Great show yesterday Kid. People are booking street corners, so they can stand and talk about the great show. In the short time since the great show was broadcast three books, an opera and a ballet have been written about it.
Seamus Heaney plans to write a saga about the great show, after he consults old Jordie about the best way to keep the bogland snipe from perching on his head.
Poor Seamus is a martyr to the bogland snipe.
Flocks of them follow him, as he cycles to the village shop for a new snug pen.
Some snipe even have the audacity to perch on the handlebars and peer into Seamus's poetic visage. No bird in God's creation is harder to shake off than a bogland snipe.
I was sitting in front of the fire, counting my knees with the aid of a calculator, when I heard a scream from the kitchen.
Tommy my cat ran in yelling, "That Oxford dictionary is dangerous. I opened it just now and the word sequesteredness leapt out and hit me a dunt on the head."
"Tell me about it," I yelled. "I was flicking through the dictionary yesterday and the word nonchalance jumped off the page, hit me right up the gub and chipped my tooth."
"What shall we do with that dictionary?" yelled Tommy. "If the word spike or arrow leaped out it could put out an eye."
"Take it back to Eason's," I cried, "and get John Daly's new book, "101 things to do with a bald head" And if they don't stock that, get, "How I survived the great big biblical flood," by Walter Love."
"What a great story that is!" said Tommy. "Walter survived the biblical flood, by clinging on to an inflatable rubber man for 40 days and 40 nights.".
"Walter was lucky," I said,"if a big wave had came along, he could have lost an eye."
"I know," said Tommy. "There's not a day goes by, but Walter is lowered to his knees by block and tackle, to pray to the Lord God almighty for the use of both oculars."
Tommy looked at me and said felinely, "Could Walter Love be a-prophet?"
"Walter Love a prophet?" I laughed,"more like a dead loss."
Do you get it? Profit. Dead loss? Ah forget it."
"One thing I will say about Walter Love" said Tommy, "he sure does know his jazz."
"Why would he not?" I yelled. "He's been shaving them since Moses was a lump of a cub."
Oh how we laughed. With Ha-Has. Tee-Hees and the odd gurgling giggle.
A startled suckling pig with an apple in its mouth ran by our house, closely followed by a panting, red faced Tubby Nolan.
"Hi ratbag" yelled Tubby, "have you seen my lunch, a small, suckling pig with an apple in its mouth?"
"No," I lied. "No small suckling pig with an apple in its mouth, has sprinted past this house with a startled look in its little piggy eye."
"Sugar and spice," cursed Tubby. "It must have given me the slip at the round-a-bout. I bet it was hiding under the discarded mattress."
"Never mind Steven," I said. "You have the look of a glutton who would love bread pudding."
"Bread pudding?" cried Tubby. "I love bread pudding. Bring it on."
I went into the kitchen, picked up a stale, mouldy pan loaf and ran back to the door.
"Here's the bread," I yelled. "Now sling your lard, you fat pudding." and I slammed the door shut on Tubby's large, fat, pink, startled face.
He lumbered off down the street, with the pan loaf clutched under his sweaty oxter roaring,
"Here, piggy, piggy. Here, piggy, piggy. Sue'ee. Sueee. Sueee!"
Just like Johnny Cash!
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