bored, he was writing his name on the white bearskin rug in a very novel way.
"Tommy!" I yelled "is that-pee?" "No" said Tommy "its a T, don't you know how to spell?"
"Tommy!" I yelled, "let's go down to the undertakers and try on some shrouds".
"Been there, done that" said Tommy "and still waiting for the T-shirt."
I ran at the wall with my head again-missed- and landed up with my head in the kitchen sink.
"You haven't quite got the hang of that." said Tommy "Watch me and I'll show you how to do it."
When Tommy came round, he was still bored, so books, scrabble, watching TV, or running at the wall with your head will not cure boredom. Just goes to show, what the so-called experts know.
Suddenly I had the answer, "Tommy!" I yelled "let's climb into a big pair of trousers and go round Belfast pretending to be Steven Nolan". "What a wheeze," yelled Tommy, "let's do it now, before we forget!"
He's not well liked is Steven Nolan, no, no, no, not well liked at tall. Oh the abuse we got!
"Lard bum, fat boy, Tubby, big head, man mountain, jelly belly!" was just some of the abuse we got--and that was from his mother-Big Audrey.
Then, as Tommy and I manouvered the large pair of trousers round a sharp corner, we ran into the lad himself. Steven stared at us, tears streamed down his obese face and he roared like a water buffalo."Its--its my long lost brother Ludovick. Ludo!" he bellowed, "Ludo, where have you been? I'm sorry I put you into a box and sent you to Australia for eating my prawn cocktail crisps when we were just wee boys. You look-great" yelled Tubby "Have you been working out?" Then the jolly green giant, opened his arms and lumbered towards us.
"Give me a hug, Ludo" he bawled. "Give old Stevie a hug, "I'm going to kiss the gub off you!" he
bellowed. Tommy and I took to our heels, pursued by Tubby, with his rose -bud lips pursed.
The large pair of trousers were going flat out. We went through red lights and over round-a-bouts. Tubby thundered behind, arms out stretched and lips pursed out like a goldfish.
Then the terrible Tubby ran out of steam. He stood at a corner yelling, "LUDO, LUDO,LUDO!"
A wee woman came out to sweep her front step and said, "Ah, they don't want to play ludo with you son, why don't you go home and if you're bored, well, you can always watch TV, read a book, play scrabble, or run at the wall with your head. My husband, wee Sammy, God rest him, used to run at the wall with his head when he was bored. Aye, he died with a fractured skull up in the Royal".
There's a moral there somewhere, but I can't see it, probably keep away from big trousers.
(After that, you will be looking for something intellectual, why not go to......
http://www.rosie-ryan.blogspot.com/
Tuesday 24 June 2008
WILL TOMMY THE CAT SAY I MEW?
I looked at Tommy my cat, standing there,arms behind his back,wearing a grey suit that the widow of a Betterware salesman, had given him after her husband was killed in a front door fracas.
If only he hadn't forced the pink lavatory brush on big Genevieve. She thought the Betterware man was infering that her ars.. derriere could do with a good scrub, so she grabbed the brush and stuck it up his---.Oh it was terrible. Even the police and the fire brigade required counselling, and it took so long to get it out, but the good news is, that the lavatory brush is back on sale, and marked down for being shop soiled, scenes of celebration at the Betterware office??? I looked at Tommy, standing there in profile, the lid came off a Jar of Profile in the morning and scattered everywhere. I wet my lips, by holding them under a running tap and said, "Tommy?" Tommy turned, by slightly shifting his head and said, "What?"
"Do you know who you look like standing there Tommy?" I said. "Whom?" said Tommy.
"Neville Chamberlain." I said. "As I looked at you, standing in profile, which you should have cleaned up, I thought to myself--thought--Tommy looks just like Neville Chamberlain".
"Really?" said Tommy. "Yes, really" I said "You look like Neville Chamberlain after he came back from Germany, after having tea and cream buns with Herr Hitler.
Chamberlain got off the plane, waving a piece of paper in the air, hundreds, thousands, millions of people were there to greet him. Old Nev waved the piece of paper and stated the bleeding obvious, "I have a piece of paper in my hand!" he yelled. Some in the crowd shouted, "So he 'as, you know.I never would have believed it! Stone the bleeding crows!"
"I received this piece of paper from--Herr Hitler!" yelled Nev. "Go on!" yelled the crowd.
"It#s true" roared old Nev. "Herr Hitler, gave me this piece of paper from his own slender, lily-white hand." "What you gonna do with it mate?" yelled a jovial Cockney with a heart of gold.
"I shall use this piece of paper," roared Chamberlin "which by the way is A4, Yes, A4, it's the good stuff, it has a water mark on it and everything. I shall use this piece of paper, does everyone see the piece of paper? I shall use this piece of paper in No 10 Downing Street, in my position as Prime Minister of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, to--to make shopping lists, play noughts and crosses and to doodle on if I can't make it to the lavatory".
Well the crowd went mad. They threw their flat caps in the air, stuffed jellied eels down their working class cake holes and had a right good old knees up"
"Why are you telling me all this?" said Tommy
"Because you remind me of him" I said
"Remind you of whom?" said Tommy.
"Neville Chamberlain" I said
"Oh" said Tommy.
Later I looked at Tommy and said, "Marvin Gaye."
"Oh God," sighed Tommy "Do I remind you of him too?"
"Of course not," I laughed "He was black and so are you. No, the thing is, I heard something on the grapevine." "What did you hear?" said Tommy and a blush spread over his thin, sensitive face. "I may as well blurt it out" I said. After I had blurted, Tommy and I cleaned itup, using plenty of dettol and 7UP.
"The word is,Tommy," said "The word is that you are doing a strong line with the ginger tabby that sits on number 7's dustbin".
The sound of--silence, so deafening and yet-so silent.
"It' true, sighed Tommy "in fact I may ask her to name the day".
"But the days have all been named Tommy. I said "Why not ask her to marry you instead?"
"By Jingo, I will" cried Tommy, sl;apping his thigh like Dick Wittington in Pantomime.
"This calls for a drink! I yelled, and I ran to the tap and filled two large glasses.
"My wee Tommy married, I sobbed "I never thought I would see the day. How handsome you will look in top hat and tails and I take it the bride will be wearing white?"
"Of course! yelled Tommy "Who do you think I am--Peter Stringfellow?"
"NO, NO, I said "you're not a bit like him, you're more like-Neville Chamberain"
THEN-BOM-BOM-BOM Tommy looked out of the window and turned as white as a black cat can. I ran to the window and scrutinised the street by the use of my eyes.
There was Tommy's Tabby, walking arm in arm with the ginger Tom from number 17,
Tommy gave a yell, oh such a yell, it sounded like a cat in torment.
"The slag!" screamed Tommy. "The dirty, rotten slag! I must write a letter and tell her what I think of her." Tommy ran upstairs to his room. When he reached the landing I yelled,
"Tommy, I have a piece of paper in my hand.".
Tommy told me what to do with it and it bore a striking resemblance to what big Genevieve did with the lavatory brush to the Betterware man. Coincidence???---Probably!!!
After a good lie down go now to.....
www. rosie-ryan.blogspot.com
Ghost anyone? ghost in bottle--Google The Spamount Mill ghost and contact me at..
jpmcmenamin@gmail.com
If only he hadn't forced the pink lavatory brush on big Genevieve. She thought the Betterware man was infering that her ars.. derriere could do with a good scrub, so she grabbed the brush and stuck it up his---.Oh it was terrible. Even the police and the fire brigade required counselling, and it took so long to get it out, but the good news is, that the lavatory brush is back on sale, and marked down for being shop soiled, scenes of celebration at the Betterware office??? I looked at Tommy, standing there in profile, the lid came off a Jar of Profile in the morning and scattered everywhere. I wet my lips, by holding them under a running tap and said, "Tommy?" Tommy turned, by slightly shifting his head and said, "What?"
"Do you know who you look like standing there Tommy?" I said. "Whom?" said Tommy.
"Neville Chamberlain." I said. "As I looked at you, standing in profile, which you should have cleaned up, I thought to myself--thought--Tommy looks just like Neville Chamberlain".
"Really?" said Tommy. "Yes, really" I said "You look like Neville Chamberlain after he came back from Germany, after having tea and cream buns with Herr Hitler.
Chamberlain got off the plane, waving a piece of paper in the air, hundreds, thousands, millions of people were there to greet him. Old Nev waved the piece of paper and stated the bleeding obvious, "I have a piece of paper in my hand!" he yelled. Some in the crowd shouted, "So he 'as, you know.I never would have believed it! Stone the bleeding crows!"
"I received this piece of paper from--Herr Hitler!" yelled Nev. "Go on!" yelled the crowd.
"It#s true" roared old Nev. "Herr Hitler, gave me this piece of paper from his own slender, lily-white hand." "What you gonna do with it mate?" yelled a jovial Cockney with a heart of gold.
"I shall use this piece of paper," roared Chamberlin "which by the way is A4, Yes, A4, it's the good stuff, it has a water mark on it and everything. I shall use this piece of paper, does everyone see the piece of paper? I shall use this piece of paper in No 10 Downing Street, in my position as Prime Minister of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, to--to make shopping lists, play noughts and crosses and to doodle on if I can't make it to the lavatory".
Well the crowd went mad. They threw their flat caps in the air, stuffed jellied eels down their working class cake holes and had a right good old knees up"
"Why are you telling me all this?" said Tommy
"Because you remind me of him" I said
"Remind you of whom?" said Tommy.
"Neville Chamberlain" I said
"Oh" said Tommy.
Later I looked at Tommy and said, "Marvin Gaye."
"Oh God," sighed Tommy "Do I remind you of him too?"
"Of course not," I laughed "He was black and so are you. No, the thing is, I heard something on the grapevine." "What did you hear?" said Tommy and a blush spread over his thin, sensitive face. "I may as well blurt it out" I said. After I had blurted, Tommy and I cleaned itup, using plenty of dettol and 7UP.
"The word is,Tommy," said "The word is that you are doing a strong line with the ginger tabby that sits on number 7's dustbin".
The sound of--silence, so deafening and yet-so silent.
"It' true, sighed Tommy "in fact I may ask her to name the day".
"But the days have all been named Tommy. I said "Why not ask her to marry you instead?"
"By Jingo, I will" cried Tommy, sl;apping his thigh like Dick Wittington in Pantomime.
"This calls for a drink! I yelled, and I ran to the tap and filled two large glasses.
"My wee Tommy married, I sobbed "I never thought I would see the day. How handsome you will look in top hat and tails and I take it the bride will be wearing white?"
"Of course! yelled Tommy "Who do you think I am--Peter Stringfellow?"
"NO, NO, I said "you're not a bit like him, you're more like-Neville Chamberain"
THEN-BOM-BOM-BOM Tommy looked out of the window and turned as white as a black cat can. I ran to the window and scrutinised the street by the use of my eyes.
There was Tommy's Tabby, walking arm in arm with the ginger Tom from number 17,
Tommy gave a yell, oh such a yell, it sounded like a cat in torment.
"The slag!" screamed Tommy. "The dirty, rotten slag! I must write a letter and tell her what I think of her." Tommy ran upstairs to his room. When he reached the landing I yelled,
"Tommy, I have a piece of paper in my hand.".
Tommy told me what to do with it and it bore a striking resemblance to what big Genevieve did with the lavatory brush to the Betterware man. Coincidence???---Probably!!!
After a good lie down go now to.....
www. rosie-ryan.blogspot.com
Ghost anyone? ghost in bottle--Google The Spamount Mill ghost and contact me at..
jpmcmenamin@gmail.com
Sunday 22 June 2008
THE ART OF CONVERSATION
As the early morning sun lit up Belfast, disregarding peace walls and no-go areas, I got out of bed on the wrong side and fell down a deep hole that someone had dug during the night.
"Darn students." I muttered as I hauled myself out with the help and assistance of a very friendly worm called Norman. I filled in the hole by digging another large hole in the kitchen and using the earth from the second hole to fill in the first hole. I may be dumb but I'm not stupid.
My late, deceased and dead daddy was very smart. It was he who invented the hole in Polo mints. "Make a hole," he said to the Polo people "and then cover it with peppermint".
When the doughnut people copied his design, dear daddy went into a steep decline. He refused to get out of bed and just lay there sobbing ,"They stole my hole." It was heart-breaking to watch him. This was the smiling, laughing daddy who used to ride on my tiny shoulders.
Something had to be done, so one dark night as the clock was striking the barometer, we rolled dear daddy up in 16 yards of Chinese silk, carried him to a waiting horsedrawn chest of drawers and took him to the Black Mountain. Dear mummy and my 18 siblings and me, then stripped dear daddy, covered him in Gale's honey and hung him from an ancient oak tree by the right toe. Dearest mummy gave him a swing and we all began to chant, "May the honey from the bee, bring my daddy back to me."But alas, there was no change in dear pappa. Then my older brother Sylvia, (The midwife was old and had very bad eyesight) said, "Perhaps dearest daddy is the wrong way up." So, we cut dear daddy down, tied the rope round his neck and hung him up again. Looking back, with hindsight, it's easy to be critical. Dear daddy took a turn for the worst, maybe just to spite us, who knows? He up and died on us. We scraped off all the honey we could from his dead body, (It's great on hot pancakes) carried dear daddy to the edge of the Lagin, placed him in a rusty pram and watched as he was carried out to sea.
"Goodbye dear Myfanwy" cried mummy, "everytime I see a hole-I will think of you".
And you know something?--she did just that, that's what love will do.
Tommy my cat came in, rattled the marbles in his trousers pocket, looked and me and said.
"You know her at number 27?"
I eased myself out from under the cooker and said, "Number 27? I'm not sure, what does she look like?"
"Oh, you know her" said Tommy "the woman with the red cardigan and the mole on her face".
"Why does she not keep it in the garden?" I said.
"Keep what in the garden?" said Tommy.
"The mole" I said "Why has she got a mole on her face?"
"It's not that kind of mole" said Tommy "It's a beauty spot".
"Describe it" I said "Describe this so called beauty spot"
"Well" said Tommy "It's a brown blemish, with hairs growing out of it".
"Sounds more like an ugly spot to me." I said "Anyway, what about this woman with the mole on her face that lives at number 27? Is she dead, getting married? Why are you talking about the woman at number 27?"
"I'm trying to make conversation" yelled Tommy "and to make conversation, you need a subject, a focal point, a point of reference that the ensuing conversation can be spun round".
"And you call the woman at number 27 a fitting subject for conversation?" I yelled
"The art of GOOD conversation, requires not only a subject, or focal point. It also requires content. Where is the content?" I cried "Woman at number 27, red cardigan, mole on face, what else is there? Nothing, diddly-squat! What's got into you Tommy?" I cried "You used to be a good conversationalist and now the best you can come up with is--woman, 27, red cardigan,mole on face, shame Tommy," I said "you've just made a fool of yourself".
"Damn you!" screamed Tommy. "You always bring me down. I'm sick and tired talking about a-a fiscal policy, inflation, the high cost of fuel and trouble at blooming mill".
"Get out!" I cried "Get out and never darken this door again until you can converse like a normal cat." "I'm going!" yelled Tommy "but don't blame me when you end up talking to the wall. You ugly, stupid, excuse for a human being"
I walked indoors smiling. Me? Me talk to the wall? The day I start talking to the wall, is the day I will cash in my do-lally premium bonds.
I sat down on a chair, picked up a pooffe, sat it on my knee and said "Pooffe, did I ever tell you about the time my late daddy invented the hole in the Polo mint? NO, well it happened like this...............
(Why not go now to http://www.rosieryan,blogspot.com/ )
Hey, want to buy a genuine ghost in a bottle? Google Spamount mill ghost for details and contact me at
jpmcmenamin@gmail.com
Until me meet again, I will just say--hello.
"Darn students." I muttered as I hauled myself out with the help and assistance of a very friendly worm called Norman. I filled in the hole by digging another large hole in the kitchen and using the earth from the second hole to fill in the first hole. I may be dumb but I'm not stupid.
My late, deceased and dead daddy was very smart. It was he who invented the hole in Polo mints. "Make a hole," he said to the Polo people "and then cover it with peppermint".
When the doughnut people copied his design, dear daddy went into a steep decline. He refused to get out of bed and just lay there sobbing ,"They stole my hole." It was heart-breaking to watch him. This was the smiling, laughing daddy who used to ride on my tiny shoulders.
Something had to be done, so one dark night as the clock was striking the barometer, we rolled dear daddy up in 16 yards of Chinese silk, carried him to a waiting horsedrawn chest of drawers and took him to the Black Mountain. Dear mummy and my 18 siblings and me, then stripped dear daddy, covered him in Gale's honey and hung him from an ancient oak tree by the right toe. Dearest mummy gave him a swing and we all began to chant, "May the honey from the bee, bring my daddy back to me."But alas, there was no change in dear pappa. Then my older brother Sylvia, (The midwife was old and had very bad eyesight) said, "Perhaps dearest daddy is the wrong way up." So, we cut dear daddy down, tied the rope round his neck and hung him up again. Looking back, with hindsight, it's easy to be critical. Dear daddy took a turn for the worst, maybe just to spite us, who knows? He up and died on us. We scraped off all the honey we could from his dead body, (It's great on hot pancakes) carried dear daddy to the edge of the Lagin, placed him in a rusty pram and watched as he was carried out to sea.
"Goodbye dear Myfanwy" cried mummy, "everytime I see a hole-I will think of you".
And you know something?--she did just that, that's what love will do.
Tommy my cat came in, rattled the marbles in his trousers pocket, looked and me and said.
"You know her at number 27?"
I eased myself out from under the cooker and said, "Number 27? I'm not sure, what does she look like?"
"Oh, you know her" said Tommy "the woman with the red cardigan and the mole on her face".
"Why does she not keep it in the garden?" I said.
"Keep what in the garden?" said Tommy.
"The mole" I said "Why has she got a mole on her face?"
"It's not that kind of mole" said Tommy "It's a beauty spot".
"Describe it" I said "Describe this so called beauty spot"
"Well" said Tommy "It's a brown blemish, with hairs growing out of it".
"Sounds more like an ugly spot to me." I said "Anyway, what about this woman with the mole on her face that lives at number 27? Is she dead, getting married? Why are you talking about the woman at number 27?"
"I'm trying to make conversation" yelled Tommy "and to make conversation, you need a subject, a focal point, a point of reference that the ensuing conversation can be spun round".
"And you call the woman at number 27 a fitting subject for conversation?" I yelled
"The art of GOOD conversation, requires not only a subject, or focal point. It also requires content. Where is the content?" I cried "Woman at number 27, red cardigan, mole on face, what else is there? Nothing, diddly-squat! What's got into you Tommy?" I cried "You used to be a good conversationalist and now the best you can come up with is--woman, 27, red cardigan,mole on face, shame Tommy," I said "you've just made a fool of yourself".
"Damn you!" screamed Tommy. "You always bring me down. I'm sick and tired talking about a-a fiscal policy, inflation, the high cost of fuel and trouble at blooming mill".
"Get out!" I cried "Get out and never darken this door again until you can converse like a normal cat." "I'm going!" yelled Tommy "but don't blame me when you end up talking to the wall. You ugly, stupid, excuse for a human being"
I walked indoors smiling. Me? Me talk to the wall? The day I start talking to the wall, is the day I will cash in my do-lally premium bonds.
I sat down on a chair, picked up a pooffe, sat it on my knee and said "Pooffe, did I ever tell you about the time my late daddy invented the hole in the Polo mint? NO, well it happened like this...............
(Why not go now to http://www.rosieryan,blogspot.com/ )
Hey, want to buy a genuine ghost in a bottle? Google Spamount mill ghost for details and contact me at
jpmcmenamin@gmail.com
Until me meet again, I will just say--hello.
Friday 20 June 2008
WHO WAS IN AND WHO WAS OUT?
It was dark, so very dark, I was curled up in a snake basket, pretending to be Peter Robinson, the new Fuhrer-sorry--leader of the DUP. I was spitting venom and angrily lashing my tail.
"Martin McGuinness will get NO handshake from me" I spat, cutting off my words as Peter does with a pair of sharp scissors. "I wonder what dear Iris has for tea?" I spat.
"I hope it's not steak and green peas again. I hate green peas. Why can't she buy red peas or blue peas? I must have a word with that woman, before our marriage turns into an abomination".
I spat more venom and rattled my tail---Then-I heard the front door shut. I knew it wasn't the back door, because we don't have one. I listened.
"Cooee" I yelled. "Cooee" came an answering call. "Who's that out there?" I cried.
"Who's that in there?" said the voice. "I asked first" I said. "But I know who's out here" said the voice and you don't". "I know it's not me" I said "Because I'm in here"
"Yes you are" said the voice "but being in there, doesn't make you any better than me, who is out here". "I never said I was better" I yelled. "I simply said, from in here, who's that out there?" "I heard you" said the voice "Being as I am out here, it is quite easy to hear anything that you say in there". "Who are you?" I asked.
"Who are you?" said the voice "I think a person who is out, has more right to ask a person who is in. It is obvious that I am not in there and indeed even more obvious that you are not out here.If I was in there, I would not need to shout ,"Cooee, who's that in there?" because it would me, but being out here, I have no clue who is in there, so that is why I ask again, who's that in there?".
"Not so fast" I yelled "Being in here, by view is restricted, so I think I have the right-NAY the responsibility to ask--who's that out there?".
"Why don't you come out and see?" said the voice. "Why don't you come IN and see?" I countered. "But if I came in" said the voice "and you came out, then I would be in there yelling "who's that out there?" and you would be out here saying "Who's that in there?"
"Its a condominium" I said "I don't think that is the right word" said the voice out there.
"But it's something like that, condominium, condiment--something like that".
"Is it-conduplicate?" I yelled "No, no" said the voice, "I know what that means, it means to fold together lengthwise". "Are you sure?" I yelled "I thought that was-condescend".
"No, No" said the voice "I don't know who is in there, but you seem to be very stupid".
"Hark at you!" I said "standing out there being impertinent".
"Are you sure its-impertinent?" said the voice "I always thought it was-impersonate".
"Who's stupid now?" I yelled "It seems that being out there, doesn't make you any smarter than someone in here". Silence--but he hadn't gone away, I could hear the scuffing of his shoes.
I deceided to try again. "COOEE!" I yelled from within.
"COOEE!" he answered from without.
"Who's that out there?" I yelled.
"Who's that in there?" answered the voice.
"It seems like we've reached a stalemale!" I yelled "An empasse-a roadblock".
"It looks like it!" yelled the voice. "What will we do?" I said, "You have no intention of telling me who is out there and I have no intention of telling you, who is in here, what shall we do?"
"It's a rum do all right" said the voice. "Listen, I have had enough of this nonsense, I'm off for my tea". "What are you having for tea?" I yelled "Let's see" said the voice "Today is Thursday, it will be Birds-Eye fish fingers and Heinz beans tonight".
"Very nice" I yelled "I thought I would just open a tin of John West Tuna".
"Oh aye" said the voice. "Listen, listen" I said "this is stupid. We are two mature adults. Let's call a halt to all this childishness. Now once again I ask, I plead, I plead on bended knee,
who's that out there?"
"I would like to help you, I really would" said the voice "but I have my principles. I have noted your kind, indeed generous words, but after due consideration, I must reply,
Who's that in there"
And then he left, just shut the door and left. I climbed out of the snake basket and looked up and down the street, not a soul in sight, he had disappeared. I wonder who he was? and I wonder, does he, like me, wonder long into the night, just who was in there and who was out there.
Eeh, there's nought as queer as folk.
"Martin McGuinness will get NO handshake from me" I spat, cutting off my words as Peter does with a pair of sharp scissors. "I wonder what dear Iris has for tea?" I spat.
"I hope it's not steak and green peas again. I hate green peas. Why can't she buy red peas or blue peas? I must have a word with that woman, before our marriage turns into an abomination".
I spat more venom and rattled my tail---Then-I heard the front door shut. I knew it wasn't the back door, because we don't have one. I listened.
"Cooee" I yelled. "Cooee" came an answering call. "Who's that out there?" I cried.
"Who's that in there?" said the voice. "I asked first" I said. "But I know who's out here" said the voice and you don't". "I know it's not me" I said "Because I'm in here"
"Yes you are" said the voice "but being in there, doesn't make you any better than me, who is out here". "I never said I was better" I yelled. "I simply said, from in here, who's that out there?" "I heard you" said the voice "Being as I am out here, it is quite easy to hear anything that you say in there". "Who are you?" I asked.
"Who are you?" said the voice "I think a person who is out, has more right to ask a person who is in. It is obvious that I am not in there and indeed even more obvious that you are not out here.If I was in there, I would not need to shout ,"Cooee, who's that in there?" because it would me, but being out here, I have no clue who is in there, so that is why I ask again, who's that in there?".
"Not so fast" I yelled "Being in here, by view is restricted, so I think I have the right-NAY the responsibility to ask--who's that out there?".
"Why don't you come out and see?" said the voice. "Why don't you come IN and see?" I countered. "But if I came in" said the voice "and you came out, then I would be in there yelling "who's that out there?" and you would be out here saying "Who's that in there?"
"Its a condominium" I said "I don't think that is the right word" said the voice out there.
"But it's something like that, condominium, condiment--something like that".
"Is it-conduplicate?" I yelled "No, no" said the voice, "I know what that means, it means to fold together lengthwise". "Are you sure?" I yelled "I thought that was-condescend".
"No, No" said the voice "I don't know who is in there, but you seem to be very stupid".
"Hark at you!" I said "standing out there being impertinent".
"Are you sure its-impertinent?" said the voice "I always thought it was-impersonate".
"Who's stupid now?" I yelled "It seems that being out there, doesn't make you any smarter than someone in here". Silence--but he hadn't gone away, I could hear the scuffing of his shoes.
I deceided to try again. "COOEE!" I yelled from within.
"COOEE!" he answered from without.
"Who's that out there?" I yelled.
"Who's that in there?" answered the voice.
"It seems like we've reached a stalemale!" I yelled "An empasse-a roadblock".
"It looks like it!" yelled the voice. "What will we do?" I said, "You have no intention of telling me who is out there and I have no intention of telling you, who is in here, what shall we do?"
"It's a rum do all right" said the voice. "Listen, I have had enough of this nonsense, I'm off for my tea". "What are you having for tea?" I yelled "Let's see" said the voice "Today is Thursday, it will be Birds-Eye fish fingers and Heinz beans tonight".
"Very nice" I yelled "I thought I would just open a tin of John West Tuna".
"Oh aye" said the voice. "Listen, listen" I said "this is stupid. We are two mature adults. Let's call a halt to all this childishness. Now once again I ask, I plead, I plead on bended knee,
who's that out there?"
"I would like to help you, I really would" said the voice "but I have my principles. I have noted your kind, indeed generous words, but after due consideration, I must reply,
Who's that in there"
And then he left, just shut the door and left. I climbed out of the snake basket and looked up and down the street, not a soul in sight, he had disappeared. I wonder who he was? and I wonder, does he, like me, wonder long into the night, just who was in there and who was out there.
Eeh, there's nought as queer as folk.
Tuesday 17 June 2008
BUT WAS THE DEAD CADAVER REALLY DEAD AT ALL?
I was sitting in front of the fire, slowly roasting a small Norwegian dwarf on the end of pointed stick. He likes it, it's cold enough in the fiords to freeze the brass balls off a copper kettle.
Suddenly, or was it just before that? Tommy my cat rushed in. Oh he was ashen, I've never seen Tommy so ashen. "Tommy!" I yelled "you're--you're--ashen".
"I feel-ashen" cried Tommy "so if my ashiness, is imprinted on my countenance, it shows just how-ashen I am" "But Tommy" I cried "what is the cause, or effect of this chronic ashiness?"
Tommy caught his breath, that was just running out the door and cried " They are burying old Jericho McTweet tomorrow"
I felt all the blood drain from my face and I knew it, I just knew it, that my face too was-ashen.
"Is old Jericho dead?" I screamed. "I hope so" said Tommy "for they are burying him tomorrow".
"Quick" I yelled "there's not a moment to lose, pull the second hand from the clock, while I have a quick read through War And Peace" Three hours later I yelled "Old Jericho may not be dead, time is of the essence, get your coat and follow me"
"If the time period is critical" said Tommy "you should follow me, I can run faster"
"Shut your gub Tommy and follow me" I yelled, with a swish of my cape.
"NO!" yelled Tommy "you follow me"
"Follow me Tommy" I roared "or I'll brust you!".
"NO!" yelled Tommy "you follow me".
For five long hours the debate raged. Then we reached a compromise. We would run together, holding hands, so neither of us could claim to be the leader, and we did.
There was a wake going on when we got there. I took my hat off to old Ma McTweet. She had thought of everything. Tommy and I pushed our way through the throng yelling "Make way, make way, let the cadaver inspectors through!".
The stairs were blocked by old people, dying for a look at a dead man. You can look at a dead man for as long as you like. He can't look back and stare you down.
I have known old women, bent, gnarled, twisted and deformed like veritable fairy trees, sit on a hard chair by the side of a corpse and stare at it for 14 hours. 14 hours of hard, penetrating scrutinization, broken only by the odd cry of "Ah, he was a good man, a good, quiet man, you would hardly know he was in the house at tall".
On her way home from cadaver gleeking, she would meet another auld wan on her way to the wake. "Well Maggie" the auld wan would leer "was it a good wake?"
"Aye it was" auld Maggie would say "but the wee buns were hard, the tay was too cold and the sandwiches were turned up at the edges".
"Is there much grief?" the auld wan would say "how's the family taking it?"
"Devil a tear was shed" said auld Maggie "and I was there 14 hours. The widow is prancing around way a smile on her face an' talking about going to May-orcia".
"Isn't that the way" said the auld wan "God it's tarra, ah sure the poor man is better off out of it".
"A quiet wee man" said auld Maggie "sure you'd never know he was in the house. Ah, may God, his blessed mother, saint Patrick, saint Joseph and all the angels and saints in heaven, meet him at the pearly gates and lead him to his just reward in heaven".
Then she would hobble on her way, renewed by the thought that she was still alive and her auld, thick, turgid blood was still making its way through her hulk of a body.
The supposed dead man was in a coffin, old Ma McTweet had thought of everything. "Right!" I yelled "Who pronounced this man dead?"
"The doctor" sobbed old Ma McTweet, with tears in her eyes. Oh she was good, I'll give her that, she was good.
"And you believed him?" I roared. "Of course I did" sobbed old Ma McTweet, "he's the doctor".
"We have only his word for that" yelled Tommy. "Have you tried to waken him?" I yelled. "Shouted in his ear, rang bells, blew horns or poured hot water over him?"
"Of course not" cried old Ma McTweet "he;s dead, my wee Jericho is dead".
"We'll soon see about that" I yelled. "Tommy, tickle his feet and I'll try and make him laugh by pulling faces".
It was that same tableau that met the eyes of Sir Hugh Orde when he entered the room.
"'Ello, ello, ello, what's going on 'ere then?" cried the white-shirted anglo saxon.
"This woman AND her cat, have interfered with my dead Jericho" yelled old Ma McTweet.
We wuz nicked and led away, charged with interfering with the dead we wuz.
The old judge looked down and yelled "Are either of you two necrophiliac?"
"NO, my Lud!" I yelled "I have no fear of heights and my friend Tommy always lands on his feet".
200 hours community service, that's what we got. We have to tidy up the city cemetery.
What a chance to make sure that all the cadavers are really dead! I must bring a stethoscope and a big bottle of smelling salts.
Suddenly, or was it just before that? Tommy my cat rushed in. Oh he was ashen, I've never seen Tommy so ashen. "Tommy!" I yelled "you're--you're--ashen".
"I feel-ashen" cried Tommy "so if my ashiness, is imprinted on my countenance, it shows just how-ashen I am" "But Tommy" I cried "what is the cause, or effect of this chronic ashiness?"
Tommy caught his breath, that was just running out the door and cried " They are burying old Jericho McTweet tomorrow"
I felt all the blood drain from my face and I knew it, I just knew it, that my face too was-ashen.
"Is old Jericho dead?" I screamed. "I hope so" said Tommy "for they are burying him tomorrow".
"Quick" I yelled "there's not a moment to lose, pull the second hand from the clock, while I have a quick read through War And Peace" Three hours later I yelled "Old Jericho may not be dead, time is of the essence, get your coat and follow me"
"If the time period is critical" said Tommy "you should follow me, I can run faster"
"Shut your gub Tommy and follow me" I yelled, with a swish of my cape.
"NO!" yelled Tommy "you follow me"
"Follow me Tommy" I roared "or I'll brust you!".
"NO!" yelled Tommy "you follow me".
For five long hours the debate raged. Then we reached a compromise. We would run together, holding hands, so neither of us could claim to be the leader, and we did.
There was a wake going on when we got there. I took my hat off to old Ma McTweet. She had thought of everything. Tommy and I pushed our way through the throng yelling "Make way, make way, let the cadaver inspectors through!".
The stairs were blocked by old people, dying for a look at a dead man. You can look at a dead man for as long as you like. He can't look back and stare you down.
I have known old women, bent, gnarled, twisted and deformed like veritable fairy trees, sit on a hard chair by the side of a corpse and stare at it for 14 hours. 14 hours of hard, penetrating scrutinization, broken only by the odd cry of "Ah, he was a good man, a good, quiet man, you would hardly know he was in the house at tall".
On her way home from cadaver gleeking, she would meet another auld wan on her way to the wake. "Well Maggie" the auld wan would leer "was it a good wake?"
"Aye it was" auld Maggie would say "but the wee buns were hard, the tay was too cold and the sandwiches were turned up at the edges".
"Is there much grief?" the auld wan would say "how's the family taking it?"
"Devil a tear was shed" said auld Maggie "and I was there 14 hours. The widow is prancing around way a smile on her face an' talking about going to May-orcia".
"Isn't that the way" said the auld wan "God it's tarra, ah sure the poor man is better off out of it".
"A quiet wee man" said auld Maggie "sure you'd never know he was in the house. Ah, may God, his blessed mother, saint Patrick, saint Joseph and all the angels and saints in heaven, meet him at the pearly gates and lead him to his just reward in heaven".
Then she would hobble on her way, renewed by the thought that she was still alive and her auld, thick, turgid blood was still making its way through her hulk of a body.
The supposed dead man was in a coffin, old Ma McTweet had thought of everything. "Right!" I yelled "Who pronounced this man dead?"
"The doctor" sobbed old Ma McTweet, with tears in her eyes. Oh she was good, I'll give her that, she was good.
"And you believed him?" I roared. "Of course I did" sobbed old Ma McTweet, "he's the doctor".
"We have only his word for that" yelled Tommy. "Have you tried to waken him?" I yelled. "Shouted in his ear, rang bells, blew horns or poured hot water over him?"
"Of course not" cried old Ma McTweet "he;s dead, my wee Jericho is dead".
"We'll soon see about that" I yelled. "Tommy, tickle his feet and I'll try and make him laugh by pulling faces".
It was that same tableau that met the eyes of Sir Hugh Orde when he entered the room.
"'Ello, ello, ello, what's going on 'ere then?" cried the white-shirted anglo saxon.
"This woman AND her cat, have interfered with my dead Jericho" yelled old Ma McTweet.
We wuz nicked and led away, charged with interfering with the dead we wuz.
The old judge looked down and yelled "Are either of you two necrophiliac?"
"NO, my Lud!" I yelled "I have no fear of heights and my friend Tommy always lands on his feet".
200 hours community service, that's what we got. We have to tidy up the city cemetery.
What a chance to make sure that all the cadavers are really dead! I must bring a stethoscope and a big bottle of smelling salts.
Saturday 14 June 2008
MY DADDY IS THE BEST DADDY THAT EVER SAT IN A SHED
I'm sure that I don't have to tell you-or you, yes, you sir sitting in the corner, unpicking your string vest to make a butterfly net, I'm sure I don't have to tell you, that yesterday was 'hang by the heels from the ceiling day.' This practice came into being in the late 50's. It was pioneered by the late, great John O'Groats who lived at 23 The Marsh, Land's End.
John O'Groats was a remarkable man, a hermit, a recluse and also a radio talkshow host on Land's End radio. He was a small man with a ginger moustache--or was he a ginger man with a small moustache? Never mind, he was noted for his catch phrase on the radio. People used to split their sides when John said, "Mother, I'll be home soon, put on chip pan, if you have no spuds, open a can of soup and if you have no soup, boil an egg instead"
Soon the whole country was saying it, a taximan would roll down his window and shout out to a policeman, "Mother, I'll be home soon, put on chip pan, if you have no spuds, open a can of soup and if you have no soup, boil an egg instead"
Then the taximan and the policeman would kill themselves laughing, as a massive traffic jam built up behind them. Oh, happy days and you could get drunk for a penny.
But John O'Groats was no ordinary man, he was a spiritual man, a new age man, a man well versed in Eastern religion and all that jazz. It was then that John O'Groats came out with the mantra, that Tommy my cat and I still follow to the present day. One day John announced to a startled world, this golden piece of advice.
"Hang by the heels, to ward off eels". Yes, it was as simple as that, it changed the relationship between mankind and eels for ever. No more did people huddle in darked cottages fearing an onslaught of eels. Now mankind and indeed, womankind, had a simple way to deter the slimy, obnoxious, slither of rivers and brooks.When threatened by a slithering mass of unruly eels, people would rush home and hang by their heels from the ceiling and the eels would retreat in confusion, cursing the man called, John O'Groats.
Alas, poor John O'Groats died tragically, when a tea cannister fell on his head, as he reached up to make a cup of tea. His last, sad, gasping words were, "Hang by the heels, to ward off eels".
A fitting epilogus(L) for a man who did so much to remove the fear of the common or garden-eel. Tommy my cat and I have been following the advice of John O'Groats for many years and-touch wood, neither of us has been attacked by an eel, neither physically or indeed, verbally.
Needless to say, yesterday Tommy and I were to be found, hanging from the ceiling by the heels. As we swayed in the breeze, we mumbled fervently, "Hang by the heels, to ward off eels".
As Tommy swayed rhythmically,like a sticky fly-paper or a well hung man he glanced at me and said. "You never talk about your dear pappa, why so old girl?"
I stiffled a sob by holding a pillow over its face and blubbered, "Ah Pappa, dear, dear Pappa, let me take you back to my childhood. Dear mummy and pappa had drifted apart. They had nothing in common, apart from being common. For over 30 years, dear mummy had been involved in a life or death struggle with a rare, grey backed ape that she picked up at the women's institute.
We offered to help her in her fight with the wily primate but dear mummy said.
"No, it's my problem. I don't need any help, I can cope with this critter by myself" Then she and the ape rolled under the kitchen table, biting, scratching, and kicking and flinging.
Dear Pappa had no hobbies, he spent all his time looking out of the window, with drool running down his chin, babbling "Nothing works--anymore".
At Christmas, me and my 16 siblings bought dear pappa a leather bound, limited edition book called, "Great garden sheds of the world" by Thickus Aplank.
It changed dear Poppa's life, he rushed out and bought a garden shed, oh he was so happy, he would sit in the shed for hours, smoking his pipe and thinking about-sheds.
Then the Winter came and dear Pappa said "Oh, my little shed is getting wet, what can I do? I know I will buy a bigger shed and keep the wee shed in it" and he did. But then he became concerned about the second shed, so he bought a third shed to put that in and so on and so forth In two years time, dear Poppa had 34 sheds, all inside each other and he kept all 34 sheds in a big warehouse. I can see him going to his little shed, with 35 large keys hanging from his belt. It took him over an hour to unlock all the sheds before he could enter his first little shed.
Then one horrible night, when smoking his pipe and thinking about-sheds, a spark fell on an ear-wig and started a fire. In no time it was out of control. Dear pappa, ran for safety, unlocking sheds as he went,--he never made it, he was found in shed 27 with the key of 28 in his out-stretched hand. It was horrible, horrible I tell you, and dear mummy couldn't cope, she was still involved in her life and death struggle with the boisterous,rumbustious ape. It was horrible, horrible I tell you" Tommy swung by the heels with tears in his eyes and said "What did the death certificate say?" I swung madly from the ceiling and yelled, "It said, cause of death-Gutted". The sun set in the West and Tommy and I just swung in the breeze, woman and cat, hanging from the ceiling by their heels muttering, "Hang by the heels, to ward off-eels".
John O'Groats was a remarkable man, a hermit, a recluse and also a radio talkshow host on Land's End radio. He was a small man with a ginger moustache--or was he a ginger man with a small moustache? Never mind, he was noted for his catch phrase on the radio. People used to split their sides when John said, "Mother, I'll be home soon, put on chip pan, if you have no spuds, open a can of soup and if you have no soup, boil an egg instead"
Soon the whole country was saying it, a taximan would roll down his window and shout out to a policeman, "Mother, I'll be home soon, put on chip pan, if you have no spuds, open a can of soup and if you have no soup, boil an egg instead"
Then the taximan and the policeman would kill themselves laughing, as a massive traffic jam built up behind them. Oh, happy days and you could get drunk for a penny.
But John O'Groats was no ordinary man, he was a spiritual man, a new age man, a man well versed in Eastern religion and all that jazz. It was then that John O'Groats came out with the mantra, that Tommy my cat and I still follow to the present day. One day John announced to a startled world, this golden piece of advice.
"Hang by the heels, to ward off eels". Yes, it was as simple as that, it changed the relationship between mankind and eels for ever. No more did people huddle in darked cottages fearing an onslaught of eels. Now mankind and indeed, womankind, had a simple way to deter the slimy, obnoxious, slither of rivers and brooks.When threatened by a slithering mass of unruly eels, people would rush home and hang by their heels from the ceiling and the eels would retreat in confusion, cursing the man called, John O'Groats.
Alas, poor John O'Groats died tragically, when a tea cannister fell on his head, as he reached up to make a cup of tea. His last, sad, gasping words were, "Hang by the heels, to ward off eels".
A fitting epilogus(L) for a man who did so much to remove the fear of the common or garden-eel. Tommy my cat and I have been following the advice of John O'Groats for many years and-touch wood, neither of us has been attacked by an eel, neither physically or indeed, verbally.
Needless to say, yesterday Tommy and I were to be found, hanging from the ceiling by the heels. As we swayed in the breeze, we mumbled fervently, "Hang by the heels, to ward off eels".
As Tommy swayed rhythmically,like a sticky fly-paper or a well hung man he glanced at me and said. "You never talk about your dear pappa, why so old girl?"
I stiffled a sob by holding a pillow over its face and blubbered, "Ah Pappa, dear, dear Pappa, let me take you back to my childhood. Dear mummy and pappa had drifted apart. They had nothing in common, apart from being common. For over 30 years, dear mummy had been involved in a life or death struggle with a rare, grey backed ape that she picked up at the women's institute.
We offered to help her in her fight with the wily primate but dear mummy said.
"No, it's my problem. I don't need any help, I can cope with this critter by myself" Then she and the ape rolled under the kitchen table, biting, scratching, and kicking and flinging.
Dear Pappa had no hobbies, he spent all his time looking out of the window, with drool running down his chin, babbling "Nothing works--anymore".
At Christmas, me and my 16 siblings bought dear pappa a leather bound, limited edition book called, "Great garden sheds of the world" by Thickus Aplank.
It changed dear Poppa's life, he rushed out and bought a garden shed, oh he was so happy, he would sit in the shed for hours, smoking his pipe and thinking about-sheds.
Then the Winter came and dear Pappa said "Oh, my little shed is getting wet, what can I do? I know I will buy a bigger shed and keep the wee shed in it" and he did. But then he became concerned about the second shed, so he bought a third shed to put that in and so on and so forth In two years time, dear Poppa had 34 sheds, all inside each other and he kept all 34 sheds in a big warehouse. I can see him going to his little shed, with 35 large keys hanging from his belt. It took him over an hour to unlock all the sheds before he could enter his first little shed.
Then one horrible night, when smoking his pipe and thinking about-sheds, a spark fell on an ear-wig and started a fire. In no time it was out of control. Dear pappa, ran for safety, unlocking sheds as he went,--he never made it, he was found in shed 27 with the key of 28 in his out-stretched hand. It was horrible, horrible I tell you, and dear mummy couldn't cope, she was still involved in her life and death struggle with the boisterous,rumbustious ape. It was horrible, horrible I tell you" Tommy swung by the heels with tears in his eyes and said "What did the death certificate say?" I swung madly from the ceiling and yelled, "It said, cause of death-Gutted". The sun set in the West and Tommy and I just swung in the breeze, woman and cat, hanging from the ceiling by their heels muttering, "Hang by the heels, to ward off-eels".
Thursday 12 June 2008
DEATH IS A ONE WAY STREET
Tommy my cat and I were in our luxury penthouse flat, three miles under-ground.
"Look at that view" said Tommy, pulling back the curtains, "I can see right up that worm's nostrils". "That's why they charge the big bucks" I said "If you want to live three mile under-ground, then you gotta be prepared to pay for the privilege".
"Not wanting to be nosey or anything" said Tommy "but how much did you shell out for this pad?" I smiled, picked up a pad and pencil, wrote down a number and passed it over to Tommy.
"WOW!" yelled Tommy "you can write". "That's nothing Kid" I said "you hang around and you'll see me ride a bicycle, play the piccolo and pick my nose, while singing, "I'm a yankee-doodle dandy". "You must be a--genius" cried Tommy. "No kid" I smiled "I was born in Belfast, the child of two exceptional parents, my mother, had studied under Einstein, until someone rolled him off and my daddy, was the first man to fly, well, until he hit the ground at the bottom of the cliff. But did he give up? No sir, he went into a coma and died".
What an exciting life you have led" said Tommy as he dialled 999 due to chronic heartburn. "All I have ever done is fall from a shi--small house and land on my feet".
"Don't put yourself down kid" I said "Leave that to the undertaker. Llife" I said lounging back on a burgundy bean-bag made from recycled bald coot feathers, "Life--is like-well, it;s like a lop-sided po, just when you're getting ready to piss, you have to get off the pot".
Golly, that's deep" said Tommy "I must write it down. Have you a typewriter on you?"
"Afraid not Kid" I said "but if you reach into my hip pocket, you'll find a portable printing press, I never leave home without it" "You're ready for all eventualities ,aren't you?" said Tommy.
"Yes, I am" I said "And even for things that come out of the blue. I always say......."
"Yes, go on" said Tommy, hunched over the printing press. "I always say, that life is-well, its like a dalmation with black spots. The only way to tell how deep the spots are, is to skin the dalmation"
"The secret of life in a nutshell." muttered Tommy "I must get this down for posterity and it may help her psychiatrist when the old bat's case comes up next week"
Tommy looked up, by not looking down and said "Are we dressing for dinner?"
"Of course" I yelled "But pull the curtains first Tommy, we don't want every Tom, Dick and Harry staring in at us". "Especially not Tom" said Tommy "He makes my flesh creep and then I have to run and bring it back again" "I know what you mean kid" I said "That Tom, can practically undress you with his eyes, but when it comes right down to it, he just uses fingers and thumbs like everyone else" "Shall I say Grace?" said Tommy.
"No!" I yelled "Let the dirty slattern say it herself if she wants too"
Later, and not before time, Steven Nolan and I were lying by the railway tracks, pretending to be two normal people. As the six, five special thundered down the line, the man made from lard looked at me and said, "Did you see me interview President Clinton?"
"Yes, I did" I said with two bindweeds, sticking seductively out of both nostrils.
"Well?" said he who is not slim. "What did you think?"
I ruminated, sure it wet my shoes, but I was in a crazy, carefree mood. I looked at my fat friend and said, "It was good, but it could have been better"
Steven leaped up--no, that's a lie, he rolled, gasped and eventually got to his feet.
"How could the interview have been better?" roared the oval one.
"Look Steven" I cried "I didn't want to bring this up but if you must know, the interview was crap, yes, crap, with a capital K!"
"How dare you!" yelled the tubby one "I've never been more insulted since the time I was asked to leave Burger King for eating the hand off a waitress"
"You missed the BIG question," I yelled. "You never asked President Clinton what is the meaning of life?"
"Sure, everyone knows the answer to that" said Steven "Life is, well life is like a merry-go-round, with all the fun of the fair. One day you are down on the ground, next, you're up in the air"
I reached into my hip pocket and whipped out my portable printing press. This was good and I had to get it down before the horse tranquilizers I had for tea kicked in.
"Look at that view" said Tommy, pulling back the curtains, "I can see right up that worm's nostrils". "That's why they charge the big bucks" I said "If you want to live three mile under-ground, then you gotta be prepared to pay for the privilege".
"Not wanting to be nosey or anything" said Tommy "but how much did you shell out for this pad?" I smiled, picked up a pad and pencil, wrote down a number and passed it over to Tommy.
"WOW!" yelled Tommy "you can write". "That's nothing Kid" I said "you hang around and you'll see me ride a bicycle, play the piccolo and pick my nose, while singing, "I'm a yankee-doodle dandy". "You must be a--genius" cried Tommy. "No kid" I smiled "I was born in Belfast, the child of two exceptional parents, my mother, had studied under Einstein, until someone rolled him off and my daddy, was the first man to fly, well, until he hit the ground at the bottom of the cliff. But did he give up? No sir, he went into a coma and died".
What an exciting life you have led" said Tommy as he dialled 999 due to chronic heartburn. "All I have ever done is fall from a shi--small house and land on my feet".
"Don't put yourself down kid" I said "Leave that to the undertaker. Llife" I said lounging back on a burgundy bean-bag made from recycled bald coot feathers, "Life--is like-well, it;s like a lop-sided po, just when you're getting ready to piss, you have to get off the pot".
Golly, that's deep" said Tommy "I must write it down. Have you a typewriter on you?"
"Afraid not Kid" I said "but if you reach into my hip pocket, you'll find a portable printing press, I never leave home without it" "You're ready for all eventualities ,aren't you?" said Tommy.
"Yes, I am" I said "And even for things that come out of the blue. I always say......."
"Yes, go on" said Tommy, hunched over the printing press. "I always say, that life is-well, its like a dalmation with black spots. The only way to tell how deep the spots are, is to skin the dalmation"
"The secret of life in a nutshell." muttered Tommy "I must get this down for posterity and it may help her psychiatrist when the old bat's case comes up next week"
Tommy looked up, by not looking down and said "Are we dressing for dinner?"
"Of course" I yelled "But pull the curtains first Tommy, we don't want every Tom, Dick and Harry staring in at us". "Especially not Tom" said Tommy "He makes my flesh creep and then I have to run and bring it back again" "I know what you mean kid" I said "That Tom, can practically undress you with his eyes, but when it comes right down to it, he just uses fingers and thumbs like everyone else" "Shall I say Grace?" said Tommy.
"No!" I yelled "Let the dirty slattern say it herself if she wants too"
Later, and not before time, Steven Nolan and I were lying by the railway tracks, pretending to be two normal people. As the six, five special thundered down the line, the man made from lard looked at me and said, "Did you see me interview President Clinton?"
"Yes, I did" I said with two bindweeds, sticking seductively out of both nostrils.
"Well?" said he who is not slim. "What did you think?"
I ruminated, sure it wet my shoes, but I was in a crazy, carefree mood. I looked at my fat friend and said, "It was good, but it could have been better"
Steven leaped up--no, that's a lie, he rolled, gasped and eventually got to his feet.
"How could the interview have been better?" roared the oval one.
"Look Steven" I cried "I didn't want to bring this up but if you must know, the interview was crap, yes, crap, with a capital K!"
"How dare you!" yelled the tubby one "I've never been more insulted since the time I was asked to leave Burger King for eating the hand off a waitress"
"You missed the BIG question," I yelled. "You never asked President Clinton what is the meaning of life?"
"Sure, everyone knows the answer to that" said Steven "Life is, well life is like a merry-go-round, with all the fun of the fair. One day you are down on the ground, next, you're up in the air"
I reached into my hip pocket and whipped out my portable printing press. This was good and I had to get it down before the horse tranquilizers I had for tea kicked in.
Monday 9 June 2008
YOU TRY BRINGING UP A CAT ON YOUR OWN
I was sitting in my snug, comfortable, condemned abode, pretending to me Ann Robinson.
I had six pounds of pan-cake make-up on my visage and a large iron chain hanging round my neck. I found the chain in the shipyard, the night before the Royal yacht Britannia drifted away, I could hear the Queen shrieking "Oh, one is all at sea!"
No. They never knew it was me-they blamed Sinn Fein as usual.
I was running the chain through my hands, as I grimaced, smirked, leered and screamed
"You are the weakest link-goodbye, you are the weakest link-goodbye!"
I love little-diddly Ann Robinson. She used to be a woman you know.
The soft tread of a feline alerted me to the fact that a cat was coming down the stairs.
It was Tommy, my life long feline partner and weather permitting and the creeks don't rise, the cat who would proudly stand beside me for a civil cermony at the city hall, all it needed was a nod from Nigel Dodds. I don't forsee any problems, Nigel is noted for his progressive and inclusive views, or was that, Nigel Kennedy, the spotty virtuoso of the fiddle?
I turned and looked at Tommy and in spite of years of yoga training, I was unable to stiffle a
"Be-Jeckers!" Tommy stood with one hand on the bannister and the other on his hip, wearing a vivid pink jogging suit with, HELLO SAILOR, written on the back.
I blanched, I did, I blanched and recoiled. Tommy swung a skipping rope in the air and said
"I'm just out, I thought I would go down to the corner and skip with the girls. By the by old girl, does my bum look big in this?"
I-I-I-reblanched and recoiled, only for two drunken dwarfs supporting me, I would have swooned, or had a bloody good try at it.
I found my voice, it was under the vase on the mantlepiece and roared.
"ENOUGH. up with this I shall not put, this damned feline, effetness must stop! Look at you!" I yelled "Look at you, all done up like a big girl's blouse, you're making a show of yourself! I hear the other cats, oh yes, you don't think I do but I hear them cat calling as you mince down the street, "Now's the time to be oh so wary, here comes Tommy like Julian Cleary."
"Sticks and stones" said Tommy, inspecting his nails "Sticks and stones".
"Tommy, Tommy, Tommy" I pleaded "Do something manly, buy a bullworker, pee on the street, use the sink instead of the toilet, I don't care but put this pernicious, effetness behind you"
Tommy stuck his little pink tongue out and sneered "See yah, wouldn't want to be yah"
I watched Tommy mince down the street, I was too tired to shake my head, so I put it in the blender. "Tommy" I whispered "What will become of us at tall-at tall-at tall, with the potatoes blighted again and the bansee wailing in the woods like Ann Robinson?"
I need help and advice and I needed it-NIGH but for some strange reason, I found myself outside Steven Nolan's house. I heard the plump one whimper "Ah mammy, stop fussing" Then I heard his mum big Audrey say, "Now listen here, our Steven, if you think I'm going to let out out like that, you have another think coming, so think on lad, think on. Eeh I don't know what it is with kids now a-days, I really don't. Tie your muffler nice and tight our Steven and if you go by mill, pop in and ask if there's any trouble, now bend over while I fix you up".
I peeped through the gooseberry hedge and saw big Audrey down on her knees fixing a-
DANGER WIDE LOAD sigh to the rear of his massive trousers.
As Steven lumbered through the gate, I leapt on him and shrieked "Oh Steven, oh Steven, my heart is broke, I think Tommy is...... !"
"Tommy is what woman?" yelled the terrible Tubby, "Tommy, is-what?"
I looked all around and screamed "I think Tommy is,---one of -them"
Steven ruminated, yes, right there in the street, rubbed his chin and said, "He could be, he could well be, but with a name like-Tommy, you never know if he's a Catholic or a Protestant"
I had six pounds of pan-cake make-up on my visage and a large iron chain hanging round my neck. I found the chain in the shipyard, the night before the Royal yacht Britannia drifted away, I could hear the Queen shrieking "Oh, one is all at sea!"
No. They never knew it was me-they blamed Sinn Fein as usual.
I was running the chain through my hands, as I grimaced, smirked, leered and screamed
"You are the weakest link-goodbye, you are the weakest link-goodbye!"
I love little-diddly Ann Robinson. She used to be a woman you know.
The soft tread of a feline alerted me to the fact that a cat was coming down the stairs.
It was Tommy, my life long feline partner and weather permitting and the creeks don't rise, the cat who would proudly stand beside me for a civil cermony at the city hall, all it needed was a nod from Nigel Dodds. I don't forsee any problems, Nigel is noted for his progressive and inclusive views, or was that, Nigel Kennedy, the spotty virtuoso of the fiddle?
I turned and looked at Tommy and in spite of years of yoga training, I was unable to stiffle a
"Be-Jeckers!" Tommy stood with one hand on the bannister and the other on his hip, wearing a vivid pink jogging suit with, HELLO SAILOR, written on the back.
I blanched, I did, I blanched and recoiled. Tommy swung a skipping rope in the air and said
"I'm just out, I thought I would go down to the corner and skip with the girls. By the by old girl, does my bum look big in this?"
I-I-I-reblanched and recoiled, only for two drunken dwarfs supporting me, I would have swooned, or had a bloody good try at it.
I found my voice, it was under the vase on the mantlepiece and roared.
"ENOUGH. up with this I shall not put, this damned feline, effetness must stop! Look at you!" I yelled "Look at you, all done up like a big girl's blouse, you're making a show of yourself! I hear the other cats, oh yes, you don't think I do but I hear them cat calling as you mince down the street, "Now's the time to be oh so wary, here comes Tommy like Julian Cleary."
"Sticks and stones" said Tommy, inspecting his nails "Sticks and stones".
"Tommy, Tommy, Tommy" I pleaded "Do something manly, buy a bullworker, pee on the street, use the sink instead of the toilet, I don't care but put this pernicious, effetness behind you"
Tommy stuck his little pink tongue out and sneered "See yah, wouldn't want to be yah"
I watched Tommy mince down the street, I was too tired to shake my head, so I put it in the blender. "Tommy" I whispered "What will become of us at tall-at tall-at tall, with the potatoes blighted again and the bansee wailing in the woods like Ann Robinson?"
I need help and advice and I needed it-NIGH but for some strange reason, I found myself outside Steven Nolan's house. I heard the plump one whimper "Ah mammy, stop fussing" Then I heard his mum big Audrey say, "Now listen here, our Steven, if you think I'm going to let out out like that, you have another think coming, so think on lad, think on. Eeh I don't know what it is with kids now a-days, I really don't. Tie your muffler nice and tight our Steven and if you go by mill, pop in and ask if there's any trouble, now bend over while I fix you up".
I peeped through the gooseberry hedge and saw big Audrey down on her knees fixing a-
DANGER WIDE LOAD sigh to the rear of his massive trousers.
As Steven lumbered through the gate, I leapt on him and shrieked "Oh Steven, oh Steven, my heart is broke, I think Tommy is...... !"
"Tommy is what woman?" yelled the terrible Tubby, "Tommy, is-what?"
I looked all around and screamed "I think Tommy is,---one of -them"
Steven ruminated, yes, right there in the street, rubbed his chin and said, "He could be, he could well be, but with a name like-Tommy, you never know if he's a Catholic or a Protestant"
Friday 6 June 2008
MADNESS,IS ONLY A STATE OF MIND
I was curled up in the coal bunker, wearing just a nappy and pretending to be Ghandi in the black hole of Calcutta. "Goodness gracious me" I muttered "Things have come to a pretty point, when an educated, Indian gentleman, who loves peace and harmony, is forced to squat in a coal bunker, like a bag of nutty slack. Ah, goodness, gracious me, this nappy gives no protection at all from the naughty pieces of coal, who wish to penetrate my venerable rear-end".
Ah, goodness gracious me....." Suddenly, the bunker lid was thrown back and Tommy my cat stood there, "Get out" yelled Tommy "Get the hell out of there! How dare you take a hand at a man who won the Nobel peace prize, for his unstinting efforts to bring people together. What have you ever done for peace? eh?-eh?"
"I threw stones" I yelled "But I was not a partisan stone thrower, I was a cross community stone thrower. I threw stones at everyone, regardless of race, gender, religion or social position. I threw stones at the highest in the land and I threw stones at the poor and down-trodden. You knew where you stood with me. If I saw you-I threw stones at you and you have the brass gall to pull me out of a coal-bunker and accuse me of bringing infamy and dishonour to the memory of Ghandi and his large nappy. How dare you Sir! How dare you! For two pins Sir, I would invite you to a duel, but that would mean that both of us would be out of the house and there would be no one in to pay the methelated spirit man". And with that, I walked, with head held high, into our dingy hovel little knowing-or indeed, caring, that my nappy was slipping and revealing my self employed builder's bum. They don't make nappies like they used to. I remember when it took the butler, two footmen and a maid, to pull the nappy off a respected land owner. I blame the children, especially the mixed infants, who have no pride in anything these days.
Next morning, as I watched Jeremy Kyle from behind the sofa with a bottle of holy water and a crucifix tied to a broom handle, Tommy, my feline chum, sauntered in wearing red hunting jacket and white riding britches.
"Where are you going?" I yelled "To the supermarket" said Tommy sarcastically.
"Don't come the smart ass with me" I yelled. "If there's a smart ass in this house, then that smart ass belongs to me" "Out of my way ratbag" said Tommy, "The hunting horn has sounded and I must like John Peel the dead DJ be on my way".
"Over my dead cadaver!" I yelled "It' bad enough that you kill mice and scaldies, but must you dress up to do so? The neighbours are laughing at you, you know" I cried "Climbing over garden walls and looking under bushes, like a refugee from Butlin' holiday camp"
"The neighbours can go to-hell! cried Tommy blowing down the spout of the tea pot in liu of a hunting horn"Tally-Ho, a hunting I will go".
"It was then, that a pack of dogs ran down the street, barking like veritable seals.
I looked at Tommy, who had gone deathly pale and smirked, "Seems like the very dogs in the street are out hunting, why don't you join them?"
Tommy began to cough and said "No, I won't if you don't mind, I think I'll lie down and try and bring this fur ball up". I grabbed the bloodthirsty feline by the scruff of the neck and threw him out on the street. What a racket ensued, barking, growling and over it all, a high, plantive caterwauling. Tommy took the back door of its hinges to get in.his little red jacket and white britches were in ribbons. The lad is sitting in front of the fire, teeth chattering wearing Ghandi's big nappy. I knew that nappy would bring peace.
I stand in the middle of the room, one hand raised dramatically in the air and recite.
"HOME, IS THE SAILOR, HOME, FROM THE SEA
AND THE HUNTER, HOME FROM THE HILL."
Ah, goodness gracious me....." Suddenly, the bunker lid was thrown back and Tommy my cat stood there, "Get out" yelled Tommy "Get the hell out of there! How dare you take a hand at a man who won the Nobel peace prize, for his unstinting efforts to bring people together. What have you ever done for peace? eh?-eh?"
"I threw stones" I yelled "But I was not a partisan stone thrower, I was a cross community stone thrower. I threw stones at everyone, regardless of race, gender, religion or social position. I threw stones at the highest in the land and I threw stones at the poor and down-trodden. You knew where you stood with me. If I saw you-I threw stones at you and you have the brass gall to pull me out of a coal-bunker and accuse me of bringing infamy and dishonour to the memory of Ghandi and his large nappy. How dare you Sir! How dare you! For two pins Sir, I would invite you to a duel, but that would mean that both of us would be out of the house and there would be no one in to pay the methelated spirit man". And with that, I walked, with head held high, into our dingy hovel little knowing-or indeed, caring, that my nappy was slipping and revealing my self employed builder's bum. They don't make nappies like they used to. I remember when it took the butler, two footmen and a maid, to pull the nappy off a respected land owner. I blame the children, especially the mixed infants, who have no pride in anything these days.
Next morning, as I watched Jeremy Kyle from behind the sofa with a bottle of holy water and a crucifix tied to a broom handle, Tommy, my feline chum, sauntered in wearing red hunting jacket and white riding britches.
"Where are you going?" I yelled "To the supermarket" said Tommy sarcastically.
"Don't come the smart ass with me" I yelled. "If there's a smart ass in this house, then that smart ass belongs to me" "Out of my way ratbag" said Tommy, "The hunting horn has sounded and I must like John Peel the dead DJ be on my way".
"Over my dead cadaver!" I yelled "It' bad enough that you kill mice and scaldies, but must you dress up to do so? The neighbours are laughing at you, you know" I cried "Climbing over garden walls and looking under bushes, like a refugee from Butlin' holiday camp"
"The neighbours can go to-hell! cried Tommy blowing down the spout of the tea pot in liu of a hunting horn"Tally-Ho, a hunting I will go".
"It was then, that a pack of dogs ran down the street, barking like veritable seals.
I looked at Tommy, who had gone deathly pale and smirked, "Seems like the very dogs in the street are out hunting, why don't you join them?"
Tommy began to cough and said "No, I won't if you don't mind, I think I'll lie down and try and bring this fur ball up". I grabbed the bloodthirsty feline by the scruff of the neck and threw him out on the street. What a racket ensued, barking, growling and over it all, a high, plantive caterwauling. Tommy took the back door of its hinges to get in.his little red jacket and white britches were in ribbons. The lad is sitting in front of the fire, teeth chattering wearing Ghandi's big nappy. I knew that nappy would bring peace.
I stand in the middle of the room, one hand raised dramatically in the air and recite.
"HOME, IS THE SAILOR, HOME, FROM THE SEA
AND THE HUNTER, HOME FROM THE HILL."
Thursday 5 June 2008
BIG BROTHER? NO BOTHER DUDE
As the start date for BIg Brother 08, drew near, Tommy my cat and I reached a state of excitement bordering on hysteria. We had enough food and toilet roll in the house for three months. Tommy cancelled all his appointments with the feline defence league, I cancelled all my electric shock treatment,if I felt depressed or lets face it, mad, I could always spit on my finger and stick it into the wall socket. We painted the windows black, so as not to be disturbed, I painted the inside and Tommy painted the outside. We stuffed a duvet up the chimney, in case Santa Claus came early. We hired a large, 12 foot plasma screen TV and bought two three-legged stools from Ikea. Then we took all our money out of the post office, ran hell for leather for the Royal hospital and yelled to the receptionist, "Two frontal lobotomies and two snazzy Brazilian waxes please". "Certaintly" said the receptionist, "will you be requiring anaesthesia with that order?"
"Only for the Brazilians" I yelled "We have brought two bullets to bite on"
"Bye the bye" said Tommy, as he struck a match on the bald head of a man going by on a trolley. "How much is colonic irrigation these days? I suppose like everything else, it's gone up?"
"Surely not" I yelled "The whole point is to bring it down".
"We have a special deal on colonic irrigation this week" said the receptionist, with a smile, that she stole off a drunk clown. "Buy one and you get one free".
"We'll have one each" I yelled, "Give me a piece of paper and I'll draw you a map of our anal canals" "How thoughtful" said the receptionist, "If only more people did that".
"People have no manners these days" I roared, "It's all me, me, me and besides, most of them couldn't tell their arse from their elbow"
"Well, it is very difficult" said the receptionist "The two are so alike"
"I have a little tip for you my dear" I said "Always remember, you can stick your elbow up your arse, but you can't stick your arse up your elbow"
"How possibly charming" said the receptionist "I must write that down, now where did I put that lung I was using as a notepad?"
Before all this happened, oh long, long before, I was lying in the middle of the road yelling, "Ba-ba-ba" I was pretending to be Amy Winehouse with a stutter.
Suddenly, I was so rudely interupted by Sir Hugh Orde, he of the PSNI, don't you know and all that malarky.
"Get up you muppet" yelled the Anglo Saxon "You can't lie there, this is the Queen's highway"
"I'll move when I see her coming" I yelled "I know my rights"
"And I know your wrongs" said Sir Hugh "Come on, let's be 'aving you"
"Push off copper" I yelled "You can't go pushing me around-see, I don't like to be pushed-see, I was once pushed into the sea-see, and I didn't like it-see, it made me sea-sick-see and I couldn't eat my tea-see, so don't go pushing me-see"
The uniformed one, grabbed me by the scruff of the neck and dragged me into the gutter.
"Police Brutality!" I screamed. The DUP, the UUP, Sinn Fein, the SDLP, even Alliance, all walked by on the other side of the road. "Pharisees!" I yelled "Whitened sepulchres, Phillistine s and-and-wild hatful gulpins, you walk on by-and you don't even-wait on the-corner, we're strangers brothers, strangers, when we meet"
"Get with it dude" said David Ford of the Alliance, in that laddy-dah voice, "Country 'n' western is old cowboy hat, we're all into hip-hop, you got to get with it Bro, get in the groove daddy-oh and boogie on down" "That's right" screamed Martin Mc Guiness "We have all moved on, next thing, you'll be singing, Bridge Over Troubled Water, ha-ha, ha-ha, ha-ha".
Steven Nolan took me home, I laid my head on his large air-bag (Stomach) and softly crooned,
"Don't know why, there's no bird up in the sky, bleather, bleather"
The heater was on, I was knee deep in crisp bags but for the first time in my miserable life, I was happy. Happy, I tell you, I snuggled up to Steven and ate crumbs out of the turn-ups on his trousers. Happiness, is a fat man with big trousers.
"Only for the Brazilians" I yelled "We have brought two bullets to bite on"
"Bye the bye" said Tommy, as he struck a match on the bald head of a man going by on a trolley. "How much is colonic irrigation these days? I suppose like everything else, it's gone up?"
"Surely not" I yelled "The whole point is to bring it down".
"We have a special deal on colonic irrigation this week" said the receptionist, with a smile, that she stole off a drunk clown. "Buy one and you get one free".
"We'll have one each" I yelled, "Give me a piece of paper and I'll draw you a map of our anal canals" "How thoughtful" said the receptionist, "If only more people did that".
"People have no manners these days" I roared, "It's all me, me, me and besides, most of them couldn't tell their arse from their elbow"
"Well, it is very difficult" said the receptionist "The two are so alike"
"I have a little tip for you my dear" I said "Always remember, you can stick your elbow up your arse, but you can't stick your arse up your elbow"
"How possibly charming" said the receptionist "I must write that down, now where did I put that lung I was using as a notepad?"
Before all this happened, oh long, long before, I was lying in the middle of the road yelling, "Ba-ba-ba" I was pretending to be Amy Winehouse with a stutter.
Suddenly, I was so rudely interupted by Sir Hugh Orde, he of the PSNI, don't you know and all that malarky.
"Get up you muppet" yelled the Anglo Saxon "You can't lie there, this is the Queen's highway"
"I'll move when I see her coming" I yelled "I know my rights"
"And I know your wrongs" said Sir Hugh "Come on, let's be 'aving you"
"Push off copper" I yelled "You can't go pushing me around-see, I don't like to be pushed-see, I was once pushed into the sea-see, and I didn't like it-see, it made me sea-sick-see and I couldn't eat my tea-see, so don't go pushing me-see"
The uniformed one, grabbed me by the scruff of the neck and dragged me into the gutter.
"Police Brutality!" I screamed. The DUP, the UUP, Sinn Fein, the SDLP, even Alliance, all walked by on the other side of the road. "Pharisees!" I yelled "Whitened sepulchres, Phillistine s and-and-wild hatful gulpins, you walk on by-and you don't even-wait on the-corner, we're strangers brothers, strangers, when we meet"
"Get with it dude" said David Ford of the Alliance, in that laddy-dah voice, "Country 'n' western is old cowboy hat, we're all into hip-hop, you got to get with it Bro, get in the groove daddy-oh and boogie on down" "That's right" screamed Martin Mc Guiness "We have all moved on, next thing, you'll be singing, Bridge Over Troubled Water, ha-ha, ha-ha, ha-ha".
Steven Nolan took me home, I laid my head on his large air-bag (Stomach) and softly crooned,
"Don't know why, there's no bird up in the sky, bleather, bleather"
The heater was on, I was knee deep in crisp bags but for the first time in my miserable life, I was happy. Happy, I tell you, I snuggled up to Steven and ate crumbs out of the turn-ups on his trousers. Happiness, is a fat man with big trousers.
Sunday 1 June 2008
No sex in this city
Tommy my cat and I were so excited, it was the big day, tonight, Sex In The City, would open at the Bunker, our local cinema. It was only nine o'clock in the morning and already I had peed myself six times,twice before I even got out of bed.
It was a great day to be a woman, a great day to be feminine and I was both, I had a doctor's certificate and a charcoal drawing by the local peeping-tom to prove it.
Tonight, we would be treated to an extravanza of feminity, Tonight, hundreds of shrieking women, would enjoy the delights of-fashion, shoes, diets, shoes, leg-shaving, shoes, whispered thoughts on love and abortion, shoes, men,lesbians,shoes all wrapped up in a big, pink fluffy candy-floss. Tonight, four old raddled bags, long by their sell by date, would show us what it is to be a strong, confident woman, with a good psychiatrist and a rich sugar daddy.
I was all a flutter,with fierce feminity, "Shoes, shoes" I babbled, as I ran hither and nither, with hot urine running down my girlish leg
Suddenly, Tommy my cat, grabbed me by my maidenly goatee and yelled.
"Hauld on, hauld on, I won't get in, I am a male cat". I spun on a sixpence, danced on a penny and said, "But Tommy, think of how effete you are, no one will know, unless they lift you up and look under your tail". "I must see the film" screamed Tommy "I want to see the-shoes, so many-shoes in so many colours, I must see the-shoes".
I leapt up on a passing poof and roared, "You shall go to the ball, I shall dress you up as a little, fairy princess"
You should have seen us that nite, we certainly put the fem into feminity.
Tommy was wearing a lovely powder blue ball gown, silver tiara and clutching a vivid pink clutch purse. I was wearing pink shoes, pink tights, pink knickers and a pink boilersuit, with "Show me the shoes" written on the back. We turned some heads, as we staggered on our pink high-heels down the street, swinging our pink handbags and letting little feminine shrieks and yells out of us.
Soon we were sitting in the front seat of the cinema,with popcorn sitting between us. Since Mr Corn's wife died, he doesn't get out much, so me and Tommy take old Pop to the cinema, the bingo and the lap-dancing clubs. I looked around, all was a sea of pink, Women of every age, shape and state of decomposition and decay, sitting, open-mouthed, like a veritable gaggle of pink flamingos.
Then the film began, oh the ooh's and aah's as the shoes appeared. I was furiously writing down the names of the famous fashion designers on my hip with a felt tip pen.
Ah the beauty, the lively girlish banter, the rich meals, the phone calls, the never-ending round-a-bout of luxury, the whirlwind of parties, the, the, the empty sadness and futility of it all.
"THIS IS WRONG!" I yelled, jumping to my feet. "Is this what we ladies have sunk too? Where is your pride?" I yelled "Is this what womens lib was all about? Think of the great women who gave so much to set us free. Think of Emily Parkhurst, who chained herself to the railings like a veritable bicycle. Think of Gretna Green, Magna Carta, Ann Tique, Dana, Gloria Hunnyford, Ann Orexic, and the greatest woman of them all, big Maggie Dunder, who campaigned all her life, so that women should be allowed to pee standing up like men.
Wake up ladies" I yelled "There is more to life than-shoes".
We were lucky to get away with our lives, The angry women raced me, Tommy and old Pop Corn for five streets. Then old Pop Corn slipped into a pole-dancing joint and Tommy and I were chased home by a gang of United Arab Emerite sailors yelling, "Come here my pretty one, I buy you shoes-you like shoes-yes?
"Never again" I said to Tommy, as we sat down to a meal of larks' eggs and methelated spirits.
I think we can trace this femine shoe fetish back to Cinderella and what do they tie to wedding cars? YES, shoes!" This goes deep, very deep, I must wade into the pondering pond for some deep pondering, "Tommy, come out here and hold my-shoes, I don't want to get them wet"
It was a great day to be a woman, a great day to be feminine and I was both, I had a doctor's certificate and a charcoal drawing by the local peeping-tom to prove it.
Tonight, we would be treated to an extravanza of feminity, Tonight, hundreds of shrieking women, would enjoy the delights of-fashion, shoes, diets, shoes, leg-shaving, shoes, whispered thoughts on love and abortion, shoes, men,lesbians,shoes all wrapped up in a big, pink fluffy candy-floss. Tonight, four old raddled bags, long by their sell by date, would show us what it is to be a strong, confident woman, with a good psychiatrist and a rich sugar daddy.
I was all a flutter,with fierce feminity, "Shoes, shoes" I babbled, as I ran hither and nither, with hot urine running down my girlish leg
Suddenly, Tommy my cat, grabbed me by my maidenly goatee and yelled.
"Hauld on, hauld on, I won't get in, I am a male cat". I spun on a sixpence, danced on a penny and said, "But Tommy, think of how effete you are, no one will know, unless they lift you up and look under your tail". "I must see the film" screamed Tommy "I want to see the-shoes, so many-shoes in so many colours, I must see the-shoes".
I leapt up on a passing poof and roared, "You shall go to the ball, I shall dress you up as a little, fairy princess"
You should have seen us that nite, we certainly put the fem into feminity.
Tommy was wearing a lovely powder blue ball gown, silver tiara and clutching a vivid pink clutch purse. I was wearing pink shoes, pink tights, pink knickers and a pink boilersuit, with "Show me the shoes" written on the back. We turned some heads, as we staggered on our pink high-heels down the street, swinging our pink handbags and letting little feminine shrieks and yells out of us.
Soon we were sitting in the front seat of the cinema,with popcorn sitting between us. Since Mr Corn's wife died, he doesn't get out much, so me and Tommy take old Pop to the cinema, the bingo and the lap-dancing clubs. I looked around, all was a sea of pink, Women of every age, shape and state of decomposition and decay, sitting, open-mouthed, like a veritable gaggle of pink flamingos.
Then the film began, oh the ooh's and aah's as the shoes appeared. I was furiously writing down the names of the famous fashion designers on my hip with a felt tip pen.
Ah the beauty, the lively girlish banter, the rich meals, the phone calls, the never-ending round-a-bout of luxury, the whirlwind of parties, the, the, the empty sadness and futility of it all.
"THIS IS WRONG!" I yelled, jumping to my feet. "Is this what we ladies have sunk too? Where is your pride?" I yelled "Is this what womens lib was all about? Think of the great women who gave so much to set us free. Think of Emily Parkhurst, who chained herself to the railings like a veritable bicycle. Think of Gretna Green, Magna Carta, Ann Tique, Dana, Gloria Hunnyford, Ann Orexic, and the greatest woman of them all, big Maggie Dunder, who campaigned all her life, so that women should be allowed to pee standing up like men.
Wake up ladies" I yelled "There is more to life than-shoes".
We were lucky to get away with our lives, The angry women raced me, Tommy and old Pop Corn for five streets. Then old Pop Corn slipped into a pole-dancing joint and Tommy and I were chased home by a gang of United Arab Emerite sailors yelling, "Come here my pretty one, I buy you shoes-you like shoes-yes?
"Never again" I said to Tommy, as we sat down to a meal of larks' eggs and methelated spirits.
I think we can trace this femine shoe fetish back to Cinderella and what do they tie to wedding cars? YES, shoes!" This goes deep, very deep, I must wade into the pondering pond for some deep pondering, "Tommy, come out here and hold my-shoes, I don't want to get them wet"
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