© mycallahvorie


This here masterpiece is dedicated til

Caroline Fleck and Roy Rennix,

Downtown Radio

With best wishes and much affection


Mildred McSweedelpipes


Mickle McPee



How youse doin’.  My name’s Mickle McPee and I’ve been married til Mildred for manys the long year.  Now, I’d leck to tell youse a few wee things about our marriage, along with a few other wee tales about me life before I got hitched. So here’s a random selection of stuff that I’ve extracted from me memoirs.




 One Friday when I was still a single man, I was feelin’ a wee bit grumpy towards me mammy.  Not only was me breakfast not on the table when I got up at noon, but when I wanted a drop of milk for me tay, sure she hadn’t even got the cows milked neither.  Then when I had a look at all the new clothes she’d bought me that mornin’, sure they wasn’t even the right size.  But did she seem to care or give a damn at all about me?  Naw, she was far more interested in strokin’ her beloved cat Marmeduke and talkin’ a whole load of owl nonsense til it.  But not only that, just before I was goin’ out for the night, I realised she hadn’t ironed me shirt, polished me shoes, nor inflated the flat tyre on me car. 

So I was in desperate bad humour when I got down til the pub and after havin’ a lough of drinks, I decided I’d taych me mammy a lesson she’d never forget, by givin’ her the sack and tradin’ her in for a newer model.  And that’s when I asked this cuttie Mildred to marry me. 

Needless to say, when I woke up the follyin’ afternoon with a big thumpin’ hangover, I immediately had second thoughts and for a lough of days after, I lay real low, hopin’ me proposal’d be forgot.  But when Mildred’s big hulkin’ hallion of a da called by one day for to discuss the weddin’ arrangements, I realised that I was caught hook, line and sinker and that there’d be no chance of backin’ out.  So before I hardly knew where I was, sure she had me up the aisle.

Man, it was one of the best weddin’s I’d ever been til and we all had loads of booze and there was powerful crack.  But after about 15 hours of this, I began to feel a wee bit tired.  So I decided to call it a day and go home til me mammy and me own wee bed.  But then, just as I was goin’ out the dooer, someone reminded me that it was me own weddin’ I was attendin’ and that the days of me goin’ back til me mammy was over forever.  And begod, when I looked over at Mildred and her stern, no-nonsense face, I had this sudden premonition about what was comin’ down the track.  Bejaysus, I felt leck cryin’.  What the hell had I gone and done!






A few nights ago, Mildred dragged me along til her new friend Sandra’s for dinner.  As we rode up the drive til their place on our bone-shaker bicycles, the first thing I noticed was the size of their huge modern mansion and the two big flashy, top-of-the-range cars parked outside.  So before I’d even met Sandra and her husband, I’d made up me mind I didn’t leck them.

And things didn’t improve none neither.  Now whenever I meet someone for the first time, I just grunt at them and if they’re damned lucky, I might even shake them by the hand.  But that Sandra one, she’s intil all this owl nonsense of kissin’ you on both cheeks and slabberin’ all about yee.  Och, when she was kissin’ me on both cheeks, I just wished I hadn't shaved.

Now while Sandra and Mildred was hashin’ away til each other, Sandra’s husband Mark tried chattin’ til me.  But his attempts only lasted for about two minutes before he gave up.

Not long after, we went intil the dinin’ room.  The first thing I noticed was these enormous wine glasses which raised me spirits a bit, for I was certain I was in for a good sup.  But sure they only poured a wee drop intil the bottom of each glass.  Now the way I look at it, if someone gives you a big glass, then they should fill it right up til the top and to hell with all this owl nonsense about stickin’ your snout intil it, for to smell its aroma.

But despite everythin’, I was lookin’ forward til a damned good big feed.  But sure all I got was a plate with a few wee bits and pieces of strange lookin’ food stuck in the middle of it.  Sure I had the whole damned lot down the hatch in about 10 seconds flat!

Well, to cut a long story short, when it came til time for to say goodbye, Sandra wasn’t in no rush to come over and kiss me on both cheeks.  In fact, I could tell from the cut of her, that she’d have preferred takin’ me by the throat! 




Now one of our neighbours is an owl doll called Gladys and because she has no man to love, she loves her pets instead.   First of all, there was her wee dog Sherlock.  Man, she was that close til that wee dog, that she trayted it leck it was a child.  Every day when they was goin’ out, she’d put a wee coat on it, wee bootees on its feet and on the top of its head, she’d place a wee Sherlock Holmes hat.  In fact, the only thing that was missin’ was a wee pipe in its wee gob.

And when it did its business, she’d immediately reach for her bag and pull out a tissue for to wipe its wee arse.  But unfortunately she let it off the lead one day and it ran straight intil the jaws of a big fierce Rottweiler called Moriarty and sadly, that was the end of Sherlock.

The next pet she got was a cat called Tiddles.  But although she loved that cat as much as she’d loved Sherlock, the routine was a kinda different each day, for the cat didn’t leck goin’ for walks on a lead, wearin’ clothes or havin’ its wee arse wiped.  So they just stayed at home instead.

However, one day Tiddles climbed so high up a tree, it couldn’t get down and so the fire brigade had to be called.  Well the boys came along, scaled the tree and rescued Tiddles.  Now Gladys was that grateful, she insisted the boys come in for a cup of tay.

Well it was when Gladys was wavin’ them off in their big red fire ingine that she heard a yaowl and loud squelch and when she went to investigate, she found the nicest wee cat mat you’d ever see in your whole life.

Gladys has a goldfish now.  My goodness, but I hope nawthin’ happens til it!!




Mildred’s owl ma Aggie is still alive and kickin’.  Now they say that you should always look at a girl’s mother before you marry her.  Well unfortunately, it’s a piece of advice I’ve always regretted not takin’, for Mildred’s ma is an owl battleaxe, just leck what Mildred’s become herself over the years.

Well anyway, Aggie lives on her own and Mildred drags me along to visit her for lunch every Sunday.  Now Aggie’s that thrifty that she never starts cookin’ until we get there, for fear of us not turnin’ up and the ingredients for the meal goin’ til loss.  So when we arrive, we always have to sit about waitin’ in the parlour, while Aggie starts makin’ the lunch from scratch in the kitchen, which seems to take forever, on account of her bein’ so slow.

And it’s the same owl thing week in, week out.  She calls it Scotch Broth, but I have another name for it, which you won’t find in no recipe book.  Well anyway, while she’s makin’ this here concoction, she always has a feg on, which she never takes out of her gob and as a result, there’s always a big long grey ash on the end of it.

Now sometimes when I’m on me way til the bathroom, I look intil the kitchen and I see her there laynin’ over the pot, stirrin’ this evil lookin’ brew.  But there’s one thing that puzzles me no end. There’s never any ashtray in sight, nor any sign of ash on the flooer, worktop or cooker.  So when the long grey ash eventually falls off her feg, where does it go? 




For some peculiar raison or another, Mildred’s never done traytin’ me leck a dog.  From the moment I open me eyes in the mornin’ til I close them at night, she’s on at me the whole time, naggin’, moanin’ and yappin’.  But the way I look at it, she should be very grateful that I’m not one of them husbands, who gets under their wife’s feet while they’re tryin’ to work.

Well one day recently, Mildred was worse than usual and it got so bad, that I let rip at her.

“Och for God’s sake,” I roared, “will you stop traytin’ me leck a dog!”       

“I’ll trayte you leck a dog if I want!” she scrayched back defiantly.

“Och, whatever you leck,” I growled, “trayte me leck a dog if you want ..... see if I care!”  Well, she took huff at this and there follyed the silent traytment.  Aye, she didn’t say one word til me for the rest of the afternoon and my goodness, but it was heaven. 

Well when it came near taytime, she went intil the kitchen and before long, these lovely smells was waftin’ out about the place.  My goodness, I began to feel ravenous and by the time she called me intil the kitchen, sure I was hardly fit to make it there, because I was that wake with hunger. 

Now when I sat down at the table with me knife and fork in each hand, that’s when I got the quare gunk, for instead of puttin’ the plateful of lovely grub down in front of me, she put it down on the flooer in front of the dog, who didn’t say “naw” and immediately got stuck in. 

Now while I was lookin’ at all this in utter amazement, she plonked the dog’s bowl full of Pedigree Chum down in front of me.  Well as hungry as I was, sure I wasn’t gonna ate none of that!




One day recently while I was watchin’ TV, I glanced out the windy and saw that Mildred was outside on the top of the big barn, tryin’ to fix the roof.   Well anyway, the next thing I noticed was her sailin’ down through the air.  I therefore assumed that she was either larnin’ to fly, or she’d slipped and fallen.  So I got up from me chair and got down on me knees – not to pray for Mildred mind you, but to set the video recorder, so that it would record the rest of the programme I was watchin’.  I then strolled out til where Mildred was lyin’ in haype groanin’.

“Are you all right?” I asked her.

“Do I look all right!” she scrayched. “For God’s sake, call an ambulance.”  So I dandered back intil the house and dialled 999.

Well when we got intil the hospital, they took that long seein’ til her, that I started to get scarred – in case I wouldn’t back in time for the start of the soaps on TV.

But to cut a long story short, they eventually got her patched up and out she came, all bandaged up and on a set of crutches.  Man but I was quare and relieved to see that she was fit enough to come home – for I was gettin’ fierce hungry and I needed her back home in the kitchen, for to make me my tay.




I got that fed up payin’ high bar prices and also wakin’ up with a hangover and havin’ no cure about the place, that I decided to make some homebrew.  So I secretly got all the ingredients and equipment and started the brewin’ process in the owl shed, which is me sanctuary and a place Mildred never goes near. 

Man every mornin’, I used to sneak out til the shed for to inspect me beer and was I not lookin’ forward til the time, when it’d be ready to drink.  Mind you, I didn’t tell Mildred nawthin’ about it and as far as I was concerned, she didn’t have a clue as til what I was up til. 

Then one night, when the beer was just about ready to drink, I had to go out for a darts match.  But when I returned home I got the quare gunk, for Mildred had all her mates up.  My goodness, they was all in the front room, cacklin’ and scraychin’ leck a coven of owl witches and I could tell from the sound of them, that they was all as full as shucks.   But if that wasn’t bad enough, sure it was nawthin’ til the shock I got, when I realised they’d drained every last drop of me homebrew beer!




One day I larnt that me uncle Jack had died and left me a fair stash of cash.  Well there was no way I was gonna tell Mildred, for if I had, she’d have been lookin’ for some of it for the house or somethin’ just as daft.  So when I eventually got me hands on the money, I hid it all in me secret hidey-hole under the loose flooer boord in the front room.

But a few days later, when I was away up the country on me holidays, Mildred took it intil her head to redecorate the front room.  Now I’ve got to hand it til her, she did a grand job.  Aye, the newly painted windies and ceilin’ looked great and the new wallpaper was akinda nice too. However, I got the quare gunk when I saw she’d laid that modern laminated wood stuff all over the whole flooer as well.  My goodness, was I not downhearted.  I mane, how was I gonna get til me cash now!

Well the next mornin’, Mildred went shoppin’.  Now there was nawthin’ unusual about that.  However, when she returned with her hair all done and a whole pile of new clothes and a funny wee smirk on her face, well that WAS unusual!




I recently got that fed up with Mildred’s yappin’, that I decided that the only way to get any pace was to find meself a wee job.  So when I noticed they was lookin’ for an attendant for the public loo down in the town, I was fierce interested, especially as it was right beside the bookie’s and me favourite pub.  I also knew, that with regard til the claynin’ side of things, sure I could always order Mildred to slip down from time til time durin’ the day and do it all for me.

However, after some thought, I decided agin applyin’.  First of all, there didn’t appear to be any career prospects and this wouldn’t have suited an ambitious buck leck me.  Secondly, it wouldn’t have looked too good on me CV.  I mane, if at some later stage, I went for an interview for some high-powered job with some big company, sure they’d be shoutin’ “next!” as soon as they’d see ‘public loo attendant’ on me CV.

But the main raison why I didn’t apply was because owl Lizzie was still workin’ there and I didn’t want nawthin’ to do with her, follyin’ a bad experience I’d had with her a wee while previous.

One day I’d walked intil the men’s loo just after she’d mopped the flooer and she clicked her owl sour tongue when she noticed me footprints on the wet flooer.        

“Och, if only I’d known you’d just done the flooer,” I sneered at her, “sure I’d have flapped me arms, flown in and hovered over the urinal.”  Well bejaysus, she gave me hell and ate the face off me.  It was desperate and I wasn’t none too playsed, let me tell yee.  I mane, I went in there nearly every day in life.  So it was hardly the right way for her to trayte one of her best customers, now was it!




One day Mildred gave me a shoppin’ list and told me that if I didn’t do the shoppin’, we’d starve.  Now I didn’t want me mates to see me carryin’ bags of shoppin’, so I moaned and groaned about havin’ to do a woman’s job.  However, I didn’t relish the idea of goin’ hungry neither.  So I eventually caved in and away I trudged.

Well after I’d got everythin’, I fell intil chat with this doll Gladys, who was just in front of me in the checkout queue.  Man, it was a lovely wee chat we had, let me tell yee and I became that enamoured with her, that I started to really lookin’ forward til gettin’ Mildred rizz, by tellin’ her all about what a lovely woman Gladys was.  Aye, I couldn’t hardly wait to tell her in a barbed sort of a way, that it was an awful pity all weemen couldn’t be as nice as Gladys.

Now not only was I really enjoyin’ me chat with Gladys, but the checkout queue was movin’ quick as well.  So I was sure I’d be out in plenty of time for that race down in the bookies, that I was gonna bet on.

Well more fool me!  First of all, when it came til Gladys’s turn, she started hashin’ til the checkout woman.  Then of coorse, there was somethin’ in her basket with no price on it and someone had go and get it.  Then there was somethin’ she’d forgot and away she went for to fetch it – and bejaysus, she took ages!   But if that wasn’t bad enough, when eventually everythin’ had gone through, out came the coupons and there follyed a long discussion as til what was valid and what wasn’t.  After that, she got out her purse and started countin’ out all this change.  But to make matters worse, sure she didn’t have enough and there follyed a whole pile more discussion as til what she’d layve behind.

And it was ONLY THEN that she started to pack.  My goodness, I was gratin’ me teeth out of frustration and if I’d had any hair left at all, sure I’d have pulled that out as well.  Bejaysus, by the time that damned woman was finished, sure I was near fit to take her by the throat.  As for me horse, sure it was on its way home by the time I got down til the bookies! 




One stormy day recently, Joey and Tommy came intil the bar.  Now because it was so windy outside, their hair was all askew.  So as Tommy was orderin’ two whiskies for to warm them up, follyed by two stouts to then cool them down, Joey took out his comb for to get his hair back intil some kinda order.  Then after the drink had been set up, Tommy decided he wanted to sort his hair out too and so he asked Joey for the loan of his manky owl comb, which was full of owl hair, yella bits and other owl stuff that would have turned your stomach.

Well as Tommy started combin’, Joey took out his glasses and began to read his newspaper. Then when Joey'd finished readin’, Tommy decided that he'd leck to have a wee read himself.  And that's when he asked Joey for the loan of his glasses.  Now when Tommy started readin’ the newspaper, Joey decided that he was feelin’ a wee bit peckish and so he got a big bag of paynuts. 

Later when Tommy'd finished readin’, he noticed that Joey hadn't finished all the paynuts.  So he decided that he'd complete the job for him.  And that's when he turned til Joey and asked him for the loan of his false choppers.  Well my goodness, Joey didn't hesitate one second. He took them out of his gob, handed them over til Tommy and although they was all clogged up with nuts, Tommy didn't even give them a wipe, before he stuck them intil his gob and started hanchin away leck billio on the rest of the paynuts. 




Now although Mildred nearly always does the shoppin’, there came one day when she wasn’t able and I had to go.  So she gave me a food list and some money and off I went, moanin’ and groanin’ every step of the way.  However, when I got intil the suppermarket, I was that amazed at all the 2 for 1 bargains goin’, that I soon forgot all about me bad mood.  I also forgot all about Mildred’s food list and instead, I got stuck intil snappin’ up all these 2 for 1 bargains. 

Now I thought Mildred would be fierce playsed at all the money I’d saved with these here bargains.  But it was totally the opposite and man, did she not lay intil me.

“Och, what’s all this rubbish!” she scrayched, “sure we’ll never use ANY of it!! ..... I mane what do we want two leather chamois’s for? ..... sure we haven’t even got a car!”

Well later on near dinner time, Mildred went intil the kitchen.  Now normally it wouldn’t have been too long, until there’d have been delicious smells waftin’ through the house.  But that day was different and when I went intil the kitchen to investigate, I found her sittin’ at the table readin’ a newspaper, with nawthin’ on the go on the cooker.  So I was quare and surprised when she called me in shortly afterwards for me dinner.  She surprised me even further when she said there was gonna be a lot of courses, because we normally never have more than two.

Well I got the quare gunk when she placed the first course down in front of me, for it was the two books I’d got chaype on how to larn Russian in 5 aisy lessons.

“Now let’s see what I can find you for your second course,” she said, as she started rustlin’ through me bags of shoppin’. 




Believe it or not, I sometimes used to go shoppin’ with Mildred til the locial suppermarket.  Havin’ said that, I didn’t actually do none of the shoppin’, because my role was simply to folly Mildred around with the trolley. 

Now although the job shouldn’t have taken more than about 15 minutes, it always took a whole pile longer. This was because Mildred kept bumpin’ intil these peculiar weemen, who actually seemed to leck her for some strange raison or another.  Now I didn’t really mind them stoppin’ to hash, because it gave me the chance to duke in behind Mildred and have a REALLY good look at all the talent that was there.

However, the last time I went shoppin’ with Mildred, things sorta got out of hand.  Aye, Mildred bumped intil this owl doll she hadn’t seen for a while and they started up a conversation.  Well that was alright for a while, but bejaysus the hashin’ went on that long, that I started to get fierce fed up and decided that it was time to break it all up.  So I started to make the other woman feel fierce unaisy, by starin’ contemptuously intil her trolley, shakin’ me head from side til side and tut, tut, tutin’ scornfully.  Man, it was no time at all till she stopped listenin’ til Mildred and instead her eyes flitted anxiously between me and her trolley, as she tried to work out what the hell I was tut, tut, tutin’ about.  Needless to say, Mildred got the hump at not bein’ listened til and stomped off in a huff.

Aye, as Mildred’d tell yee herself, I was a real joy to go shoppin’ with.




One fine day, I decided to go sweemin’.  So I found me owl togs and I headed off down til the locial sweemin’ pool. 

But it wasn’t much fun.  First of all, there was a squad of school chillder, scraychin’, shoutin’ and dive-bombin’ and the only time any of them ever stopped arsin’ about, was to take a piddle in the pool. 

Then there was the professionals doin’ their mandatory 50 lengths or so and whenever they went past me, not only did they near drownd me, but their elbows kept hittin’ me and their toe nails kept scrapin’ me. 

So I was quare and glad when they all got out.  But the next thing I heard was the dreaded babble of a whole pile of weemen and when I looked round, I saw what looked leck a battalion of the Aquatic Division of the Weemen’s Institute emergin’ from the weemen’s changin’ room.  Man, I was quare and glad I wasn’t in their road, for I’d have been trampled underfoot.

Me heart sank.  However, when they all got in, they seemed more interested in hashin’ than sweemin’.  So I remained well away from them, at the far end of the pool.

However, it wasn’t long until somethin’ else annoyed me.  Aye, I suddenly noticed somethin’ ghastly floatin’ on top of the water.  So I roared indignantly at one of the staff and he got a big pole and fished it out, before disappearin’ out the back with it.

But what a shock I got next!  When I looked round, I saw waves of them weemen chuggin’ up the pool towards me.  It was time to go!!  However, there was just one wee sneg.  The thing that had been floatin’ on the top of the water and which the boyo had fished out, had been none other than me owl togs.  My goodness, I was totally in the buff and all those weemen was gettin’ closer and closer!!!

Well, to cut a long story short, as well as bein’ barred from the most of the pubs round our wee town, I’m now also barred from the sweemin’ pool as well! 




I recently decided to take up cyclin’ again and so I dug out me owl bone-shaker from behind all the rubbish in the shed.  But I got the quare gunk when I saw the rats had ate the saddle, that the chain was all rusty and had fallen off and that the carbide lamp on the front wouldn’t work no more neither.  So I decided to buy a new bike.

However, that was aisier said than done.  Man, when I went down til the cycle shop, all they seemed to have was these flashy things with no mudguards on them.  But what hell use would they be in a place leck Northern Ireland!  Sure every time I’d go out cyclin’, I’d come back with a wet arse.

Well anyway, I did eventually find one with mudguards.  So the next thing was to get a helmet.  But once again, they only had these flashy modern lookin’ things.

“You don’t happen to have one designed leck a flat cap?” I asked the man.  He shook his head.  But then I had an idea.  So I put a helmet on and then perched me flat cap on top of it.  But sure that didn’t work neither, cos me cap kept fallin’ off.

Later when I got home, I turned til Mildred.

“You know,” I said, “an owl buck leck me wearin’ one of them flashy helmets ..... sure it’d only make me look leck an eegit.”

“Och darlin’, you shouldn’t worry about lookin’ leck an eegit,” she replied, “sure everyone already knows, you ARE an eegit!!”




As soon as Mildred told me that she was goin’ away for a day and’d be stayin’ with her sister overnight, I was quare and playsed.  But she had one BIG problem to solve before she went: who was gonna make me my dinner that evenin’?  However, that was quickly resolved, when our neighbour Flo said she’d do it.

Well anyway, Mildred left and that evenin’ Flo came til our dooer, with a big plate covered in a cloth.  Now I was quare and relieved about this, cos I was absolutely wake with hunger.

Later on, while I was out the back lookin’ for the beer I’d hidden at the top of the garden, who should stick their snout over the hedge, but the bowel Flo.

“Well,” she said cheerily, with a big smile on her face, “how did your dinner go?”

“Och, it was great,” said I, “the dog really enjoyed it.”  My goodness, the first thing that disappeared in a flash was her big smile and the next thing was herself, as she stomped away, lookin’ as black as thunder.  

Well you know, when I went til bed that night I couldn’t sleep at all, on account of me belly rumblin’ from hunger the whole night.  Then the next mornin’, there wasn’t no breakfast in bed.  But on top of that, when I did eventually get downstairs, sure the TV wasn’t on neither and I had to turn it on meself.  And things didn’t get no better. So what with one thing and another - and although I hate to admit this - I was quare and glad when Mildred got back.




I had a fierce bad cold yesterday and when I was grumblin’ about it til me owl pal Aristotle, he tolt me that a cold won’t never layve yee, until such times as it finds itself another host, which is the only raison why it forces you to sneeze, cos this way you spread the virus.  And he went on to tell me, that if I wanted to get rid of me cold real quick, I should go intil some busy place leck a suppermarket or a popular bar, then creep up on some unsuspectin’ victim, before sneezin’ full-blast right intil their face, because if I did this successfully, the cold would find itself a new host and therefore immediately layve me.

Well I decided to folly his advice and bejaysus, I can vouch for every word he said, for after I’d sneezed right intil the face of this big rough lookin’ hallion in the suppermarket, me cold suddenly disappeared leck magic. 

Now I’m quare and playsed that me cold has now gone. The only sneg is that I now have to go and find Aristotle, for to see if he has an instant cure for a couple of black eyes and a thick lip!




I’ve just larnt that Goji berries are fierce good for you because they’re so full of anti-oxidants.  So that’s yet another thing to add til me never-endin’ list of things I should buy for the good of me health.

It seems that there’s hardly a day goes by but I don’t larn of somethin’ new, that’s supposed to be full of health enhancin’ properties.  But I am gettin’ desperate cheesed off by it all.  Not only is it a fierce tedious job continually addin’ things til me ‘GOOD FOR YOU’ list, but it takes about 3 shoppin’ trips each day to buy all these wonderful things.  Furthermore, because I’m that afraid of missin’ out on the magical effects that each thing is gonna have on me, I seem to spend the most of me time atin’ them all!  But not only that, it’s costin’ me an absolute fortune!

Aye, I really am gettin’ fed up with it all, especially as these things don’t actually make me feel any better at all.  In fact, they just make me feel bloody awful!  But what makes it even worse, is that although there is just one item on me ‘BAD FOR YOU’ list, I know from experience, that it would do me far more good than all those other things put together and make me feel so much better.  Aye, a big slap of DRINK!!!




Whenever I watch a TV programme leck Holby City or some hospital documentary, I’m always puzzled as til why they always warn the patient when they are gonna to give them an injection, that they’ll experience “a little scratch”, because whenever I’ve been in hospital, it always felt more leck a little prick, which I would suggest is a more accurate description.  But I suppose it’s all down til political correctness.  I mane, it mightn’t go down too well, if some male doctor was to approach a woman patient and tell her that he was now gonna to give her a “little prick”.

As for me wife Mildred, if she was in hospital and was told to expect a “little prick”, she’d probably reply: “Why, is me husband comin’ to visit me?”




Now one of me neighbours is an owl buck called Phil and he’s different from all the other farmers round here, in that he traytes his animals leck pets and gives them all names.  For example, his favourite hen is called Gertrude and his three bullocks are Tom, Dick and Harry.

Well I was walkin’ down the lane the other day, when I noticed he’d gone and got himself a new boar.  Bejaysus, what an odejious, ugly, revoltin’ lookin’ baste it is.  And you should see the dirt on him, and all the slabbers!  And the stink of him too!  But on top of that, sure I’d know to look at him, that he’ll obviously be good for nawthin’, except gruntin’ and stickin’ his snout intil where it’s not wanted.

Well anyway, when Phil spied me lookin’ at this here boar, he came amblin’ over, for to find out what I thought of him.

“A fine baste,” I lied, “a fine baste.” 

“Um,” he said wistfully, takin’ a pull on his pipe.

“And what name are you gonna give him?” I asked.   He took another pull on his pipe.

“Och,” he replied, “in light of what you’ve just said, I think Mickle would be a most suitable name ..... wouldn’t you agree?”




I was quare and sad when me neighbour Archie sold up and left recently, because he’d been me mucker and drinkin’ partner for manys the long year.  

Well although I wondered what sort of useless whoers’d be movin’ in, I didn’t have to wonder long.  About 3 days after Archie left, there was a rap at the dooer and because Mildred was out diggin’ drains with a shovel, I had to get up from in front of the TV and go answer the dooer meself. 

Needless to say, I was none too playsed and when I opened the dooer, I had one quare big black glower all over me face.  But this was instantly replaced by a big smile, when I saw there was a very tasty lookin’ bit of stuff, standin’ on the dooer step.

She said her name was Molly and then explained that she was gettin’ Archie’s house fit for habitation and was wonderin’ if I could give her a hand to move somethin’.

“Of coorse, of coorse,” I instantly replied and follyed her over til Archie’s, chatterin’ away merrily all the while.

Well she was a quare attractive woman and it began to cross me mind, that maybe if I played me cards right, I’d be in with a chance, especially as there was no ring on her finger, nor any mention of a husband. 

Man, I couldn’t do enough for her and I was up there every day thereafter, doin’ all sorts of jobs for her. Needless to say, Mildred wasn’t none too playsed with this new development and after a lough of days of holdin’ her whisht, she eventually let rip.

“Och, you silly owl ballocks,” she cried, “if I ever ask you do anythin’ for me, you just grumble and groan and do nawthin’ at all ..... but when that Molly one clicks her fingers, bejaysus you’re up and away to do all yee can to help her.” But I just gave her a contemptuous look and dismissed her with a wave of me hand.  Aye, I was far too busy dreamin’ about me and Molly, to be payin’ any attention til all of Mildred’s venomous yappin’ and callin’ me an owl ballocks.

A few days later, there was a rap at the dooer.  Now Mildred had just come in after buildin’ a byre and so she went to answer it.  I expected her to roar for me, to let me know it was Molly lookin’ for me.  But naw, I just heard some murmurin’ and then she disappeared.  I was of coorse very curious as til what was goin’ on and so I got up and looked out the windy.  And bejaysus, that’s when I got the quare gunk, for what did I see, but Mildred headin’ over til Archie’s, with this very handsome lookin’ man. 

Needless to say, I was desperate curious to find out who the hell he was and I couldn’t hardly wait for Mildred to get back, so I could quiz her all about him.  But she was up there for absolutely ages and it put me in fierce bad humour, especially as I could see that me tay was gonna be late.

Well anyway, when she eventually did get back, she looked sorta all aglow. 

“That’s John,” she cooed, “he’s our new neighbour.”

“Eh!” I exclaimed all disappointed. “Is he Molly’s husband then?”  She shook her head.

“Naw,” she replied, “he’s her brother ..... and he’ll be livin’ over there ..... and all on his own too ..... Molly was only gettin’ the place ready for him while he was away abroad ..... but she’s gone away back til England now ..... til her girl friend.”  Me mouth dropped open.

“But,” she went on, “if you’d spent less time tryin’ to impress her and chattin’ all about yourself, sure she’d have told you all this herself.”

Well do you know, Mildred’s up at John’s nearly every day now.  But not only that, she’s taken til brushin’ her hair, dollin’ herself up, puttin’ on warpaint and there’s always a scent of perfume about her.  It’s bloody disgraceful behaviour!  But then what else could you expect from a woman!!!




One day last week, I was walkin’ down the road whistlin’ a merry tune, when suddenly I spied with my little eye, a woman lookin’ at this here flat tyre on her car.  Well I don't know what the hell she hoped to achieve from starin’ at it leck that, cos it was hardly gonna repair itself, now was it!  But then, when it comes til cars, weemen know damn all about them, except that they have an accelerator and a steerin’ wheel, although you'd often think that they don't know much about the latter.

Well anyway, to get back til the story, this here dame gave me the sad eye and cos she was such a tasty young bit of stuff and wearin’ such a short skirt, I was all polite and offered me services til her, leck a knight in shinin’ armour rescuin’ a damsel in distress.

But bejaysus, it was an odejious job, let me tell yee.  The nuts on yon wheel was fierce tight and the drum as graysy as hell.  Sure it took me ages and I got all covered in muck and oil.  Of coorse, all the time I was workin’ at this here wheel, she was as sweet as pie and she chattered away til me all friendly leck.  So I asorta got til thinkin’, that she'd maybe taken a wee bit of a shine til me, on account of me bein’ so charmin’ and helpful and all that.

Well anyway, I eventually managed to finish the job and as I got up on til me feet all smiles, I was asorta hopin’, that seein’ as I’d done her a good turn, that maybe she’d now do a good turn for me ..... behind the ditch.  But bejaysus, she just about managed to grunt “thanks”, before jumpin’ intil her car and zoomin’ away off down the road.  Now I wasn't best playsed for a while, but then when I cooled down, I put it down til her bein' in such a hurry and that if I was patient, she’d give me my reward some other time.

Now the next day, there was a terrible steep of rain and within no time at all, I was absolutely wringin’.  So I had no choice but to seek shilter under a tree, hopin’ and prayin’ that someone would come along soon in their car and give me a lift.  But typically of coorse, there wasn’t a soul about.  Aye, whenever you’re out for a stroll on a sunny day, the whoers damn nearly take the arse off yee every couple of minutes, as they roar by in their cars.  But whenever you really want them, sure there’s never a one to be seen.

However, I eventually did hear the sound of a car approachin’ and when I looked round, I saw it was her motor comin’ over the brow of the hill.  Well me heart leapt, let me tell yee, for I was sure I’d be gettin’ me reward sooner than I’d expected.  So I jumped out on til the road with me hand up and a big smile on me face.  But bejaysus, if she didn't whizz right past me through a big puddle and nearly drownd me, before roarin’ away on up the road.  But then what else would you expect from a woman!  The ungrateful wretch!!




One of me neighbours Eddie is a crusty owl bachelor and when I was talkin’ til him theday, he told me a wee tale about blankets. Aye, a lough of weeks before, he heard this rap on the dooer of his wee cottage and when he went to see who it was, he found this very pretty young woman standin’ out on the dooer step. 

Now she was sellin’ blankets and although he had no need for any damned blankets, he was so took by her short skirt, her good looks and the very sociable way she smiled at him, that he began to hatch a wee plan and as a result, he agreed to buy a couple on hire purchase, with payments bein’ collected on a weekly basis. 

“And so what was your wee plan then?” I asked him.

“Well, it was simple,” he replied. “Me idea was that when she came back for to get the first weekly instalment, I'd put it til her straight, that either she went til bed with me, or she could go to hell and take the two blankets away with her!”

My goodness, I could hardly believe me ears.  Although Eddie’d obviously been a handsome enough sorta ram when he was young, bejaysus he’s an awful sight now.  Sure there’s more dirt on him than in a middlin’ sized garden and what wee bit of hair he has, sure it’s goin’ in all directions.  Not only that, but there’s hardly one tooth left in his head and he’s in dire need of a damned good shave.  But to top it all, there’s a bigger stink off him than you'd get off a buck goat.  Sure a more unattractive sight til weemen you couldn't find.  And him over sixty five as well!

“So what happened when she returned for the first instalment,” I asked him.

“Och, sure this here big rough lookin’ hallion turned up instead of her,” he replied, “and he tolt me it’d be him who’d be collectin’ the money every week ..... well, I wasn’t hardly gonna put me proposition til him, now was I! ..... by the way, you wouldn’t be interested in buyin’ a couple of blankets would yee?”




I believe there’s some move afoot to stop people from rattlin’ their collection boxes at yee.  Well I think it’s a damned good idea, for there’s nawthin’ more hateful than that odejious carry-on.  Man, there’s days when I’m as wicked as a bag of buck weasels and me nerves are so ragged, that when some clift goes and rattles their owl collection box right under me snout, sure I get that rizz, I’m often sorely tempted to take them by the throat and shake them til their teeth start janglin’ in their head.

Well anyway one day last week, I was goin’ intil the locial suppermarket, when this very thin, gaunt lookin’ woman stopped me.

“Could you spare me some pet food?” she pleaded, lookin’ at me with these big pitiful eyes.  Well I looked at the scrawniness of her and I instantly felt sorry for her, for I thought it was terrible sad, that a woman could have fallen on such hard times and descended til such depths.

So I layned over and whispered in her ear.

“Would you not prefer a wee sandwich?” I asked her, “sure it’d do you a lot more good than atin’ a tin of Kitty Kat.”

Well this here woman instantly looked aghast, before pointin’ at this sign beside her invitin’ people to donate pet food to a locial pet charity.  Well, it was my turn then to look aghast.  So I beetled off inside the store as quick as I could go and I got her a couple of tins of Whiskas!  But sure, it was the least I could do in the circumstances.




As I was trippin’ down the road the other mornin’, with me flat cap on and me long coat flappin’ in the breeze, I bumped intil me owl mucker Alec, who told me excitedly that he’d just got this new black puppy dog, which he’d named Bob and which, accordin’ til him, was a quare smart young dog, because he’d been able to taych it a whole pile of new tricks already. 

Well I pretended to be interested, although I was really just lookin’ forward til bein’ on me way as soon as possible. But then he invited me in to see him.  Bejaysus, sure me heart sank, for I was in no mood for such eegitry, or any damned mutt slabberin’ about me.  But sure what could I do but folly him intil the house, to see this here wonder dog.

“Right,” said Alec excitedly til this here puppy, “SIT! ..... SIT! ..... SIT!”

Well black Bob the wonder dog must have misunderstood him and thought he’d said somethin’ else, because instead of sittin’ down leck he’d been tolt, he immediately did a nice wee job instead, right there in the middle of Alec’s lovely new carpet.




The world’s goin’ clayne mad, what with all this new technology that’s about.   Aye, there’s all these new fangled gadgets around these days and to be quite honest, I don’t know what the hell the most of them is for.   Now the other day, someone asked me if I’d be gettin’ a mobile phone.  But what sort of a stupid question was that!  Why the hell would I be wantin’ a phone with wee wheels on it!!

As for video recorders, it took me 15 years to work out how to use ours and now I’m told they’re doin’ away with them and replacin’ them with DVD machines.  But as far as I’m concerned, they can keep all this new technology.   If I ever want a new gadget, I make it meself from what bits and pieces I have out in the tool shed.

For example, Mildred’s always complainin’ about the cost of elecatricity and about how I use so much of it watchin’ TV all the time.  So bein’ a bit of an inventor, I came up with this bright idea.   So I got the owl bike, put it on a stand, took the back tyre off and then put a band round the back wheel, before attachin’ it til a wee generator.

Now I thought it was a great idea and was sure Mildred would be fierce playsed.  But naw, not so.  She took one look at it and stalked off, mutterin’ that there was no way she was gonna pedal on that bike for hours on end generatin’ elecatricity.  Och, she’s nawthin’ but a Luddite and an ungrateful wretch!




It has always been quite clear since the dawn of time, that us men are the superior sex in every sense of the word.  As for that other lot, although they’ve tried their best to imitate and match us boyos, sure all their efforts over the centuries have been laughable and in vain, which is why we mock them for tryin’ to be men and dismiss them contemptuously as bein’ nawthin’ more than ‘wee men’, which is where the term ‘weemen’ originally came from.

But it’s strange you know, although it’s obviously pointless for weemen to try and compete with us men, they never seem to accept that reality and as a result, they never quit tryin’.  However, the struggle eventually always takes its toll on them and they all eventually begin to flag when they get older and that’s when they begin to crack up and start goin’ all odd and peculiar.  

Well many moons ago, there was this group of very frustrated owl weemen, who had got that fed up tryin’ to keep up with us men, that they started a weemen’s movement and they put a rallyin’ cry article in a national newspaper, which started off with the follyin’ words: “Men, oh pause for a while and consider how you can give us women our fair and just rights.”  It then went on to spout a whole pile of other owl nonsense, which is too ludicrous to mention here. 

Now although this here newspaper article was ignored by men, it was read by most weemen, who started to refer to it as the ‘Men, oh pause’ newspaper article. Man, was it not debated far and wide by bitter twisted weemen everywhere!  And whenever any of these here witches got up to praych about weemen’s rights, men used to screw up their faces and instantly dismiss them sneeringly as bein’ yet another one of one of them damned ‘menopause’ weemen. So that’s where the word ‘menopause’ came from.  Aye, when weemen eventually reach that stage in life, when they go all odd and peculiar, men describe them as bein’ weemen who are sufferin’ from the ‘menopause’ syndrome. 




It was Mildred’s birthday recently and although I don’t normally never buy her nawthin’, I decided to get her two wee things this year, just for a change.

Now the first thing I bought her was a wee pair of sharp scissors, which I thought would be great for trimmin’ that big black moustache what she has on her upper lip. Bejaysus, you should see it.  A regimental sergeant major would be fierce proud of it!

As for the second thing I got her, it was a pair of sheep shears.  It’s not leck we’ve got any sheep about the farm nor nawthin’ leck that.  It’s just that I thought they’d be handy for daylin’ with those big, bushy armpits of her.  Jaysus, they’re an awful bloody sight!  But not only that, I hate it when she raises her arm, for I’m desperate scarred a rat or summat awful’s gonna lepp out at me.

Well anyway, Mildred wasn’t none too happy with me two presents. But then that’s hardly surprisin’. I mane you just couldn’t playse weemen, now could youse boys.

But the present that surprised me the most was the one me daughter Martha bought.  When I asked Martha a couple of weeks before Mildred’s birthday what she was gonna get her, she tolt me that she’d already bought her a two week fishin’ holiday away up the country, which surprised me no end, because whereas I love fishin’, I know for a fact that Mildred hates it.  But I didn’t pass no remarks about it at the time.

Now when it came til the day of Mildred’s birthday, Martha came round with the present.  But instead of givin’ the envelope with all the holiday stuff in it til Mildred, she gave it til me instead, which totally confused me.  So I took Martha til one side.

“Look Martha,” said I til her, “it’s not my birthday theday you know, it’s your ma’s.”  Well bejaysus, she rared up at me somethin’ desperate.

“Do you think I’m some kind of a bloody eegit or somethin’!” she roared. “Of coorse I know it’s me ma’s birthday theday.”

“Well,” said I back til her, “why are you givin’ the fishin’ holiday til ME, rather than her then?”

“Because,” she replied, “when you go away on that there fishin’ holiday, me ma’ll get two whole weeks total pace from yee, you miserable owl whoer yee ..... and what better birthday present could I give her than that!!”

Well Jaysus, have youse ever hear the lecks of that in all your life! I mane, do your daughters talk til youse ones leck that.  My goodness, the chillder of the theday have absolutely no respect whatsoever for their elders and betters!




Although where I live is a very nice town, there’s one wee sneg about it: there’s an awful lot of dog’s poo on the streets.  This manes that when I’m wanderin’ about stickin’ me neb intil other people’s business, I always have to keep lookin’ down, for to make sure I avoid it and don’t step in it. 

The bonus of this however, is that I find all the small change that the chillder don’t leck carryin’ about in their pockets and which they therefore toss out on til the ground.  Aye, it’s nice wee way of makin’ money, let me tell yee and last year, I earned £18.74 before tax. 

But to get back til the dog’s poo, no matter how careful I am, there inevitably comes that time, when I’m walkin’ along and I lift me eyes momentarily from the pavement and bejaysus next thing, I feel that dreaded wee skid, which always only ever manes one thing - that me foot has come intil contact with a nice big mound of revoltin’ dog’s poo.

Well although it’s disgustin’, most people can nearly always wipe it off on the side of the kerb or on a clump of grass. But the thing that really sickens my arse, is that when it happens til me, I’m nearly always wearin’ me Doctor Martens with those big deep treads on the soles and as a result, kerbstones and clumps of grass are no damned use at all for claynin’ it off.

But with regard til them ones that don’t clayne up after their mutts, I often wonder what they themselves think, when they experience that dreaded wee skid themselves.




With regard til them recyclin’ boxes that the council’s given us, one of me neighbours recently told me that she doesn’t put their empty beer cans and cider bottles in theirs and when I asked her why not, she wouldn’t say.  But I reckon it’s cos she’s afeared that if she did, then them boys on the recyclin’ lorry would quickly spread the word around the whole town, that “them ones that live at no 9 Eegits Row are desperate boozers!”.  Well if that is her raison, she should folly my example and do what I do.  Now although my box is always full of empty porter and whisky bottles, nobody would ever know that I touched a drop. This is because my next dooer neighbour is a teetotal Methodist praycher and I always switch my box with his on collection day - when he’s not lookin’ of coorse.  

But do you know the way you can make people feel very uncomfortable, when you stop and study the contents of their suppermarket trolleys with contempt.  Well you can achieve the same result by lookin’ intil their recyclin’ boxes.  That’s why I always look forward til recyclin’ day. 

Aye, I wander about and when I spy one of these here boxes, I stop and stare at it until I’m sure the owner is lookin’ out the windy at me.  I then bend down and take the lid off the box, before straightenin’ up again.  The next thing I do is stare down at the contents of the box and shake me head disdainfully from side til side.  I even take bottles and cans out and hold them up for all the whole world to have a damned good look at.  Then, when I’m sure I’ve got the box owners rizz good and proper, I move on til me next victim.

Now although this annoys people no end, very few of them come out and have a go at me. This is because they know that if they do, I’ll go and get me Rottweiler and set it on them.  Aye, Mildred certainly does have her uses.




While I was walkin’ down the lane yisterday mornin’, it was me misfortune to bump intil this owl farmer who’s called Bob the Blow, on account of him forever blowin’ about what a great man he is and all the marvellous things he’s ever done.  Now he was carryin’ a shotgun and when I asked him what he was up til, he told me he was out after magpies.

“And how many have you shot so far theday then?” I asked him.

“49,” he replied nonchalantly.

“49!” I exclaimed incredulously.

“Aye,” he replied, “and all of them with just the one cat-erich.”

“You shot 49 magpies with just the one cartridge!” I retorted in total amazement.

“Aye,” he said most proudly, “just the one cat-erich.”

“And how the hell did you manage that?” I asked him all puzzled.

“Well you see,” he replied, “I came across this here tree and my goodness, but there was 49 magpies sittin’ up on the one branch.”

“49 magpies sittin’ up on the one branch!”

“Aye,” he replied, “so I raised me gun ..... and after aimin’ real careful-leck, I pulled the tricker ..... and the whole 49 fell deed at me feet ..... all with only the one shot!”

“My goodness,” I exclaimed, “that was an absolutely amazin’ feat Bob ..... but here, when you’re tellin’ people about this feat, why don’t you just round the figure up from 49 til 50 magpies.”  He looked at me all aghast.

“What!” he retorted, all shocked.  “Och, sure I wouldn’t tell a lie about one bird.”         




One day, when I went up til King Artur's Court for to visit me owl mucker Artur, I found him busy tryin’ to fix this here owl clock.  I immediately looked round for Artur's wife May, but he tolt me that she was messin’ about out the back somewhere.  Well when I heard that I was fierce playsed, cos it meant me and Artur'd be fit to talk freely, without her continually stickin’ her oar in.  However, no sooner had Artur sat me down near the big roarin’ fire, than the kitchen dooer opened and May stuck her head in and nodded at me with a divilish look on her face.

“Well,” she cackled, “is that owl clock goin yit?”  Artur shook his head and replied “naw” before he started takin’ it til pieces yet again.

“Och, this is about the tenth time you've started takin’ it til pieces ..... are you never gonna to get it to go at all?”  Artur shook his head defiantly.

“Look,” he said, “this here owl clock is definitely gonna go, let there be no doubt about that at all!”  But May didn't look none too convinced and she disappeared out the back again.

“Now before we go any further Mickle, would yee leck a wee sup?” he asked. But then he realised that that was one damned foolish question for to be askin’ me and so without waitin’ for a reply, he went away intil another room and returned in no time at all with a bottle of what looked leck water.

“Here,” he said, “have a wee drop of the craytur ..... I got it yisterday.”  Well as soon as Artur mentioned the word ‘craytur’, I knew he'd laid his hands on some poteen.  He then got a tall glass and he put a drop of lemon intil it, some sugar and a good pour of the craytur.  He then filled the whole glass with hot water from the kettle on the range, before givin’ it all a damned good stir.

“There you are,” he said, “that's such good stuff, it'd even put hairs on a woman's chest!”  And I took a sip and found it was indeed the real McCoy.

Now as we chattered merrily away, he continued workin’ on this here owl clock and when he had it all reassembled yet again, he gave it a couple of shakes. But bejaysus, despite all his efforts, the damned thing still wouldn't go tick-tock.  It was at that point that May reappeared yet again.

“Och, that owl clock’s never gonna go,” she sneered and with that she disappeared out the back again, hootin’ with mockin’ laughter.  Artur sighed and shook his head.

“She seems determined to annoy yee theday, Artur!” I said.  Artur shook his head from side til side and smiled.

“But not any more,” he said. And with that, he arose from his chair, grabbed a holt of the clock and he made his way across the kitchen til the back dooer, where he put the clock down on the step.

“Well, is that owl clock goin yet?” asked May yet again, with a sneer all over her chops. Artur looked over at her in amongst the pigs.

“Aye, it's goin all right,” he replied ..... and with that, he drew back his foot ..... and kicked it half way up the yard. 




Man, I hate it when Mildred starts dustin’!  There I am, sittin’ in a haype watchin’ TV in the front room and in she comes, with that dreaded duster in her hand.  Well what with all her bobbin’ and weavin’ about and her hummin’ away, that’s the end of me watchin’ the TV.

But what a performance!  Firstly, all the owl ornaments have to be lifted and put til one side, before the actual dustin’ begins.  Now if it was down til me, it’d be one quick wipe and that’d be it.  But not her.  Instead she slowly wipes the dust very carefully intil a dust pan.  You see, her theory is that if you just run a duster over a surface, the dust only goes up in the air, before settlin’ back down a wee while later. So she believes that the ONLY real way to get rid of dust is to actually GET RID of it.  So it ALL has to go OUT of the house and intil the bin.

You know, she once told me that the majority of dust is actually wee tiny bits of human skin.  Well that started me athinkin’.  Now if your house was previously occupied by other people and has never been dusted properly, then all their microscopic bits and pieces’ll be there too.  What a thought!  I mane, it’s bad enough havin’ to share me house with Mildred, let alone a whole pile of other people as well!  So I suppose her way of dustin’ IS actually the best way. 

Now with all this sunny weather we’ve been havin’, I’m feelin’ fierce druthy. The only sneg is I can’t go til the pub, cos I’m short of funds.  So if any of youse have a dust problem, just slip me a few quid and I’ll send Mildred round for to sort youse out.




What are eyebrows for?  Now your nose is for stickin’ intil other people’s business, your eyes are for keepin’ a close watch on what your neighbours are up til and your ears are for listenin’ til all the locial gossip.  Furthermore, nearly all the other bits and bobs on your body seem to have some definite purpose.  But eyebrows, I just can’t think what they’re for.

Well anyway, I asked me owl mate Aristotle about it one day and he suggested that maybe we have them to stop the sweat from our brow runnin’ intil our eyes.  Well that theory could be true enough as far as weemen is concerned, because they’re born to work and so you’d expect the sweat to be baylin’ off them.  But us men, we’re born to take it aisy and as a result, we never ever break out intil sweat.  So that theory obviously can’t be right as far as us boyos is concerned. 

But anyway, eyebrows is a damned nuisance.  For example, when I’m sittin’ watchin’ TV, I can hardly see anythin’, because it’s leck lookin’ through a couple of owl bushes hangin’ over me eyes!




Have youse ever wondered why weemen are nearly always in such bad humour?  Well, I know the answer – and it’s quite simple. You see, contrary til what all weemen would have you believe, they actually do fart, just the same as us boyos.  The only difference is that they don’t do it while they’re in company. 

Whereas we men just let rip any time we feel the need, they have to hold it in till they’re on their own.  My goodness, it must be torture for them.  So you see, if you walked around continually with clenched buttocks, would you not be in fierce bad humour all the time too!




Grumpy owl weemen!  Well Mildred’s certainly one of them all right!  But not only is she fierce grumpy, she’s jumpy, stumpy, frumpy, lumpy, as well as bein’ desperate humpy too. Man, you just couldn’t playse her!

Now I don’t have a clue as til why it is, but she has a sour owl face on her the whole damned time.  In fact, I sometimes have to get the photie album out and have a look at that photie of her when she was still young, free and single, for to remind me of what she looked leck, when she smiled.




Although Mildred’s always grumpy, I have this very unaisy feelin’ that I’m goin’ to experience somethin’ a lot worse in the not too distant future.  It’s all to do with that piggy bank of hers, which she keeps on the dresser and intil which she puts all the loose change from her purse.

Now there’s manys the time when I’m in desperate bad need of a cure, but have no entrance fee intil the pub.  So whenever she’s out tarmacin’ the lane up til the house, or buildin’ a byre or whatever, I take the opportunity to unscrew that yoke on the bottom of the piggy bank.  I then extract all her money and replace it with metal washers, so she’ll be none the wiser.

But somethin’ is tellin’ me, that the proverbial you know what is gonna hit the fan any day now, when she empties her piggy bank and finds all the money has gone. In fact, every time she goes anywhere near that there piggy bank, I start edgin’ towards the dooer.  However, I’ll keep youse posted on what happens – that’s if I’m still alive of coorse!




The mane raison I married Mildred was because she had a great figure – aye, a great figure in the bank!!!  She wasn’t short of a bob or two, let me tell yee.  Boys a dear, it did me heart good to watch her herdin’ her dowry of 25 cows the 8 miles from her home til mine.  However, although I was happy enough to keep the cows, I just wish I could have returned her as faulty goods.

But I’m sure youse ones must think I’m desperate hard on Mildred and if you ever met her and larnt all about the good deeds she does for all our neighbours, you’d probably think she was a saint, who deserved to go til heaven.  But don’t be fooled; it’s all a front! 

Aye, Mildred has an ulterior motive for bein’ such a saint.  You see, she’s convinced that I’m already doomed to go til hell and after sufferin’ so many years of hell with me already, she doesn’t want to go there again.  So she’s doin’ all she can to ensure that when she kicks the bucket, she’ll be sent til heaven and not til hell, to be with me, for eternity.




When I recently heard Victoria Beckham bummin’ on about how many fabulous friends she has, I decided to count all me friends on me fingers.  However, I never got past me second finger.  Aye, I’ve only two friends – Goldie and me shadow, who’s been with me every step of the way through life.

Now Goldie is me goldfish and him and me have a lot in common.  For example, we’re both good for nawthin’ eegits, who spend all day goin’ round and round in circles.  Furthermore, while his house is his goldfish bowl, from where he looks out ontil the world all day long, my house is my goldfish bowl, where I go from windy til windy, lookin’ out ontil the world all day long.

Well anyway, I used to feel fierce sorry for Goldie, because I felt he led a desperate dreary borin’ life, goin’ round and round yon bowl all day long.  Of coorse, I used to try and lighten his day by talkin’ til him.  But sure he was leck everyone else ..... he just ignored me!

But now someone’s just told me that a goldfish only has a 5 second memory span, which means in effect, that every time he sets off on another round of his bowl, sure he’s actually startin’ off on yet another brand new journey of adventure, full of excitin’ and interestin’ sights.  So I no longer feel at all sorry for Goldie.  In fact to be quite honest, I feel desperate envious of him!




It was always my understandin’ that if an egg floats in water, it manes that the egg is bad. I was therefore fierce surprised when I heard some owl doll statin’ the opposite recently and that a floatin’ egg indicates that it’s fresh.  Now I was sure she was just talkin’ a whole load of owl ballocks and that’s why I decided I would check it out on the intronet, where I came up with the follyin’:

“Why do some eggs float in water?

Old eggs float in water because of a large air cell. The air cell forms as the egg cools after bein’ laid and, as the egg ages, air enters the egg and the air cell becomes larger, which makes the egg float.”

But if anyone still has any doubts, I would suggest that they carry out the follyin’ experiment. First of all, loiter round a chicken run and when you eventually hear a chicken goin’ bonkers, you’ll know it has just laid an egg, which you should immediately retrieve and place in a bowl of water.  You’ll then see that although the tip of the egg may point towards the surface of the water, the vast majority of it will be below the water surface. 

To complete the experiment, you should hold on til the same egg and after say 6 months, place it in a bowl of water and you will see that the egg now floats on the water surface. 

Now, if any man should happen to drop the egg ontil the flooer durin’ this latter part of the experiment, I would suggest they make a bee-line for the kitchen dooer and layve it til the wife to clear up the mess, because I can tell yee from experience, that the smell is absolutely odejious.

But while I’m on the subject of eggs, someone told me the other day that if you want to find out if an egg is soft or hard-boiled, you should spin it on a worktop, because if it’s hard it’ll not spin much, but if it’s soft it’ll keep on spinnin’, on account of the liquid in it.

Well anyway, I decided I’d leck a boiled egg the other day, but because I didn’t want to take a chance on Sam and Ella comin’ til me dooer, I decided I’d better boil it hard.  So after the egg had been in the boilin’ water for a while, I took it out and span it on the worktop.  Well it was still soft for it kept spinnin’.  However, the only sneg was that it span that much that it span right off the worktop and on til the flooer, where it shattered intil smithereens and spattered the whole of me trousers with yella yoke.  So I didn’t bother havin’ an egg after all!




I have heard it on the QT, that the government has become so concerned about the declinin’ numbers of criminals bein’ detected and convicted, that they are gonna introduce a drastic new measure in the next year or so, which will dramatically improve the situation in the long term. 

It will eventually involve the insertion of a microchip intil the heads of all human bein’s.  However, they’ve decided that because it would be too costly and inconvenient to microchip everyone at the same time, these microchips will initially only be implanted intil the heads of all new born babes. Then, with the aid of satellites, they’ll be able to track every single move a microchipped person makes throughout their lifetime and if they commit a crime, the police will know it was them. For example, if a crime is committed by a microchipped person at point X at 12.43 p.m. on a certain day, police computers will be able to tell who it was who was there at that precise point in time.

Obviously it’s goin’ to take many years before the whole population is ‘chipped’, but there will eventually come a time, when virtually all crimes will be almost instantly resolvable and all criminals detected and convicted.  The other advantage of this scheme is that its very existence will deter people from committin’ crimes, because they’ll know damned fine that they’ll definitely be caught if they do somethin’ bad.

The one downside however, is that in order for the signal from the microchips to be picked up by satellites, they will also have to insert an aerial intil the heads of all those ‘chipped’ babes.  So if any of youse ones are plannin’ on havin’ chillder, but don’t want them runnin’ about with wee aerials stickin’ out of their heads, then I would suggest that you start couplin’ right away and make sure you have your ba before the government introduces this new measure.




Me boozy mate Albert was recently invited til a weddin’ which was conducted by a very staid praycher, who was staunchly teetotal and regarded booze as bein’ the divil’s own brew.  Now after the marriage service and just before the reception, most people retired til the bar for a quick drink which the married couple was payin’ for. 

Needless to say, Albert was first til the bar and he ordered himself a drink. Then, just as the barman was servin’ it up til him, the praycher came intil the bar lookin’ for the bride's da.  Albert immediately turned til him.

“Now what would you leck to drink?” he asked him.  The praycher recoiled in horror, before rapidly movin’ on.  The barman looked at Albert and shook his head vigorously.

“Och, that man’d rather commit adultery than have a drink!” he said til Albert. 

“What!” said Albert back til the barman. “Here, take my drink back ..... I didn't know there was a choice.” 




Things is so different these days from when I was a young man.  Aye, though life was hard them days, it was an awful lot simpler and generally spaykin’, we was happy with the little we had.  And another thing, the most of us didn’t have mortgages and there wasn’t no credit cards, nor nawthin’ leck that.  So although most people was poor, they wasn’t up til their eyes in debt, leck what they are these days.  So at the end of each week, we could spend all our wages enjoyin’ ourselves.  Aye, Christmas used to come every weekend for us boys them days.

But it’s all different now.  These days, all the youngsters want nawthin’ but the best and they want it immediately, no matter what it costs, or what debt it gets them intil.  And as for newly-weds, they all want to live in spankin’ new houses with all the latest modcons.  So if you offered them one of those owl abandoned cottages up the mountain for nawthin’, my goodness but if they wouldn’t turn their noses up at your offer straightaway.  

However, what they don’t realise is that a whole pile of those there owl cottages have walls that are built with money.  Aye, this is because a lot of them was occupied by crusty owl bachelors a long time ago and in them days, a whole pile of them didn't trust banks.  So they used to hide their money behind stones in the walls of their cottages and of coorse, when all these owl bucks died, sure they left their money behind them.  Aye, there's plenty of money to be found up in those owl cottages ..... if only you just knew where to look!




Now for those of youse who don’t know, there’s a road in Belfast called the Malone Road and when I was talkin’ til me wise owl mucker Aristotle theday, he told me where the name came from.

Apparently when King Billy first arrived in Belfast, after a brave few gruellin’ days on the road, his troops was all so weary that he told them they could take it aisy and rest over the next few days.  He then slipped away for to do a wee bit of shoppin’. 

But on his way til Smithfield Market for to look for some bargains, someone told him that there was far better 2 for 1 offers goin’ at Lisburn market, but that if he wanted to avail himself of them he’d have to hurry, because they was goin’ leck hot cakes.  So he immediately rushed back til his men and told them that there’d been a change of plans and that they’d have to go til Lisburn that very day.  Well although his men was all exhausted, sure they had no choice but to comply with his wishes. 

However, they’d only gone a short way down the road, when King Billy suddenly took it intil his head that he wanted to deviate from the main route and go up this owl by-road, for to see where it’d lead and what it was leck up there.

Well it was at this point that his exasperated generals gathered round him on his big white horse and told him that he should stick til the main route, as it was shorter and would be a lot less strenuous on all his extremely tired foot soldiers.

Now King Billy was a stubborn man and as a result, he was totally determined to go up this other road.  But he eventually saw their point of view and so he agreed til a compromise.

“Okay,” he said til the generals, “you and all the men continue on down the main road there ..... and I’ll go up here on ma lone.”  So thereafter, that there road was called Malone Road. 

By the way, by the time they got til Lisburn, sure those great 2 for 1 bargains was all gone!




One sunny mornin’ I was sittin’ in me comfy armchair in the front room, studyin’ the horses in the paper and enjoyin’ a big mug of sweet tay, while I chomped me way through an enormous plate of chocolate biscuits and sticky buns.  Man, was I not as happy as a wee pig in shite.  Aye, things had been goin’ desperate well of late and everythin’ in the garden looked fierce rosy.  But then as per usual, Mildred just had to go and spoil it all.

“Right,” she suddenly announced after burstin’ intil the room, “I’ve been listenin’ til a doctor on the radio talkin’ about the dangers of bein’ overweight and everythin’ what she said made sense ..... so I think the time’s right to folly her advice about goin’ on a diet!”

I looked at Mildred over the top of me newspaper leck as if she was mad, because the way I saw it, there was absolutely no need for her to go on a diet. I mane, what with her forever diggin’ trenches, buildin’ byres, climbin’ up trees and loppin’ off the tops of them with a chain saw, luggin’ bags of coal on her shoulder the three miles up from our wee town and so on, sure she’s as trim and as tidy a wee woman as you’d ever see.  Man, she’s every cannibal’s nightmare, for there’s not a pick on her.

“Och, you don’t need to go on no diet,” said I.

“Aye, I agree with you entirely,” she retorted, “but it’s not me who’s goin’ on a diet ..... it’s you! ..... doin’ nawthin’ all day long, except stuffin’ your face and layin’ about in a haype in front of that there telly, sure you’re miles overweight.” I looked at her all aghast.

“What!!! ..... me go on a diet!” I cried, “no chance, no chance at all, at all ..... anyway, it’s only weemen who goes on a diet ..... men never go on no diet.”

“Well that’s not true at all,” she replied, “there’s piles of men go on a diet these days.”  I shook me head.

“Look Mildred,” I growled dismissively, “if you can show me one man from around these parts, who’s gonna go on a diet, then I promise you that I’ll join him and go on a diet as well.”

Now I was hopin’ that’d shut her up.  But bejaysus, the next thing was she suddenly looked til her right and scarred the wits out of me by lettin’ a blood curdlin’ scrayke out of her, that would have put a banshee til shame.  I immediately looked til me left, expectin’ to see a mad man with an upraised axe or summat.  But sure all I saw was the reflection of meself in the mirror on the wall.

“There you are,” chortled Mildred triumphantly, “you’ve just seen a man from around these parts, who’s gonna go on a diet ..... so you’ll have to live up til your promise and go on a diet!”

“Och, I’m not goin’ on no diet,” I roared defiantly, “so there you are ..... let that be the end of it.” Mildred’s face turned intil stone.

“Right me man,” she said coldly, “you have a choice ..... you can either go on a diet ..... or you can larn how to cook and feed yourself!” And with that she stormed out of the room. 

Well anyway, that was a couple of weeks ago.  As for me diet, it’s bloody awful.  But havin’ said that, it’s still a whole pile better than starvin’ til death!!!




One of the many snegs about bein’ a grandparent is that you’re often called upon for to baby-sit grandchillder.

Now one black, wet, windy, cowl afternoon, me daughter Annie dropped by with her wee cuttie Susie and she persuaded Mildred to go shoppin’ with her in the big city.  Well I thought this was a great idea, because I assumed it’d mane that I’d get a lough of hours pace from the owl witch, which was gonna suit me just fine, as there was racin’ on the telly.  However, me dreams about a nice quiet afternoon in front of the telly was shattered, when I was tolt that Susie was bein’ left behind and that I was to entertain her.

Me heart sank leck a stone, for I knew from past experience what was gonna happen next.  I mane, how does an owl whoer leck me keep a 10 year old cuttie amused?  For a start, she has absolutely no interest at all in horse racin’ and as for me, I can’t stand Monopoly, Inspector Cluedo and all that other owl shite.  But anyway, after Mildred and Annie left, I took young Susie intil the front room in the sorta forlorn hope that she’d sit in a corner and keep her trap shut, so that I could watch the racin’ in pace.

But naw, she twisted and turned and moaned and gerned and complained she was bored and asked me a whole pile of odejious silly questions, about all sorts of nonsense. Bejaysus, I couldn’t get concentratin’ on one damned race!  But then I had a great idea.

“Hey Susie,” I said til her, “how do you fancy walkin’ down intil the town ..... and gettin’ me a really big bar of chocolate?” And I gave her a big wink.  She immediately perked up.

“Aye, okay,” she replied all excited.  So I gave her the money and she went out of the house intil the wind and the rain to walk the three miles down intil our wee town, for to get this here big, big bar of chocolate.  Bejaysus, pace descended upon the house and I was able to get back til me racin’.  Man, it was heaven.

Well anyway, about two hours later, young Susie reappeared.  Man, she was soaked through and looked leck a drownded rat.  I gave her a big smile.

“Did you get the big bar of chocolate all right?” I asked her, holdin’ out me hand.  She nodded and as she handed it over til me, she had a big expectant smile all over her wee face for some raison.

“Ta very much,” said I til her, before turnin’ back til the TV.  I ripped open the wrappin’ on the chocolate and devoured the first four squares with one bite.  

I then heard a pitiful whimper and when I looked round, there she was standin’ beside me.  The poor wee divil, so small and frail, soaked til the skin and shiverin’, with her hair all wet and bedraggled and her wee pale face all covered in spatters of mud.  But it was her big blue eyes that really got me - they looked so sad.  Me heart melted.  I looked down at the big, big bar of chocolate and then back at those huge doleful eyes.  I then broke off a square and I gave it til her, before turnin’ back til the racin’ and scoffin’ the rest of me big bar of chocolate.




I was listen’ til the raddio yisterday, when they suddenly played ‘The Galway Shawl’ and my, did it not remind me of a dance I went til at Orenmore in the County Galway, one pleasant evenin’ in the month of May, many, many years ago. 

Aye, I mind it well. There I was all alone and feelin’ desperate lonesome, when I suddenly spied this here damsel; man, she was young and handsome and her beauty fairly took my breath away.  Not only that, but she wore no paint nor powder, no, none at all.  However, what really attracted me til her was the fact that she wore no jewels, nor costly diamonds, which indicated til me, that if we became an item, she'd probably be low maintenance.  However, I must say that she was dressed a wee bit odd-leck for a dance, cos she was wearin' a bonnet with a ribbon on it and around her shoulder was a Galway Shawl.

Now when the band started playin' ‘The Galway Shawl’, I took that to be an omen that me and her should get together and as shy as I was, I went over til her and asked her for a dance.  Well not only did she agree, but she stayed with me til the end of the night.  But what made it even better was she said “aye”, when I suggested that I walk her home.  My goodness, me heart leapt with joy.

Now as were walkin’, she kept on talkin’ and when her father's cottage came intil view, she said til me: “Come in, sir, and meet my father and play to please him ‘The Foggy Dew’.”

When we went inside there was no sign of her da, cos he was in the loo.  So me darlin’ sat me down beside the fire and soon her mother had the kettle singin’.  Now it had been my intention that when her father appeared, I’d play ‘The Blackbird’ and ‘The Stack of Barley’, ‘Rodney's Glory’ and ‘The Foggy Dew’, with me darlin’ singin' each note like an Irish linnet, whilst the tears stood in her eyes of blue.  I also had this here romantic notion, that when her father’d meet me and hear me play, he’d throw his arms around me, call me “son” and invite me intil the bosom of his family.  But things didn’t quite work out leck that.  For a start, when I first clapped eyes on him, not only was he six feet tall, but my goodness, he was the roughest, wildest lookin’ hallion, I’d ever seen in me whole life.

Well anyway, although I gave him a wee bit of a sickly sweet smile, bejaysus but if he didn’t take one look at me and then rush over, grab me by the scruff of the neck and the sayte of me trousers and heelball me out of the cottage and intil the yard. He then proceeded to frogmarch me the whole way down the lane and when I looked over me shoulder to get one last glimpse of me darlin’, she was standin’ by the cottage dooer.

“Goodbye, sir,” she cried and then blew me a kiss.

When her father got me down til the main road, he gave me such a big kick up the arse to help me on me way, that it lifted me clayne off the ground and when I came down, I certainly hit the road for old Donegal with some clump, let me tell yee!

And so that’s why, me heart has remained with that there Galway shawl till now.



(the original lyrics)


At Orenmore in the County Galway,

One pleasant evenin’ in the month of May,

I spied a damsel, she was young and handsome

Her beauty fairly took my breath away.


Chorus: She wore no jewels, nor costly diamonds,

No paint or powder, no, none at all.

But she wore a bonnet with a ribbon on it

And round her shoulder was a Galway Shawl.


We kept on walkin’, she kept on talkin’,

'Till her father's cottage came into view.

Says she: “Come in, sir, and meet my father,

And play to please him ‘The Foggy Dew’.”


She sat me down beside the fire

I could see her father, he was six feet tall.

And soon her mother had the kettle singin’

All I could think of was the Galway shawl.


I played ‘The Blackbird’ and ‘The Stack of Barley’,

‘Rodney's Glory’ and ‘The Foggy Dew’,

She sang each note like an Irish linnet.

Whilst the tears stood in her eyes of blue.


'Twas early, early, all in the mornin’,

When I hit the road for old Donegal.

'Goodbye, sir,' she cried and kissed me,

And my heart remained with that Galway shawl.




No doubt youse have heard of the term ‘dream home’.  Well there was one time, when me and me brothers was only young cubs and we temporarily became homeless.  However, not only did me ma soon find a place for us to rent, but it turned out to be my dream home.

It was a fantastic mansion of a place, situated about 2 miles off the main road and sittin’ on a hill, with forests til the left and the right and a fantastic view of Lough Erne, straight out the front.  Mind you, there was no runnin’ water nor elecatricity, but sure what did we care.  If we wanted water, all we had to do was pump some up from the well.  As for lightin’, sure the oil lamps and candles was more than sufficient.  Aye, when we was in the livin’ room at night, it was great sittin’ there in the flickerin’ candlelight, in front of the big roarin’ log fire, as snug as wee bugs in a rug.

I have lovely memories of that place; the carpet of bluebells stretchin’ out across the cool, dark, silent forest flooer for as far as the eye could see; the foxes, badgers, hedgehogs, birds and all sorts of other livin’ creatures roamin’ about; the early Sunday mornin’ journeys by cot across the lough til the church on the other side and the mysterious little island we passed, which had a wee tower on it and which I so wanted to explore, but never got the chance.  [I larned subsequently that this was Crichton Tower on Gad Island]

Then there was that one and only Halloween night that we was there, when we lit a big bonefire and as we sat round it enjoyin’ the warmth, our potatoes baked in the glowin’ ashes.  Now at Christmas, there was the big Christmas tree which me da’d cut down in the forest, with real candles on it and as for the turkey, it was cooked in the log-burnin’ stove.  And one time this here pig escaped from the smugglers and sought refuge in our home.  That grunter became our beloved pet and wherever we went, it follyed us leck a dog.  Aye, us cubs had the great times, ridin’ about on yon boyo’s back. 

Then there was that time the sparrowhawk swooped down ontil the wood pigeon and although we created such a commotion that the hawk dropped the pigeon, the poor wee thing was unfortunately deed by the time we got til it.  Man, was we not upset!  But we didn’t grieve too long and me ma roasted it for our tea.  And when we rode the two miles til the main road for to catch the school bus, we used to have to layve our wee bikes in this farmer’s shed and he had this awful fierce lookin’ dog, that used to bark at us and scar the wits out of us.  But sure it was only a barkin’ dog and we never got ate.

One time, I asked me elder brother to buy me a lough of sweets on his way home from school and I opened a wee sweet shop in the house.  However, the only sneg was that I had no customers and so I had to ate all the sweets meself.  Then me younger brother and I started a private detective agency.  But that sort of petered out too, because the only case we ever got was lookin’ for some owl tool me da had lost and to be quite honest, it was a job that didn’t appeal to us boyos, cos we was only really interested in solvin’ murders, detectin’ bank robbers, ketchin’ spies and excitin’ things leck that.

Aye, I have so many other beautiful memories from that wonderful place.  We had the time of our lives there and were quare and sad when we had to layve a year later.  I talked about me dream home for manys the long year afterwards.  Then one time, I decided to go back down Memory Lane with me then girlfriend.   However, when we drove down the 2 mile lane til the house, sure it was no longer there, not one single brick left standin’.  I felt so sad it was gone and tears came til me eyes.  Me girlfriend took me hand.

“Don’t be too upset,” she said gently, “as along as you are alive, it will always still be there ..... in your heart.”




I was sufferin’ that bad recently from stress, anxiety and total confusion that I went to see me doctor, who informed me that I am yet another victim of a medical condition called BOXBINITIS, which is apparently sweepin’ the whole country.  Now this really is one desperate desaize, let me tell yee!  You see the trouble is that I have a black box, a red box, a brown wheelie bin and a dark grey wheelie bin and not only am I forever trippin’ over them the whole damned time, but I can never remember what the hell I’m meant to put in each of them, or when I’m supposed to layve them out for emptyin’.  So I tolt the doctor that I’d got this desaize so bad, that if I couldn’t get cured, I’d go clayne mad altogether!

Well although I was asorta hopin’ that the quack’d be able to give me somethin’ for it, he tolt me that there’s no real cure for it yit and as a result, I had to come home empty-handed, except for an owl leaflet which listed all the locial support groups out there for victims of this here condition Boxbinitis.  Well I wasn’t gonna go til no support group, so I just put the leaflet intil the black box, which is for recyclin’ paper, tins and plastic bottles.

But then I had a brainwave and I’m real playsed to say that I have now fully recovered from it and I’m feelin’ a whole pile better. This is because I found a cure for it.  Aye, I handed the whole boxes and bins job over til me wife Mildred.

Mind you, she wasn’t best playsed at first, but once she stopped gernin’, she got stuck intil it in her usual fierce positive way.  First of all, she decided that all these here bins and boxes needed a home of their own and so she built a wee outhouse from breeze blocks and put a fine slated roof on it, with gutterin’ besides.  And it’s a damned good job, let me tell yee.  But then of coorse, she’s had years of experience buildin’ byres, barns, outhouses and the leck around the farm, so what else would yee expect.

Well the next thing was she put these big charts and timetables up on the kitchen wall, so she can monitor the whole operation and ensure that she never makes no mistakes. Then, when it comes til a collection day, it don’t matter if it’s bucketin’ cats and dogs, she lugs the damned bin or box the whole way down our lane til the main road, before rushin’ back til the house for to make me ma breakfast and then bring it til me in ma bed. 

So you there are - problem solved!  Now, if there are any other men out there who’s sufferin’ from Boxbinitis, they should do what I did and they’ll be all right in no time.  But doesn’t this all just illustrate how obvious it is, that the obvious is rarely obvious.




Many moons ago when I was unemployed, I became a corner boy. Every mornin’, I used to layve the house and wander up and down the streets of our wee town, wonderin’ what the hell I was gonna do with meself all day.  Now if I'd had an entrance fee on me, I’d have gone intil the pub and hung about in there the whole day.  But as I never had one penny piece, I didn’t never have no choice, but to stand on the street corner and watch the cars goin’ up and down. 

Now it often used to make me feel fierce depressed, for I knew that unless things changed for the better, I'd end up spendin’ the rest of me life just standin’ on street corners watchin’ cars goin’ up and down.  Then eventually, when someone'd ask me on me deathbed, what I'd done with me life, sure I’d have no choice but to ruefully reply: “Nawthin’, except watch 10 million cars go by.”

Now back then, every day was more or less the same as the day before.  However, there was the odd one that was different from the rest and I mind one such day in particular.  There I was, standin’ on the street corner feelin’ very low and when I opened me mouth for to yawn, bejaysus but if a dirty big black fly didn't zoom in and go straight down me throat.  Well, what wee bit of resolve I had left, just vanished.

“Bejaysus that fly had the whole of Ireland to fly around,” I lamented mournfully til meself, “and yit the whoer just had to go and fly intil me mouth and down me throat!”  My goodness, but I thought the whole world was agin me and man, did it not fill me with even more self-pity than before.

But then somethin’ happened that raised me spirits.  Aye, a big smiley dog went by and stopped a wee bit up the street for to do a big steamin’ number 2, right in the middle of the pavement. Well I immediately forgot all about me woes and instead focused all me attention on that there dogshite, for I knew it'd only be a matter of time until some unfortunate clift'd come bouncin’ along and layve a lovely big footprint right through the middle of it. 

Aye, and generally spaykin’, I knew it'd be some eegit wearin’ shoes with real deep treads, which'd soak up the shite good and proper, so there’d be no aisy way of claynin’ it off, no matter how much they’d feck and damn and hop about scraypin’ their foot on the side of the pavement.  Man, it was great crack waitin’ eagerly for the poor victim to come along and when he eventually did, his face was an absolute picture when he realised instantly from that dreaded tell-tale slip, that not only had he struck brown ice, but that he’d landed right in the middle of a big pile of it. 

Well I’m away off down Memory Lane now til me favourite street corner.  I wonder how many cars I’ll see goin’ up and down theday.




I read the other day that when a man goes til bed at night, it takes him exactly seven minutes for to go til sleep.  Well, I can vouch for that.  From Sunday til Friday, when I go til bed at night, I’m always fast asleep in seven minutes.  As for Saturday night, it always takes one minute longer – that’s because that’s the night I always demand me conjugular rights off me wife Mildred! 

Now while I’m on the subject of conjugular rights, I might as well tell youse about somethin’ what happened a wee while ago. Mildred sometimes invites her cronies round til our place for a hash and as soon as they arrive, I’m off, cos I’m not gonna sit in the midst of that coven of owl hags of witches.  However, I don’t never go too far away.  In fact, I always stand outside the dooer, for to earwig what they be talkin’ about.

Well anyway, one night one of them asked Mildred how she rated me as a love-makin’ machine. God when I heard that, I put me ear right up til the dooer, so as not to miss one single word of all her glowin’ praise.

“Och, on a scale of one til ten,” she said with a sneer, “I give him one ..... and that’s bein’ damned kind til the silly owl ballocks!”  Well you should have heard the snickers and the cackles of the rest of them.  My goodness, but it was the first time in me life, that I really ever understood what the word ‘deflation’ meant.  Aye, up until that point in time, I had just assumed that there was no better lover around than meself and that I was without doubt, definitely the locial Casanova. 

Now because I knew that Mildred’s revelation was gonna go round our wee town leck wildfire and do serious damage til me image and reputation, I decided I’d have to pull me socks up tout suite, if I ever wanted to swagger round our wee town leck a turbo-charged top-gun rooster again.  So I decided to do a wee bit of research intil love-makin’ and bejaysus it wasn’t long til I realised - much til me surprise - that there’s a whole pile more til all this than I had ever realised. 

So I went away up til the big city on the QT cos nobody knows me there and I duked about leck a rat from shop til shop, with me flat cap down over me eyes and me dark glasses on, gettin’ a whole pile of books on the subject and then I spent all me time secretly studyin’ them, rather than the horses.  Bejaysus, was it not one eye-opener!  My goodness, but I never knew weemen had so many bits and bobs and this, that and the other!

Well anyway, me memory’s not the best and I kept forgettin’ all the things I’d read. But one Saturday night, I couldn’t wait no longer and I decided the time had come for me to put everythin’ what I’d read in these here books intil practice.  However, I soon got the feelin’ that Mildred wasn’t none too impressed by the whole operation or me new found prowess. 

But then on reflection, I suppose I can understand why.  You see, when we went til bed, I had books open on the pillow, in the bed, on the bed and on the bedside cabinets and every time I went to try somethin’ new, I’d say til her: “Now just howl on there for a few ticks.”  And then I’d scrabble about for me glasses, look around for the right book and then flick through it, till I’d get til the page I was lookin’ for.

But to be quite honest with yee, it didn’t really matter til me what Mildred thought, cos I just knew that this was only the beginnin’ and that in next til no time at all, I’d be a super stud and that it wouldn’t be too long until there’d be masses of weemen comin’ from far and wide to seek me services and I’d have no choice but to tell them to form an orderly queue and patiently await their turn.

So the next mornin’, when I strutted intil the pub and met me chums, man was I not full of it.  Aye, it was great tellin’ them that I was the quare lover and I really enjoyed braggin’ til them green-eyed envious whoers that I’d been at it leck a rabbit the whole night long with Mildred.  But when I got home and tried to find me glasses for to read the Sunday rag, bejaysus I couldn’t find them nowhere.  So I tackled Mildred about it.

“I’ve got your glasses hid!” she exclaimed, “and furthermore they’re gonna remain hid, until you get rid of all them damned books!!” Now no glasses meant no studyin’ the horses, nor TV, nor readin’ juicy scandals in the Sunday rag and this, that and the other!  So bejaysus, I had the books on the bonefire and the glasses back on me snout within 2 minutes flat!  




One real wet miserable cowl day a wee while ago, I was sittin’ by the roarin’ fire in the front room watchin’ the racin’ on TV, when suddenly the dooer burst open and in came Mildred lookin’ leck a half-drownded rat.

“I’m fed up milkin’ cows, claynin’ out pigs and diggin’ drains!” she scrayched, “so I’m gonna give up the farmin’ and open up a cat’s funeral parlour instead.”  Well although this here news alarmed me somewhat, I knew from past experience it’d be wiser to say nawthin’.  And anyway, as long as she keeps bringin’ in the money, sure I don’t really give a damn what she does.

Now Mildred’s a very capable, busy wee woman and in no time at all, she had the new business up and runnin’.  But although she did get a few customers at the start, there’s actually very few people round here, who are intil havin’ a wake, a hearse, a wee mahogany coffin or a funeral service etc for their recently departed moggies.

So that’s when she decided she’d have to extend her business, by offerin’ a weddin’ arrangement service for cats as well.  But once again, although she did get a few customers at the start, there’s not actually many around here, who’d be willin’ to pay top dollar for a weddin’ service with all the trimmin’s for their beloved pussies.  Furthermore, none of these cat marriages went as planned.  For example, Mildred just couldn’t get the cats to stay in one place and as for the cats’ speeches at the weddin’ receptions, bejaysus they was absolutely diabolical!

Aye, it wasn’t long until it looked leck Mildred’s cat business was gonna flounder.  But then she got a wee bit of a lifeline.  One of our farmer neighbours Clarence is a very good-livin’ religious man and one day he arrived up at our house with an unusual request.

“You know,” he said, “me and me family are all very happy up there in our wee heaven.  However, there’s just one wee thing that spoils it all and it’s really buggin’ me ..... you see, I have six cats up there on the farm and they’re all heathens ..... so because I know you can organise virtually anythin’ for cats, I was wonderin’ if you could arrange to Christianise them so that they’d be saved, just leck the rest of us.”

“No problem at all,” said Mildred immediately, without battin’ an eyelid, “I’ll see til it straight away.”  And over the next few days, she got everythin’ set up.  For example, she converted one of Clarence’s outhouses intil a wee church, furnished it with flowers, got a font for the baptism and hired a praycher for to carry out the service.

But unfortunately, things didn’t quite work out as she had planned.  You see, I’m afraid it’s a simple matter of fact, that there’s absolutely and utterly no way whatsoever, that anyone on this earth would be fit to baptise 1 cat let alone 6!!!  Aye, I’m afeared that for some strange raison or another, cats just aren’t too fond of water.

And how are things now, you ask?  Well, I’m still sittin’ by the roarin’ fire in the front room watchin’ the racin’ on TV.  As for Mildred, she’s outside in the cowl and the rain, milkin’ the cows, claynin’ out the pigs and diggin’ drains!




One time, when Mildred went away up the country for to see her sister for a week, she left me a whole pile of homemade mate and spud pies in the frayzer and the idea was that I would take one out each mornin’ for to let it defrost and then heat it up in the oven in the evenin’ for me tay.

Now when the cat’s away the mice will play and so there was no way I was gonna hang around the farm while Mildred was gone.  So after I got up on the first day she was away, I took one of them pies out of the frayzer, put it on a plate on the kitchen table for to defrost and then it was straight down intil the town, for a day’s great crack with me mates in the pubs and bookies.  However, I got the quare gunk when I got home, for bejaysus some whoer had got intil me home and stole me pie.   

However, I decided that it was just a one-off and that it wasn’t gonna stop me from enjoyin’ meself.  So when I got up the next day, I took another one of them pies out of the frayzer and then after double-checkin’ that all the dooers was locked, it was straight down intil the town, for another day’s great crack with me mates in the pubs and bookies.  However, I got another quare gunk when I got home, for the whoer had somehow got intil me home and stole me pie again.

Well bejaysus, I was totally perplexed, especially as I couldn’t work out how the gobshite was gettin’ in.  But then I suddenly had a cunnin’ plan and I rang Archie who agreed to loan me his ferocious, foamin’-at-the-mouth Rottweiler guard-dog, whose first name is Groucho, cos he’s a mane sort of a bastard and whose second name is Marx, cos he layves marks on you when he bites yee.    

Now when I got up the follyin’ mornin’, I took another one of them pies out of the frayzer and after puttin’ it on the kitchen table to defrost, it was straight down intil the town again, for yet another day’s great crack with me mates in the pubs and bookies.

Well later, when I was walkin’ up the lane homeward bound, I heard this awful commotion near our house and when I looked up, I saw Groucho pursuin’ this buck across the fields and I was quare and playsed to see that not only was the miserable whoer fleein’ empty-handed from me house, but the arse was hangin’ out of his trousers too.

Bejaysus, was I not as happy as a wee pig in shite!  There’d be mate and spud pie for me tonight, thanks til Archie’s mutt Groucho.  However, when I got in through the dooer, I got the quare gunk, for bejaysus the pie was gone, apart from a few wee bits and pieces beside Groucho’s bed.

So I suppose the moral of the story is this: you just can't trust dogs to guard your food!




Now Saturday week ago, when we went round til Mildred’s 97 year-old ma Aggie, she surprised us no end by tellin’ us that she’d decided that the time had finally arrived, for her to start thinkin’ more about lookin’ after her health and that as a result, she was gonna give up the booze and fegs and take up power walkin’ for exercise. 

Well, I didn’t pass no remarks, for she’d had a brave few wee ports that mornin’.  So I just assumed that she was talkin’ nawthin’ but a whole load of owl nonsense and that there wouldn’t be one more word about it.  But bejaysus, she surprised me no end, let me tell yee.  My goodness, on Sunday mornin’, she was up at the crack of dawn and true til her word, she went out the dooer and started power walkin’.  Well it was a very commendable thing for an owl doll leck her to do.  The only sneg however, is that we don't know where the hell she is now.




Now here’s a wee song what I sang til me chillder, when they was nawthin’ but young skitters of cubs and cutties and they was misbehavin’, when me and them was out on a day trip one time: 


(til the tune of 'I'll tell me ma').


I’ll tell your ma, when we get home

She’ll tan your hides, for sure I know

She’ll clip your lugs, and make youse moan

Youse had your chances, but now they’re blown


She’s not handsome, she’s not pretty

When she is angry, and oh so livid

She’s gonna bate youse, one two three

So larn your lesson, and be good for me


I’ll tell your ma .....




Bejaysus, some lucky whoer has just gone and won £10 million on the lottery.  Why couldn’t it have been me!  Why am I so damned unlucky!  I’ve been spendin’ a pound a week on it since it started and apart from the odd tenner, sure I’ve won damn all.  My God, but I’ve just no luck at all, at all.

But the thing that really sickens me arse about this latest big winner, is that he’s announced that it’s not gonna change his life. So why did he bother his arse buyin’ a ticket in the first place!

Bejaysus, things’d be quare and different if I ever won such a big prize.  The first thing I’d do is tell everyone about it and then really enjoy lookin’ at their envious expressions, when I’d tell them how I was gonna travel the world, live in the lap of luxury and spend, spend, spend. Then I’d head down for to see me bank manager, who I’m sure wouldn’t be just as obnoxious as what he normally is towards me and I’d tell the wee whoer, that I wanted a chequebook with 1,000 cheques in it.

The next thing I’d do is sit down and think about all the people I have had daylin’s with throughout me whole life and then make a list of all those who’d be suitable candidates.  After that, I’d write each of them a cheque for £100,000.  Man, it’d be great to see them bein’ all fawnin’, sickly sweet and syrupy towards me.  But they’d get the quare gunk when they’d have a closer look at their cheques and realise that they was all post-dated by a year.  

My goodness, they’d all be quare and nice towards me for the follyin’ 11 months or so.  However, they’d have been far better not botherin’ their arses, because I’d cancel all those cheques just before they’d become valid for payment.  But sure it’d be damned good medicine for them.  Aye, it’d be hell slap it up them all, for bein’ such whoers til me, when I had nawthin’!




When we was down in the pub theday, we was talkin’ about wives and hospitals and weemen relatives. Well anyway, Dixie was there and he told us a good one. Now Dixie puts his missus in the family way every year without fail, which manes she has to go intil hospital on an annual basis for to drop the ba and of coorse, while she's in there, his head gets a bit of pace from all her naggin’ and yappin’.  However, the downside is that when she's in hospital, she's not at home for to see til his conjugular rights.  So he has to find someone else to roll about with for a lough of days, until his missus gets back home.  But then that's never been a real problem in the past for Dixie, cos his wife’s sister always comes to stay for to look after the chillder and she's never been slow in jumpin’ intil Dixie’s bed, for to see til all his needs until his missus gets back home with the new ba.

Well after Dixie had finished tellin’ us this, Frank chirped up to tell us, that although he’d got a very sociable sister-in-law as well, it didn't do him no good.  He then went on to explain that his sister-in-law Mabel cuts men's hair in her own home and as far as most of the wives round our wee town is concerned, that's all she does.  But little do they know, that besides cuttin’ hair, she also lets any man have his way with her as well ..... and all just for the price of a haircut!  Needless to say, this was all very interestin’ and some of the boys immediately began checkin’ their hair in the bar mirror.

“But why doesn’t this here arrangement work til your benefit Frank?” I asked him.

Poor owl Frank lifted his cap for the very first time that any of us had ever seen and bejaysus, but if he wasn't as bald as a coot.

“Now what excuse would I have for goin’ to see her with a head leck this!”




When I was down in the pub theday, who should come in but owl Teddy and that damned undertaker Foorde.  I immediately moved up the bar away from them, for although I don’t mind owl Teddy, I didn’t want that undertaker Foorde anywhere near me.  It’s not that I really have anythin’ agin him, it’s just that he always give me the creeps.  He seems so cowl in his black suit and stiff white shirt.  Sure if I ever had to shake his hand, I’d imagine it’d be a bit leck shakin’ hands with a lump of ice. 

But that Foorde one really does have some brass neck on him, let me tell yee.  I mind one day there was this here family a lough of miles up the country and they and a whole pile of relatives and friends was all huddled round this owl boy Barnie, who was on his death bed.  Well this stranger suddenly came in and nobody had any idea who the hell he was.  But because he had flowers and was all sugary sweet smiles and words of sympathy and kindness and all that sort of owl shite, they didn't rare up at him and tell him to feck away off out of it. 

However, when he was gone and a few inquiries was made, bejaysus but if they didn’t find out that he was none other than the bowel Foorde.  Well I ask you, what a way to drum up business!  But I suppose at the end of the day, it wouldn't have been so bad, except that the owl Barnie boy knew by the cut of Foorde what he did for a livin’ and needless to say, that didn't do his owl ticker no good at all!

Now with regard til owl Teddy, although he used to work full-time in a bacon processin’ factory, he’d also once had a strange part-time job, which'd give you the creeps.  Aye, when anyone died round our wee town about 40 years ago, the first person they always summoned was the bowel Teddy.  Man, he'd come along right away and the widow, or whoever, would give him a half-bottle of whisky and when he'd had a few sups, he'd wash the body and plug it all up good and proper.  Well anyway, Teddy was fierce fond of the booze and sometimes he was that druthy, that he drank all the whisky before he done the body.  Sure there was even one time when they found him lyin’ drunk, asleep and snorin’ on the top of the table, alongside the corpse.

Another job that Teddy used to have was diggin’ graves.  Jaysus, he was a desperate man and was forever gettin’ that drunk, that sometimes he didn't right know where the hell he was diggin’ and he'd dig holes in the ground, where there was already graves.  Sure when the locial dogs used to see him staggerin’ drunk up til the cemetery, with a spade droopin’ over his shoulder, they all used to bark leck hell and get all excited and folly him, for they all knew fine well, that there was a damned good chance of a few bones bein’ turned up, for them to chaw on.




I was down in the pub theday when owl Ceecil nearly fell in through the front doer, with this big bag over his shoulder.  Well we all instantly perked up, cos whenever Ceecil’s around, it generally manes that there's gonna be a bit of good crack. 

Well, after depositin’ the bag out in the hallway and gettin’ himself a half’un and a bottle, Ceecil informed us that his brother had got tired of havin’ him as a lodger in his house and had thrown him out, on account of him always bein’ drunk and hashin’.  Now it’d been a desperate shock til Ceecil, especially as it was mid-winter.

Now at the time, he didn’t have no clue as til where he’d go and thought he'd be sharin’ a hedge that night with the hedgehogs.  But then by chance, he’d met and fallen intil chat with this here widow woman relative of his and when she’d heard all about his plight, she’d took pity on him and offered to put him up, on the condition that he’d earn his keep by helpin’ her run the farm.  Needless to say, he’d immediately accepted her offer. However, she was no mug and knew his record well and, as a result, she’d gone on to warn him sternly, that it was goin’ to be all work and sleep, and nawthin’ else!

“Well, I'll be good at the sleepin’ part,” he’d nearly tolt her.

Now after he’d had a few more half’uns, he told us that although he’d nearly got froze on his way til the pub, he was now beginnin’ to feel a wee bit warmer.

“And so you should,” said I til him, “sure you've already drunk the price of half a hunderdweight of coal over the last ten minutes or so.”

Well anyway, later on when Billy the barman went out intil the hall with some empties, his attention was drawn til Ceecil's bag, for it was movin’ and there was strange noises comin’ from it.  So he stuck his head round the dooer intil the main bar.

“What's in that there bag, Ceecil?”  Ceecil looked a wee bit confused for a few moments and then he remembered.  His eyes lit up and he rushed out and got a holt of the bag.

“Right youse farmers,” he roared at the top of his voice, “gather round, for I've got somethin’ to sell youse.”  The whole bar went quiet as he opened the bag.  Then he turned it upside down and out came a squad of ducks.  Jaysus, the quacks of those ducks was a terra and they went flutterin’ about in all directions.

“Hey boy,” shouted Billy, “get those ducks out of the bar, or else I'll have to throw you out!”  Ceecil looked desperate startled at such an awful threat.

“Jaysus Billy, there's a fierce storm goin’ on out there and you know fine well, that I'm no sailor.”  And he proceeded to shoo all the ducks out the front dooer on til the street, to let them find their own fate and destiny.




Last night, me and the boys had one desperate session down in the pub and bejaysus, it wasn’t til after 2.00 am that I set off home, goin’ two steps forward and one step back the whole way home .

Well anyway, as I was staggerin’ along, I noticed owl Snedder dukin’ about in the shadows and it was obvious that he was on his way up til Biddy Bowles, for to get a holt of her while her husband was away on night shift. 

Oh ho, the badness got intil me and bejaysus, I was all for follyin’ him and then, when I’d be sure he was in Biddy’s bed, I’d throw some stones through the windy and create a commotion.  Boys a dear, when the neighbours'd come out for to see what the hell was goin’ on, I'd cry: “Bejaysus, I've just seen a burglar goin’ intil the Bowles’s house ..... someone call the peelers!”.  But then I decided I'd let Snedder go on ahead about his business.  Sure what good would it have done, landin’ the whoer in the shite leck that!




Mildred cooked me a wee bit of steak thenight and it was that small a wee piece, I almost started complainin’.  But then I remembered what happened til that Ronny boy and I said nawthin’.  Oh bejaysus, what happened til him would soon larn yee that it doesn't pay to be too damned greedy, for you can sometimes pay an awful price.  Aye, one night he went intil a restaurant when it was fierce busy and ordered a steak.  Now when the waitress brought it down til him, he kicked up all hell, sayin’ that the steak was far too small for all the money he was payin’ and he demanded a bigger lump. 

Well rather than have a scene goin’ on with so many customers about, the manager immediately agreed til his request and a lump of steak twice the size was brought down for him to get his choppers intil.  Well Jaysus, he took intil it leck a man possessed who hadn’t had a bite to ate for at least six weeks.  But unfortunately, he was that hungry a whoer, that a big lump of it got stuck in his throat and bejaysus, but if he didn't go and choke til death.  Aye, if he hadn't been such a greedy whoer and settled for the smaller bit of steak, sure the eegit would have still been alive today. 




Now I leck atin’, smokin’, drinkin’ and layin’ about in a haype all day long.  But a wee while ago, I began to feel a wee bit off colour, so I decided to go til the doctor.

But sure it was a nightmare.  The waitin’ room was packed and there was all these chillder runnin’ about scraymin’ and shoutin’ and generally creatin’ hell.  Then there was this owl doll who near turned me head tellin’ me all about her aches and pains.  I also started gettin’ fierce annoyed when I began to notice that people who’d come in after me, was gettin’ seen til before me.

Now by the time I eventually got intil the quack’s surgery, sure I was chokin’ for a drink and a feg.  So I was akinda hopin’ he’d quickly prescribe me a lough of pills for to sort me out, so that I could be on me way tout suite down til the pub.  But naw, he insisted on examinin’ me and askin’ me a whole pile of damned stupid questions about me life style. 

Well, the next thing he did was to get a bit of paper and then start writin’ on it.  I was sure it was a prescription for pills he was writin’, so I got the quare gunk when I saw that instead of that, it was a long list of things I should do for to improve me health.  For example, it said things leck: no smokin’, no drinkin’, no Ulster fries, buns, biscuits nor cakes.  He even suggested, that instead of layin’ about in a haype watchin’ TV all day, I should take plenty of exercise by helpin’ Mildred round the farm and the house!

Man, I was quare and downhearted.  I mane, I’d come til the quack for to get cured and sure all he’d done, was to send me til hell before me time.




One fine day a lough of years ago, fortune shone its big blue eyes on me and bejaysus, I won tens of thousands of pounds on the football pools.  Well, that was the end of workin’ for me, because I decided there and then to become one of the gintry and let other people do everythin’ for me, for bejaysus I was certain the money I'd won couldn’t never possibly be spent in my lifetime.

Boys a dear, I went clayne mad and I bought tractors, trailers and all the latest farm machinery and a nice big tub of a car and bicycles and toys for the chillder and nice clothes for me wife Mildred.  And as for meself, sure I was hardly ever out of the pubs, where I spent the most of me time studyin’ the pools, for I was sure that it'd be no time at all, until I'd win again and that this time, it'd be the real big one.

Then the haymakin’ saison came along and needless to say, because I was gintry now, there was no way that I was gonna do any work on the hay meself.  So as per usual, when I wanted any work done, I invited a lot of the locial boyos up til me farm for to do all the work for me.  Bejaysus, there was piles of boys from round our wee town just dyin’ to get workin’ for me and man, there was soon more volunteers than would have manned an army. 

Jaysus, they thought it was great and they all used to roll up as soon as the sun got rizz.  However, damn the many of them ever wore workin’ clothes and in fact, it was more leck they was goin’ til a party. Aye bejaysus, when they turned up in the mornin’s, sure they’d all be grinnin’ and laughin’ and not all miserable leck most workmen you’d see.

Then they used claah about leck owl hens for a while, until it was time for the mornin’ tay-break.  Some tay-breaks they used to be!  Jaysus, I always used to turn up with big boxes of booze and grub and then we'd all sit down on the grass for to take this here tay-break.  But as the sun bate down, the only work that was ever done thereafter wasn't on the hay, but on the openin’ of bottles.

Then, when the sun'd go down, so would I, what with all the boozin’.  But sure me ‘workers’ was all great fellas and they never saw me stuck and they always took me home, via the pub of coorse, where they'd always have another damned good session at my expense.  My goodness, some of them hardworkin’ boyos was knockin’ in 18 hour days and sure everyone was havin’ a whale of a great time.

But then one day, me and me ‘workers’ never even got til the hay and instead we landed up in the pub, in search of a cure.  But once in, we couldn't layve and sure it was great.  There was no owl cowl porter that day.  Naw, it was all whiskies and large ones at that.  Well, when the crack was goin’ real good, me wife Mildred suddenly appeared through the dooer, lookin’ akinda worried.  She tolt me that I should layve the bar that very minute and go til the fields to make the hay while the weather was still good.  Well I wasn't none too keen on this here suggestion.

“Och, bring it in here,” I said til her, “and sure I'll make all the hay yee want.”  Man all the boys hooted with laughter.  Sure it was all great valyeh and I was certain it'd all never end. 

But the next day, the sun went away and the rain came and the hay that'd been lyin’ in the fields all rotted.  Then bejaysus, but if the bank manager didn't arrive and inform me that the unbelievable had happened and that all the money was gone - after only nine months!  And on top of that, there was a whole pile of bills that urgently needed payin’!! 

Well I was in a real owl hank then.  So when I eventually sobered up, I called once more for help from me ‘workers’.  But they'd heard the bad news too and damn the one appeared.  Aye, and do yee know what, not one them whoers ever showed their face round my place again.




Now although me wife Mildred doesn’t really never annoy me too much any more, it was of coorse different at the start when we first got wed.  Aye, until she got herself a titter of wit, she acted leck a typical woman and tried her damndest for to change me in all sorts of ways.  For a start, she was death on drink and was never done praychin’ on at me about the evils of the divil's brew.

So when I'd get back from a boozin’ session, there'd always be a damned good chance that there'd be hell to pay.  So whenever I got up near the front dooer, I always used to throw me cap in first and if it didn't come straight back out again, then I’d know it was probably reasonably safe to go in.

But I remember well the very first time I came home scootered.  It was a cool, fresh night and there was a full moon. My goodness, it was great and as I went along the road, I sang 'Home on the Range' at the top of me voice and it echoed all around the silent hills.  But she soon put the singin’ out of me, for as soon as I got in through the front dooer, she hit me a box in the mouth and landed me on me arse right on the range, amongst all the pots and pans.  Aye, I was certainly home on the range alright!

Now Mildred was determined to cut the drinkin’ out of me.  So one day, she had this bright idea and she hid all me boots and shoes.  But she might as well not have bothered her arse, for it didn’t stop me and I got down til the pub anyway.  Man, I had a great night, even though I did have to endure some funny looks and a few smart remarks about standin’ there at the bar in me bare feet.

But although Mildred has cooled down a lot over the years, she’s still a real typical woman.  If I come back early, she'll say til me “you’re back early theday!”  And if I come back late, she'll say “you’re back late theday!”  Och, you just couldn't playse them.

But marriage can be an awful desperate disease.  I mane, it's one thing wakin’ up after a big session with an odejious hangover, but it's a whole sight worse to wake up and find a woman standin’ there naggin’ at yee and buzzin’ about your head and stingin’ away at yee leck a wasp.  Aye, isn't it a shame that they're born with tongues.  Man, if a woman’s ever in bad humour, my goodness but her tongue goes leck a handbell and bejaysus, she goes through you leck a physic of salts.  Sure it's no wonder us boyos drink so much.  But at the same time, though it's desperate hard livin’ with them, us men can't really live without them neither.  I mane, how the hell would any of us boys cope at all! 




When me wife Mildred turned menopausal, she became even more odd and peculiar then usual and she made me life real hell for a while.  But then she said she was goin’ on til HRT.  Well I didn’t know what it actually meant, but I assumed HRT was for aisin’ the plight of menopausal weemen’s long-sufferin’ husbands and that the letters HRT therefore stood for Harridan Relief Tablets.  So I was quare and playsed. 

Now after Mildred started takin’ these here tablets, things definitely did improve in many respects.  But then somethin’ happened one night, that really shook me up.  Now just after we got married, I couldn’t get enough of her.  But it wasn’t too long until I’d have preferred atin' a bucket of cowl vomit til tacklin’ her and after a lough of months, the normal routine at bedtime was for me to turn me back on her and get meself comfortable, before disappearin’ intil the land of nod. 

However one night, several weeks after Mildred started on HRT, she gave me the quare gunk when she put her hand upon me thigh and made it very clear, that she was interested in a lot more than just listenin’ til me snorin’.  Well this scarred me no end, especially when I subsequently larned that HRT can make some weemen fierce frisky.  So I decided I’d have to take some drastic action.

Now Mildred suffers from Arthur-rightis, so I told her that to save her the walk down intil the town for her repeat HRT prescriptions, I’d go instead.  Now this really surprised her, because I don’t never do nawthin’ for her.  But she didn’t say “naw” and so whenever she needed a repeat prescription, it was always me who’d plod down intil the town for to get it.  However, what she didn’t know was that I’d throw the HRT tablets away and replace them with wee round white sweets.

Mind you, I had to go back til puttin’ up with all her peculiar moods and tantrums.  But sure anythin’s better than that dreaded hand upon me thigh!




You have to be so careful what you say, or else you could land yourself in a whole pile of bother.  I larnt that lesson the first time me owl battleaxe of a mother-in-law Aggie came til our house with a whole pile of her cronies.  Now me wife Mildred and the whole lot of them went intil the kitchen for to hash, layvin’ me all on me lone in the livin’ room watchin’ TV. 

But then not too long after, I heard someone knockin’ at the front dooer.  I of coorse expected Mildred to go and see who it was.  But naw, she and the others just kept hashin’ away.  Needless to say, the person at the front dooer kept knockin’.

Well do you know, it was actually ME who eventually had to get up out of me chair for to go and answer the dooer and I wasn’t best playsed, let me tell yee.  But what made it worse, was that it was nobody for me.  So I had to go ALL the way down til the kitchen for to get Mildred and my goodness, but was I not crabbed.

“Mildred,” I growled, “you’re awantin’!”  Well as soon as I said that, Aggie leapt til her feet.  Then she drew out and hit me such a box in the mouth, that she landed me on me arse in the corner.

“Don’t you ever dare call my wee daughter a wanton again!!!” she snarled.




Well although it might be a wee bit leck tellin’ your grandma how to lay eggs, but here’s a wee piece of advice for yee, if you’re considerin’ buyin’ a house.  Now before you go lookin’ at prospective new homes, be sure to make a checklist of all the things to look out for when you’re doin’ viewin’s.

We once put our place up for sale because Mildred said she was that fed up doin’ all the work around our farm, that she wanted to give it all up and move til a new house down in the town.  And that’s when she sat down and compiled her checklist.  So as not to be outdone, I did one too.

Now these checklists turned out to be very useful indeed.  For example, when we started lookin’ for somewhere to buy and went to view the first house on our list, Mildred had a look at her checklist and then went round the whole place lookin’ at the plumbin’ and electrics etc, before gettin’ up on the roof for to check out the slates, the flashin’ and the gutters etc.   As for me, I looked at my checklist too and then made a beeline for the livin’ room, for to check out the TV reception and see if the room’d be large enough to accommodate me big rockin’ chair, me foot stool and me crates of Guinness etc.  I also had to make sure that the view from the windy was such that I could keep a close watch on all me new neighbours.  Needless to say, it was also desperate important to make sure that the nearest pub and bookies was near til hand. 

Now although the house met all my criteria, we didn’t actually buy it.  This is because Mildred unfortunately fell off the roof and by the time she’d recovered a few weeks later, sure that particular house was sold.




I have this theory that all weemen was elephants in a previous life.   Well if they wasn’t, then all I can say is that they certainly have memories leck elephants - for they never forget NAWTHIN’!   My goodness, when you’re havin’ a barney with them, sure they’ll go back generations to dredge up some owl thing from the past that’ll help them get a real good stingin’ dig at yee.

Now normally, when me wife Mildred asks me a straight question, I never tell her the truth.   Aye, I only ever tell her what I know’ll playse her and shut her up.  However, I wasn’t always so wise.  33 years ago, on the 6th June 1972, she got that rizz about me drinkin’ so much, that she turned til me with a fierce snout on her.

“You know,” she scrayched, “I believe you’d far rather have a bottle of Guinness than me!”  Well although that was true enough, I would normally have replied:

“Och no my sweetness, I love you more than anythin’ else in the whole wide world.”   But that day, I was fierce druthy and in desperate need of a cure.  So I made a fatal mistake.

“Aye, you’re right there,” I heard meself sayin’ wistfully, “I would indeed prefer a bottle of Guinness.”

Boys, did I not regret that remark!    Man, it was thrown back up in me face many times afterwards.  Even til this day, when she has some of her owl cronies in, she’ll turn til them with an owl sour look on her face.

“Do you see that boy there,” she’ll snarl, “well I’ve been the best wee woman a man could ever hope for and yet he’d rather have a bottle of Guinness than me!”  So when all these weemen turn to stare aghast at me, with nawthin’ but contempt on their faces, that’s always my cue to bate a hasty retreat, to layve her to recount the whole story yit again, right down til the very last damned detail!




Now although me brothers are nearly all good for nawthin’ losers leck meself, there is the one exception and that’s me brother Jack, who lives up in Belfast.  Now when he lived in our wee town, he was far worse than the rest of us.  For a start, he never had any sort of a job at all and was permanently on the dole.  But not only that, none of this here dole money ever went intil the house.  Aye, Jack used to spend the whole of his dole money on himself, layvin’ his wife Maggie with nawthin’ but the child benefit to bring up their squallin’ brats. 

You know, as soon as he’d get his dole money on a Friday, bejaysus his first port of call was always the pub and apart from wee trips til the bookies next dooer, he remained in the pub for the rest of the day and the whole of Saturday as well.  Mind you, by the time Sunday came round, sure there was hardly a bob left for the News of the World, which meant that until Friday rolled round again, he never had no choice but to spend every day hangin’ round the street corners, kickin’ his heels.

Now his wife Maggie originally came from Belfast and one day, her and Jack decided that they’d go and live with her owl ma Mary up in the big city, because it’d save them rent and layve them more money for drinkin’, smokin’, gamblin’ and generally eegitin’ about.

Well anyway, Jack had never been further than ten miles away from our beloved wee town in his whole life and that’s why we was so sure  that the useless whoer’d find Belfast such a desperate alien place, that he’d sink quicker than a stone and would soon be back home, with his tail between his legs.  Now we was right in one respect, in that it wasn’t all that long until he did come back.  However, it was only for a visit and far from him havin’ his tail between his legs, man it was waggin’ leck billio, for the whole world to see. 

My goodness, but we hardly recognised him.  For a start, he wasn’t short of money and in fact, he had big thick wads of it.  He also had a big tub of a new car and was wearin’ fancy clothes and a whole pile of gold jewellery.  But not only that, he tolt us that he could now afford to hang around the bookies and the pubs every single day in life and not just the odd day leck the rest of us. 

Now as well as bein’ fierce envious, I was also desperate curious about all this and so I tackled him about it down in the pub.

“So if you’re not workin’,” I said til him, “then where the hell are you gettin’ all the money from?”

“Och, I've started a brothel,” he told me as bold as brass. “Mind you, I've only started in a small way ..... with the wife and the mother-in-law.”

Well whether he was jokin’ or not, when I heard this here story, I took a long hard look at Mildred and her owl ma Aggie.  But then after some consideration, I put the thought from me mind forever.  I mane, who in their right mind was ever gonna pay me good money, to get intil a clinch with either of them two owl witches!




I mind one lovely sunny Sunday away back in the mists of time, when Mildred and me was still akinda inter-rested in each other and we was out for a walk along the seafront in Carrickfergus. 

Now Carrickfergus is an unusual sorta place in that it boasts not one, but two castles – one at each end of the promenade.  Aye, near the town centre stands the really owl castle, which is a fine lookin’ place, let me tell yee.  And then at the other end of the promenade, stands the more modern Kilroot castle.  Now although it’s not half as impressive lookin’ as the owl castle, it has one claim til fame.  Of all the castles in the whole wide world, it has the highest tower of them all.

Well anyway, as we was standin’ lookin’ out over Belfast Lough towards Bangor, we fell intil chat with these two bucks we’d never seen before.  Now they was very friendly sorta boyos, but there was somethin’ about them that really intrigued me and that was their accent.  You see, I’d never heard an accent leck theirs before.  But then I’d never travelled much and in fact, I hadn’t been outside Carrickfergus for quite a few years, apart from that one day that we went up til the big city for a lough of hours and I just couldn’t wait to get home, on account of me feelin’ so scarred and homesick.  Well anyway, I was that curious I just had to ask them.

“Where are youse from anyway boys?”

“From de Sowt,” one of them replied.

“De Sowt?” I said all puzzled, “and where the hell is that? ..... I’ve never heard of it.”  

“Och, now come on,” said the buck, lookin’ at me all quizzical-leck, “yeh must be coddin’ me ..... yeh must have heard of de Sowt.” I shook me head, totally perplexed.  Mildred rolled her eyes and gave me a sharp nudge with her elbow.

“He means the South, yee bloody eegit yee,” she growled.

Well anyway, we continued hashin’ and it soon became apparent that they was lookin’ for work.

“Aye,” said one of them, “we came up here til Carrickfergus, because someone told us there was piles of work goin’ here.”

“And have youse found anythin’?” I asked. The buck shook his head.

“Naw,” he replied sadly, “the only thing we saw was up there at the forestry place ..... aye, there was a big sign pinned up til the gate ..... and it said that they had job vacancies ..... for tree fellers.”

“So why didn’t youse apply then?” I asked.

“Och, how could we!” replied the buck, “sure there was only the two of us!” 




Up until recently, Mildred and I’d had a great wee system goin’.  Aye, it ran leck clockwork and I was as happy as Larry.  Take mornin’s for example.  When Mildred’s alarm’d go off at 5 am, she’d turn it off as quick as possible so as not to disturb me and then she’d get dressed real quick and go outside for to feed all the bastes, clayne out their lairs and milk the cows etc. 

Then she’d come back intil the house for to make me my breakfast, which she’d bring til me in me bed.  After that, she’d shave me and lay out me clothes, before sloppin’ out the bucket I keep by the bed, to save me havin’ to go til the loo durin’ the cowl nights. Then she’d always go downstairs to light the fire in the front room to get it all nice and warm for me, when I’d eventually come downstairs to watch TV.  After that, she’d go outside to plough fields, fix fences, dig drains and so on, before comin’ back in at noon for to make me my dinner.

However, when Mildred’s young niece Sharon came to visit, she filled Mildred’s empty head full of a whole pile of owl weemen’s lib nonsense and sadly everythin’s changed for the worse since then.  For example, I now have to see til me clothes, slop out me bucket and get me own breakfast etc.

Aye bejaysus, I have to do everythin’ for meself now.  But what makes it even worse is that Mildred sneers at the way I do things.  For example, when I iron a shirt, you should hear her scornin’ me when I only do the collar.  But sure the way I look at it, I always wear a jersey, so the only part of me shirt that anyone can ever see is me collar.  So why would I need to iron any other part of the shirt! 

Bejasysus, how I wish I could get Mildred back til the way she was, before that damned Sharon came avisitin’!







Early one Christmas Eve mornin’, Mildred’s very snobby and imperious sister Doreen rang her to announce that she and her hubby was comin’ to spend Christmas Day with us.   Now because our chillder had all left home, we didn’t normally bother much with Christmas any more. But because Mildred wanted to make a good impression on Doreen, the first thing she did was rush out and buy the best Christmas tree she could find and a whole pile of fancy decorations.  Then it was out intil the cowl and the rain, trudgin’ around all the surroundin’ fields lookin’ for holly, before returnin’ to bake a Christmas cake and mince pies.  After that she went clayne mad, dustin’ and sweepin’ the whole house from top til bottom, before decoratin’ the whole place. 

And as I sat in me chair in front of the TV, I could see her face gettin’ redder and redder and my goodness, but the sweat was baylin’ off her.  Now because it made me feel a wee bit guilty, I decided I’d better give her a hand and so I volunteered to get the turkey.  However, I didn’t fancy ploddin’ all the way down til the butcher’s and then luggin’ an owl turkey all the way back up til the house.  So because I’d noticed an ad in the locial newspaper about chaype fresh turkeys that they’d deliver til your dooer, I gave them a ring and placed me order.

Now I was expectin’ the turkey to be delivered within a couple of hours, but sure the buck didn’t turn up til after 10 o’clock at night.  Well Mildred was quare and relieved when he did eventually arrive and she rushed out for to get this here turkey.  But that’s when she got the quare gunk.  Aye, when the buck opened the boot of the car, she expected to see a lovely turkey, leck what you’d see on a butcher’s slab.  However instead of that, this here evil lookin’ bird almost the size of Mildred stepped out of the boot, with a menacin’ look on its face.  Well anyway, I’d done me bit by gettin’ her the turkey, so I headed away off down the pub for a lough of drinks before closin’ time.

Now Mildred did a grand job makin’ the whole house Christmassy, but when it came til the Christmas dinner, sure she let us down desperate badly.  I mane, imagine servin’ up spam instead of turkey!




Although Christmas is a great time in many respects, there are a few things about it that I could well do without.  For example, Mildred’s sister Doreen holds a pre-Christmas party every year and she always invites us til it.  But the sneg with Doreen is that she’s a real snobby, uppidity, pretentious sort of person, who thinks she’s upper middle class and a cut above the rest of us country bumpkins.  In fact, she’s just leck that Mrs Bucket you see on the telly.

But my goodness, you should see her house.  It’s is just leck a palace and because she’s such a cleanliness freak, it’s always sparklin’.  In fact, it’s just leck a show house, with absolutely nawthin’ out of place.  That’s why I always hate receivin’ the invite til her pre-Christmas do, because I just can’t feel comfortable or relaxed in her home, especially as all her posh chums are always there too, lookin’ down their snouts at me.

Now last year when we went til her party, the divil was in me.  So I wore me owl mucky Wellington boots for to annoy Doreen.  However, she insisted that I took them off at the front dooer and so I had to pad round her place in me sock soles.

Then when we entered the parlour, everythin’ of coorse was in order as per usual, with not one single thing out of place.  So when she and her hubby Ernest was out in the kitchen, I went round the room pretendin’ to be inspectin’ all her fancy ornaments, when all I was actually doin’ was just movin’ them around and jumblin’ them all up, out of pure badness.  Needless to say, when she came back intil the room, she immediately noticed and bejaysus, she couldn’t settle until til she’d got everythin’ put back in its proper place.

But I wasn’t finished with me divilment yit.  You see, I had some dust in one of me pockets, a ween of soot in another and a whole pile of wee tiny bits of white paper in another.  Now without anyone noticin’, I sprinkled the dust over the top of a cabinet and then when Doreen and her posh guests was lookin’, I ran me hand over the cabinet before starin’ at the dust on me fingers, with a look of absolute disgust on me face. 

As for the soot and the wee tiny bits of white paper, it wasn’t long until there was black smudges all over her glistenin’ white dooers and her very expensive thick-piled Axminster carpets was all covered in what looked leck a mixture of dandruff and snow.  But although Doreen was goin’ clayne mad, I still wasn’t finished and when I went up til the loo, I left a lough of stink bombs in there and then a dead rat on the landin’ flooer.

Now Doreen normally sends out the invites til her Christmas party in mid November.  But ours must have got lost in the post this year.




I came from a fierce large family and me parents was desperate thrifty people.  Aye, nawthin’ was ever wasted and everythin’ was recycled one way or another.  For example, all our clothes was ‘hand-me-downs’ and me ma used to make us underpants from owl cloth meal bags and me da used to repair our shoes with owl bits of tractor tyre.

Now when it came til Christmas, me da used to go out intil the garden and dig up this scraggy owl bush, which he’d bring intil the house for to act as a Christmas tree and after Boxin’ Day was over, he’d replant it back out in the garden.  As for Christmas wrappin’ paper, me ma bought 15 chaype sheets of it just after they was married and these 15 sheets was recycled year after year.  With regard til Christmas presents, it wasn’t any better.  We didn’t get a whole pile of new presents leck today’s’ kids.  Naw, we only got one each and that was all. 

When the first ba was born, me parents bought one Christmas present for it.  But a lough of days after Christmas, the present was took off the ba and stored away. They then had their second ba the follyin’ year and when it came til Christmas time, the first child was bought a new present and the first present that had been stored away, was given til the second child.  Then a lough of days after Christmas, the 2 presents was took off the two chillder and stored away until the follyin’ Christmas and as our family increased in size, this process was repeated year in, year out. 

Now I was the last of 12 chillder and by the time I came along, all these recycled presents was more than a little battered.  For example, the fire-ingine I got one year had no wheels on it and the doll I got another year had no head on her.  But what did I care.  Sure I was damned lucky to have got anythin’ at all.  So all youse ungrateful weemen out there, who complain about gettin’ things leck football boots or a fishin’ rod or a motor bike from your husbands at Christmas, well at least youse are gettin’ somethin’ new!




Well, they forced that much drink down me throat on Christmas Day, that when I woke up on Boxin’ Day mornin’, I had such a fierce hangover on me, that the first thing on me mind was to find a cure.  So I dragged meself outta me pit and went downstairs.  But sure there wasn’t a drop about the place.  So I roared up the stairs til me wife Mildred and I tolt her to get up out of her bed and go down intil the town til the offie and get me a lough of bottles.  Well I can’t repeat what she scrayched back down the stairs at me.

Bejaysus, I was beginnin’ to feel akinda desperate, until I suddenly had this bright idea and I made a beeline for that box of unopened liqueur chocolates, that someone had given us as a Christmas box.  I ripped the box open, bit the tops off the wee chocolate bottles, drained the contents and then put the empty bottles back in the box, for to give as a birthday present til a grand-child at some later stage.  But I might as well have not bothered me arse, for I just ended up feelin’ worse than before.   

But then I had another bright idea and I dragged meself intil the kitchen, where I opened the fridge dooer and grabbed the bowl with the brandy butter in it and I scoffed the lot in one go.  But sure that didn’t work neither and only made me stomach go intil convulsions.

Then suddenly Mildred appeared out of nowhere behind me and it was at this point, that I gave her a belated Christmas present - right down the front of her nightie. 




Every Christmas time, everyone goes clayne mad rushin’ about, scratchin’ their heads and wonderin’ what presents to buy for people.  Well it’s not a problem that afflicts me, for I don’t buy nobody nawthin’.  Mind you, some people aren’t none too happy about this, but the way I look at it, sure I’m doin’ them a favour.  First of all, I’m savin’ them the disappointment of gettin’ somethin’ from me that they don’t leck.  And secondly, they don’t have the bother of then tryin’ to pretend that they’re playsed with me present.

But with regard til some of the presents that was give til me this year, I wasn’t playsed with them at all, at all.  Now me daughter Annie normally buys me a bottle of whisky and a dozen stout.  But my goodness, there was none of that this year.  Naw, all I got from her this year was a pair of long-johns, a muffler and a lough of owl socks for to keep me warm, as she put it.  Warm indeed!  A big bottle of whisky and a lough of stout would have made me a whole pile warmer.

As for one of me sons, the clem went and bought me one of those new-fangled digital cameras.  Now what hell use would I be wantin’ a digital camera for!  However, seein’ as it was Christmas time, I didn’t tell him to go stick it up his arse.  But it was later, when he suggested that I use the camera to take a few photies of him and the chillder round the Christmas tree in the parlour, that I nearly blew me top.  I mane, how the hell could I take any photos with this here damned digital camera!   Sure the eegit hadn’t given me a roll of film to put in it!




One of the raisons I don’t leck Christmas is because so many unwelcome people come avisitin’ and this Christmas was no exception.  For example, there was our former neighbour Gertie.  When she arrived up with us, all she could talk about was her skitters of chillder.  Well not only can I never remember none of their names, but to be quite honest, I’m not a bit interested in any of them.  Well anyway, as she was talk, talk, talkin’, I sat there nod, nod, noddin’, until eventually I just nodded off.  Well needless to say, she wasn’t none too playsed with me, especially as this wasn’t the first time that I’d done this sorta thing on her.

Aye, I mind other that time I was standin’ in a long queue in a bank waitin’ to be served, when I suddenly felt this hand upon me shoulder.  I looked round expectin’ it'd be one of me mates, suggestin’ that we go for a wee snifter together after we’d completed our bankin’ business.  But naw, it was Gertie and me heart sank.

Well anyway, she started rabbittin’ on at me most excitedly about her chillder yit again and as per usual, me mind began to wander.  But even so, I tried me best to appear interested, although all I was really thinkin’ about was gettin’ out of there tout suite and intil the nearest pub for a lough of drinks.  And while she was hashin’ away, we gradually got nearer and nearer til the head of the queue.

But then when she suddenly paused for to give her tongue a wee bit of a rest, I decided I’d better say somethin’ to break the silence.

“So how’s your young daughter Amy gettin’ on?” I asked her.  She immediately stepped back all aghast, right on til the foot of the person behind her.

“What do you mane how is Amy gettin’ on!” she scrayched angrily, “sure I’ve just spent the last 15 minutes tellin’ you all about her!!” 

It was at this point that the cashier cried “next please” and it was music til me ears, when I realised it was me she was talkin’ til.




Another Christmas visitor we had was me cousin Sylvester, who’d arrived in unexpectedly from Amerikay in his check jacket and bejaysus, did he not sicken me arse with all his hashin’, blowin’ and braggin’ about what a great place Amerikay was. 

Well I decided to take him down til the pub because I asorta assumed that with all his money, he’d be doin’ all the buyin’.  But I was wrong, for he never put his hand intil his pocket once.  However, after I’d bought three rounds, I decided I’d buy no more.  I mane, it was torture enough havin’ to listen til the gonch dronin’ on and on, without me havin’ to fill him full of free drink as well!

Aye, he put years on me croakin’ on and on about what a great job he had, and the marvellous house he lived in, and the big flashy car he had, and all the money he earned and all that sort of owl shite.  And while Sylvester was hashin’ on, I just sat there gratin’ me teeth and starin’ at me empty glass, hopin’ and prayin’ that he'd shut his trap, quit sickenin’ my arse for just for one minute and get his own arse up til the bar for to get me a drink. 

Well you know, I eventually got that fed up listenin til all this owl shite that I couldn’t help meself and I suddenly rared up on him.

“Och, for God’s sake,” I roared at him, “if Amerikay’s such a great place, why the hell don't you feck away off back there then, as quick as you can go and give our heads pace!” 




Another Christmas visitor was me brother Marty, who arrived unexpectedly from England.  Well although we could have done damn well without him, we tried our best to pretend we was playsed to see him.

Well anyway, Mildred offered Marty somethin’ to ate, but he said that he'd had somethin’ a wee while before and was so full that the buttons was almost poppin’ off his waistcoat.  So when he and I started to hash away til each in the front room, Mildred remained in the kitchen for to cook a turkey, bake a whole pile of cakes and make a big trifle for the weemen's institute Christmas do the next day.

Jaysus, she spent until nearly 10 o'clock that night slavin’ away preparin’ all this lovely grub.  Then, just as she was about to sit down for a well earned rest, the bowel Marty chirped up and said that if it was all right with her, he would leck to have a wee bite to ate after all, on account of him now feelin’ akinda famished. 

Well I could see from the expression on Mildred’s face that naw, it wasn't all right with her and that if he really wanted to know what would be all right with her, it would be for him to feck away off back til England and the sooner the better.  But she somehow managed to conceal her true feelin’s and instead she gave him a rather sickly smile and forced herself to say through clenched teeth “certainly Marty”.  And she went out once more intil the kitchen and cooked up a big fry for him.

Well when she eventually had it all cooked, she put it down in front him and bejaysus, he took intil it leck he hadn't seen grub for a lough of weeks.  My goodness, but he had the plate completely cleared within a couple of minutes and to show his contentment, he follyed it all up with a string of burps.  Well anyway, this was follyed by a lot more hot air from him and he kept us up until two o'clock in the mornin’ with all his hashin!  However, when eventually Marty began to yawn, Mildred was that relieved at the prospect of at last bein’ able to get til her bed, that she momentarily felt asorta kindly towards him.

“Now if you feel hungry durin’ the night Marty,” she said, “you can always rustle yourself somethin’ up from the Christmas leftovers.”  Well do you know what the owl whoer did!  At around four o'clock in the mornin, he got up and went down intil the pantry and bejaysus, he ate big lumps outta the new turkey, cut intil every single newly-baked cake and then finished off this here late night snack, with an enormous helpin’ of the freshly-made trifle and cream.  And back off til bed he went contented.

Now when Mildred saw the damage the next mornin’, my goodness, but if there wasn’t a fierce explosion and man, did she not tear intil him and ate the face of him.  Well as Marty was hurriedly packin’ his bags for to abandon ship, there was big tears in his eyes and his face was all akinda crumpled.

“Och, what did I do wrong ..... sure I was only feelin’ a wee bit peckish,” he kept sayin til himself, over and over again. 




When I was chattin’ til one of me grandsons the other day, bejaysus, but if he didn’t launch an awful odejious attack on Santa and how he’d really disappointed him two years in a row.  Now when I quizzed him about this, he tolt me that the previous year he took it intil his head that he wanted to become a musician.  So he posted a letter off til Santa, tellin’ him what he wanted and when his ma Martha asked him later what he’d requested, he tolt her he’d asked for a big set of drums and a trumpet.

Well when it came til Christmas Eve, he was that excited he could hardly get til sleep.  But when he eventually did, he was suddenly awoken by a strange noise.  So he immediately switched on his bedside light and the first thing he saw was his ma and da standin’ by his bedroom dooer and he could tell from the startled looks on their faces, that he’d ketched them red-handed, comin’ in to stayle his presents from Santa. 

“You know granddad,” he said til me, “although I know Santa doesn’t bring no presents til parents, that didn’t give them the right to creep intil me room and stayle mine!”  But if that wasn’t bad enough, when he looked down at his presents from Santa, sure there was no drums nor trumpet.  My goodness, but he was fierce disappointed.  So he concluded that either Santa couldn’t read or else he was a for-ner, who didn’t understand English.

Well anyway, when Christmas came round the follyin’ year, he was that worried about his parents creepin’ in to stayle his presents, that after he’d made sure that the chimlay was clear for Santa to come down, he’d locked the dooer til his bedroom for to keep his ma and da out, before climbin’ in til his bed.  Once again, it took him a fierce long time to drop off.  But he got the quare gunk the next mornin’ when he woke up, for not only had Santa not delivered what he’d asked for, but sure he’d left him nawthin’ at all!  




By the way, here’s a wee tip for men who don’t know what to buy for their weemen at Christmas.  Just go on til the intronet, type in “chaype Christmas presents for weemen” and when the website pops up, close your eyes, stick out your finger towards the screen and whatever item it lands on, get her that and they’ll deliver it straight til your dooer.  Aye, it’s the best way of doin’ things, let me tell yee.  Sure you don’t even have to move out of your chair!








Mickle was recently spoutin’ a whole load of owl garbage about how HRT made me frisky towards him.  Well I’d never be that desperate, no matter what I took!  So let’s put the record straight. There was nights in bed when I wouldn’t be fit to sleep, because I’d be balancin’ on about 3 inches on my side of the mattress and his elbows and knees would be pokin’ intil me back and his uncut toenails would be scrapin’ down the backs of me legs.  Now it would be at times leck this, that I would put me hand upon his thigh.  Man, he would immediately stiffen, but not in the way you’d think.  And in a flash, he’d be away over til his side of the bed, for to get as far away as possible from me.  Aye, it was so lovely to be able to get some space, spread meself out and sleep contentedly in the star-fish position, with absolutely no danger at all of him ever comin’ anywhere near me, for the rest of the night.

A big lorry has just delivered a whole load of blocks.  So I’m away off out now, for to build a new byre.





Isn’t it amazin’ how lazy men can be!  Although I’m rushin’ about leck a mad thing from dawn until late at night, tryin’ me best to keep on top of things, that there Mickle one hardly moves a muscle.  If he’s not lyin’ about stinkin’ in his bed, he’s sittin’ in his armchair down in the front room lookin’ at TV.  In fact, if for some peculiar raison, I ever needed to make a plaster-cast mould of his arse, all I’d have to do is send them the cushion on his armchair, for it’s got the shape of his arse well and truly imprinted in it, cheeks and all.

You know, the only exercise he ever takes, is when he jumps out of his chair to rush til the windy for to get a peek at that doll from further up the lane, when she waltzes past in her mini-skirt.  So I decided one day, that I was gonna make him take more exercise, whether he lecked it or not. But the only thing I could think of to get him to move was to take the batteries out the TV remote control, cos I knew he’d then have no choice but to get out of his chair to change the channels.  However, although it worked at first, he soon had me bate, for he actually made the effort to walk down intil the town to get some more batteries.

Well anyway, I continued to keep naggin’ at him to cut down on the drinkin’ and take some exercise instead.  Now although I did eventually manage to stop him goin’ down til the pub, I still couldn’t get him to take no exercise.  But then one day he took me completely by surprise, when he said that I was right and that he really did need to take more exercise.  So he said he was turnin’ a new leaf and that he’d start by takin’ the dog out for walks every day. 

Now I was quare and glad I was sittin’ down when he said all this, for if I’d been standin’ up, I’d have keeled right over from the shock.  However, I soon began to have me suspicions.  For example, I noticed that every time he returned from these here dog walks, his eyes was always akinda glazed and he was forever staggerin’ about and bumpin’ intil things.  So one day, I decided to folly him and, lo and behold, when I got down intil the town, what did I see, but the dog tethered up outside the pub, lookin’ desperate miserable. So I stormed intil the pub and that was the day, Mickle got his first ever beer shampoo!  

Well anyway, I’m away off out now, as I have to get the long ladders up and clear out the gutters.





My goodness, but don’t men make you sick.  Now there comes the odd time, when we have to go out til a family celebration of some sort and it’s always a fierce battle tryin’ to get Mickle to wear somethin’ half dacent.  You know, I have bought him so many lovely clothes over the years.  But does he wear them?  Naw, no chance!  Aye, they’re all up in the chest of drawers, still in their original packagin’.   But it’s desperate bein’ married til a rag and bone man and I often despair of him, for he just doesn’t seem to give a damn about his appearance. 

Now I’m so different from him.  I always spend absolutely ages doin’ me hair and make-up and gettin’ meself as nicely dressed as possible in me best clothes. However, when I go downstairs and ask Mickle if I’m okay, he always says: “Och, you look lovely darlin’.”   Well that’s fine, apart from the fact that he always says it without givin’ me a glance, or takin’ his eyes off the damned telly.  So one night, I was that fed up with him, that I got meself all dressed up in black plastic bags and then I went downstairs for to get his opinion. 

“Och, you look lovely darlin’.” he said as per usual without lookin’.  This was follyed by a yelp, when I hit him over the head with the fryin’ pan I just happened to be carryin’.

Well anyway, I’m away off out now til the forge I built, for to make a new set of shoes for the horse. Then I have to ketch the horse and put the shoes on him. But it’s not gonna be an aisy job, for he’s an awful awkward, cantankerous owl brute. In fact, he’s damned nearly as bad as that Mickle one.





Isn’t it amazin’ what selective eyesight men have!  They only ever see what they want to see.  For example, whenever I ask Mickle to do a wee job about the house, he immediately starts moanin’.

“Och, me eyesight’s got that bad,” he wails, “that I wouldn’t be fit to see right to do that job.”  But for someone who’s supposed to have such poor eyesight, he never seems to have any difficulty seein’ a pretty girl.  Aye, on those VERY RARE occasions, when I have absolutely no choice but to be out and about with him, sure he’s always tryin’ to take wee sneaky peeks at every woman that passes us by.  Mind you, he doesn’t realise that I’ve noticed this.  But there’s damn the much that I miss, as far as that clift’s concerned.

So what I do now is this: whenever I see a pretty woman comin’ along, I always make a make a point of standin’ right in front of Mickle and lookin’ at him straight in the eye.  Man, it’s great fun for me to see the frustration on his face.  And as she gets closer, I can see that he’s hopin’ and prayin’ that I’ll look away, for even just a split second, so that he can get at least one wee look at her.  But I never do.  And my goodness, his eyes never stop twitchin’, as he tries desperately to stop himself from havin’ a surreptitious wee peek, as she walks by ..... and away out of sight.   Mind you, he’s never too playsed.   But hell slap it up him, the silly owl ballocks!

Well anyway, durin’ this cowl spell Mickle’s been heavin’ the coal on til the fire, leck as if there’s no tomorrow and now he’s grumblin’ that we’ve near run out.  So I’m away off out now to walk the 3 miles down intil the town for to get a hundredweight bag of coal and lug it back home on me shoulder.





You know, I spend many long hours makin’ Mickle lovely big feeds.  But what does he do when he sits down!  For a start, he never takes his eyes off the telly and then all that lovely grub that I spent hours cookin’ for him, sure it all just goes down the hatch, without hardly even touchin’ the sides.  But not only that, he ates leck a pig.   Even when I dragged in a trough one day and served up his grub in that, sure he still didn’t get the message.  And as for him sayin’ “thank you” or “that was nice”, such phrases do not appear to exist in his vocabulary! 

Now I go to visit me ma every Wednesday afternoon and as I never get back til nearly six, I layve it til Mickle to make the tay.  Well do you know what he does!  He does me one boiled egg - every bloody week!!

Well anyway, I’m away off out now, as I have to strip down the engine on the tractor.





Isn’t it amazin’ what selective hearin’ men have?  They only ever hear what they want to hear.  For example, Mickle tells me he’s deaf in one ear and has tinnyitis in the other and that’s why he says he can never hear anythin’ I say til him.  But for someone who’s supposed to be so desperate hard of hearin’, it’s strange how he never seems to have any bother hearin’ the latch go on the front gate, when one of his mates is comin’ to take him down til the pub and man, he’s out of his chair in a flash and away out the dooer, before I can get me lips formed round the word “NO!!!”

Well anyway, I’m away off out now for to dig a long trench in the bottom field and then I have to cut down two big trees in the meadow with an axe.




Hi, this is Mildred.  I was goin’ to give youse a ring to tell youse all about me marriage til Mickle, but when he realised this, he tried to put me off by tellin’ me that youse don’t talk til weemen on air.  But what he doesn't realise, is that I listen til your programme too and so I knew that this was yet another damned lie, cos I’ve heard youse talkin’ til Mary doll, the desperate housewife.  Well goin’ on that, I’m assumin’ you’ll talk til me, especially as I’m a lot more desperate than what she is.

The next thing he told me, was that our phone line doesn’t reach all the way til Newtownards. Now, although I’m not a very technical person, I knew that this was another whole pile of owl nonsense, cos if I can ring me sister Wilomena in Canada, then our phone line must be fit to reach youse.

Now when I went to pick up the phone, I asked Mickle for the Newtownards diallin’ code and he told me it was 9135879.  But when I used that, all I got was some robot tellin’ me I'd dialled the wrong number.

Man, the bowel Mickle thought that he had me bate, for the first time ever in our married strife.  However, I soon put the smile off his face, cos I got the right number from the telephone book. My goodness, you should have seen the look on his face then.  Boys a dear, but was he not quakin’.

But then when I went to ring youse, I had second thoughts. You see, whenever I start talkin’ about that good for nawthin’ useless eegit, sure it's never too long until I start comin’ out with a whole pile of bad language and you couldn’t very well have that on air, now could youse! 

Now although I’m no good at spellin’, I knew there was a ‘spall chucker’ on this computer that would keep me right.  So I've decided to write you this email instead.

Unfortunately I can’t write any more just now however, as I have so much to do.  For example, I have to get the horse out and plough a lough of fields out the back. I also have to repair the fence that Mickle broke, when he fell over it staggerin’ about drunk on his way back from the pub on Christmas Eve.  Then I have to get up on the roof for to replace a slate that's come off.  But I'll be back in touch in no time, for I have a fierce amount to say about men and all their many bad habits.  It really is about time we weemen shut them up completely, once and for all!





Saturday is Mickle’s bettin’ day in our house.  As soon as the paper arrives in the mornin’, he’s straight intil the front room, where he spends hours studyin’ the horses, while I’m outside sloggin’ me guts out, tryin’ to keep on top of things. Then, when he’s made his selections, he rings his ‘certs’ through til the bookie’s.  Needless to say, the clift rarely wins a shillin’.

Well anyway, I got that fed up at him doin’ nawthin’ around the place and wastin’ good money on three-legged horses that ran backwards, that I decided to play a wee trick on him.   So one Saturday mornin’, I bate him til the paper when it arrived and away I raced to lock meself in the bathroom, where I took out Saturday’s racin’ page and replaced it with Friday’s.  Man, did I not enjoy hearin’ him outside the locked bathroom dooer, pacin’ up and down and mutterin’ and moanin’. 

Well I eventually put him out of his misery and I gave him the paper and away he went til the front room for to make all his selections.   Man, he was in there for hours studyin’ all the horses and just before the racin’ started, he rang up the bookie for to lay his bets.  But he got the quare gunk when the bookie told him he was a day late.  My goodness, but he was not hoppin’.  But sure hell slap it up him, the silly owl ballocks.

Well anyway, I’m away off out now til the lower meadow, til those trees I cut down last week.  I have to chop them up intil blocks and carry them all back up til the house on me back.  I hope I manage to get the job done before nightfall.





The other day, Mickle’s brother Ernie loaned us his car for the two weeks he’s gonna be away visitin’ relatives across the water.  Man, I was quare and playsed and looked forward til us usin’ the car for fetchin’ and carryin’ heavy stuff from the town.  I was also lookin’ forward til bein’ driven out on day trips and visitin’ relatives up the country.

Now Ernie’s almost as tight as that there Mickle buck and when he left us the car, sure the tank was near empty.  So yesterday, I gave Mickle a few quid and told him to drive down intil the town and fill her up.  However, when he got down there, instead of spendin’ the money on petrol, he went intil the bookies and put it all on a sure-thing horse called ‘Forlorn Hope’.  Needless to say, that nag didn’t win and the last thing I heard, it was still runnin’.  Well anyway, there was just enough petrol in the tank for to get Mickle back home, before it conked out.  So I am away off out now to walk the three miles down intil the town for to get a can of petrol.

You know, if I could drive, I’d be away off over the horizon and that Mickle buck would never, ever see me again!





Aren’t men the most useless craturs!  One mornin’, I was in that much of a rush to get down intil the town for to do the shoppin’, that I forgot to put a wash on.  Well although it was sunny, rain was predicted for the afternoon.  So I rang Mickle up from a phonebox in the town and asked him to put a wash on, so that it would be ready for me to hang out in the sun by the time I got back within the hour.  Needless to say, he didn’t have a clue how to operate the machine, so I had to explain til him where to put the soap powder and the conditioner and also what settin’ to use.   Mind you, although he moaned and groaned a lot, he eventually did get it goin’ and that’s when I rang off.

About an hour later, when I was strugglin’ up the lane with all me heavy bags of shoppin’, I could see that there was dark clouds away in the distance.  However, the sun was still shinin’ and there was a good breeze.  So I knew from past experience, that there was still about an hour’s good dryin’ time to go before the rain set in.  So I rushed up til the house, put all me bags down in the kitchen and went intil the utility room I’d built on til the side of the house and I was quare and playsed to see that the machine was goin’ the best and had nearly finished its washin’ cycle.  However, there was just one wee sneg.  That jack dunkey Mickle hadn't put the clothes in!!

I’m away off out now.  I have to make a new gate and hang it down in the field where that horrible owl bull is.  And I don’t mane Mickle!!







When we was in our early teens, we used to play a game at parties called ‘Postman’s Knock’.  Now the idea behind this game was that someone had to go outside the room and then call out the name of somebody of the opposite sex, who would then join them outside for a wee kiss.  Then the first person would come back intil the room, layvin’ the second person to call out the name of someone else and so on.

Although I always used to look forward til playin’ this game, it rarely worked out the way I would have lecked. There’d always be one person in the room whom I really fancied, but whom I’d never got close til before and it was always me hope, that I’d be able to use that game for to ‘break the ice’ with them.  But for some raison or another, things would never work out the way I’d planned and I never ever managed to get til grips with the object of me dreams. 

But the main sneg about that game was that there’d also always be some absolute monster there, who’d have been better suited in a zoo and who was so repulsive, I’d rather have ate a bucket of cowl vomit than kiss them.  However, not only would I continually get chosen by that person, but it would soon become clear til me after a few revoltin’ kisses, that they really fancied me and that as far as they was concerned, we was both now an item.

But what made it so much worse, was when they’d lock their wet slobbery lips on mine and stick their tongue half a mile down me throat, it would be all covered in bits of chayse and onion crisps!!!

Goin’ back til our pre-teen days, we used to play a game called ‘Nelson’s Eye’ at parties.  Now we all had to go outside the room and when your name was called, they put a blindfold on yee.  You was then led intil the room and when a hat was placed in your hand, you were tolt it was Horatio Nelson’s hat.  Then when a telescope was placed in your hand, you were tolt it was his telescope.  But the best bit was when they tolt you to stick out your finger, which was then guided intil a hole in an orange, which was supposed to be Nelson’s eye.  Needless to say, there used to be quite a few blood-curdlin’ shrieks - mostly from the boys!




There was a time in me teens, when all me mates had girl friends and I had nobody.  So I was the odd man out and this made feel desperate lonely.  I was therefore quare and playsed when I got an anonymous Valentine’s Day card one year.  However, the only sneg was that I just couldn’t figure out who’d sent it.  And this only increased me sense of loneliness.

Now the follyin’ year, I had a quare notion of this cuttie Lizzie.  So I decided I’d send her a Valentine’s Day card.  However them days, cubs didn’t do soppy things leck sendin’ Valentine Day cards til cutties.  So to make sure nobody found out, I got on me bike on the day before St. Valentine’s Day and I rode the five miles til the next town to buy one and then I posted it off til her.  However, I was that shy I didn’t sign it.

Well I fretted so much about not signin’ it, that I crept up near Lizzie’s house on St. Valentine’s Day in the hope that she’d show her face, so that I could tell her the card was from me.  And me patience bore fruit, for after about 6 hours waitin’ behind a hedge, I suddenly saw her comin’ down the lane with me card in her hand and a big happy smile on her face.  So I stepped out from behind the hedge, with me heart poundin’.

“Look,” she said excitedly, holdin’ up the card, “I got a Valentine’s Day card this mornin’ ..... and I’ve worked out it must be from Robbie ..... so I’m away off down the town now to see him.”

Och, me heart sank leck a stone and although I should have told her that it was from me, I was too shy and scarred.  However, I was sure Robbie’d put her straight and that I’d still be in with a chance.  But sure the lousy whoer didn’t do no such thing and instead he let on that it actually had been him who’d sent it.

So that was the beginnin’ of their big romance ..... and all because of MY card!  And as for me, sure I was left all on me lone ..... yet again!




When us young cubs was runnin’ about playin’ japs and jerries, if we came across a squad of cutties, we used to brush them aside out of our road, with looks of utter contempt on our faces.  But it wasn’t long til we forgot all about the japs and jerries and had other games on our mind.  So instead of ignorin’ these here cutties, we used to hover round them, showin’ off and tryin’ to be smart, in the vain hope that we’d be impressin’ them.

Now these days you ‘fancy’ someone, but in my time, you had a ‘notion’ of them.  Well there was this cuttie and I had a fierce notion of her.  However, I was desperate shy and I didn’t want me muckers to know, so I hid it the best I could.  But sure they soon twigged on, which was maybe because I went bright red whenever her name was mentioned, or she suddenly appeared round a corner, or whatever.

Well anyway, some time later we started to coort and there eventually came that time when we had our first ever kiss. Now although the earth didn’t move, me stomach certainty did. It was absolutely disgustin’!

I remember thinkin’ on me way home, that although I loved that girl and wanted to marry her and spend the rest of me life with her, I was definitely never, ever gonna kiss her again!!!




When I was coortin’ me first love, I was a desperate shy, odd sort of a buck and I was that afeared of me chums taysin’ me, that I kept the whole thing secret.  But the sneg was that me and me girlfriend lived on opposite sides of our wee town, so the only way I could get til her at nights without bein’ seen, was by dukin’ about leck a rat from bush til bush, across the wet boggy fields round the edge of our wee town.

Now this could be scary enough at times and I remember one dark night when I heard a loud noise beside me and it scarred me that much, that I jumped about 3 foot intil the air.  But sure it was only an owl cow coughin’.

Well anyway, when I’d get til her place, I’d go round til the back and in through the basement dooer she’d left unlocked for me.  I’d then flick the light switch a lough of times and this would cause a flicker on the TV screen in the livin’ room upstairs, where she’d be sittin’ with her family.  Now that would be the cue for her to tell her parents that she was goin’ downstairs til the basement to do her homework.

Well there was damn the much homework done by either of us them days and as a result, neither of us did too well at school.  But sure what did we care.  We was in love. 




When I was coortin’ me first love, her parents knew nawthin’ about me, which suited me just fine as I didn’t want to know nawthin’ about them neither, especially as her da was a headmaster and a fearsome sorta buck.

Now although we normally duked about in the dark together, there was a few times when we’d come out in daylight and go for a walk together, hand in hand.  But there was the odd time I’d spy her mother comin’ away in the distance and bejaysus, I used to clear the ditch with a buck lepp and beetle away out of sight as quick as I could go, layvin’ me startled girlfriend lookin’ down at her empty hand.

But there eventually came the day, when the whole truth came out and me girlfriend took me to meet her ma.  Well she took the quare look at me and me big red face.

“Ah,” she exclaimed, “so you’re the boy who jumps over the hedge every time he sees me!”




From what I can gather from youngsters today, modern day dancehalls are a lot different from when I was a cub.  For a start, they tend to be all dark and atmospheric inside. So you can lurk about in the shadows and sure nobody would hardly notice that you were there or what you was up til.  However in my day, when you went til a dancehall, they’d have every damned light in the whole place on and there’d be nowhere to hide. So everyone could watch your every single move, which tended to be a wee bit off-puttin’, let me tell yee.

Now, when I went til dances all those years ago, it’d nearly always be the same: all the weemen would be standin’ at one end of the hall, with the men at the other end and of coorse, nobody would be up dancin’.

But eventually you’d get the courage up and decide it was time to ask a woman to dance and so you’d start off on the very long walk up the hall, imaginin’ that every single eye in the whole place was upon yee.  Man, your head would be sweemin’ and as you wobbled along, you could hear the beer swishin’ about in your belly.

Then when you’d eventually make it up til the apple of your eye, you’d stop in front of her and sorta grunt at her.  But then when she’d turn her back on yee, the lovely sweet rosy apple of your eye would suddenly become an owl green bitter crab apple.

So with a big red face on yee, you’d turn for to make the long trek back down the hall and the only thing you’d be fit to see was the smirks on your chums’ faces.  And when you’d reach them, you’d duke in behind them out of sight, as quick as you could go.  But you’d have larnt your lesson and it’d be a quare long time, till you’d ask any other woman out to dance.  




Now when I was a young lad, the only way for the most of us to get about was by thumbin’ for lifts and generally spaykin’, this always went ok.  However, there was the odd time when you’d wish you hadn’t bothered your arse. 

For example, one night I was thumbin’ and this buck on a motorbike came roarin’ along.  Well when he offered me a lift, I hopped on the back, even though I’d never been on a motorbike before.

Now he took off that quick, he nearly left me on me arse on the road.  But despite that, I managed to stay on and it wasn’t too bad, until he started goin’ round corners.  Well do you know, it was the first and last time in me life, that I ever threw me arms around a man and held on til him passionately.  And I’ve never been on a motorbike since.

Then there was Logan.  He picked me up about two miles from the village in his car one day and I thought that I’d have time for a leisurely feg.  But my goodness, he put his foot down til the boord and he drove leck a mad man.  It was a terra!  He went in a straight line around the bends and in a bendy line along the straights and sure he went that quick, I never got the time to light the feg in me gob. Even when I got outta the car, sure I still wasn’t fit to light me feg, for I was shakin’ that much from fear.   My goodness, but I really thought I was for the white sheet that day! 

But the worst lift of all was with Lenny.  Now he had a wee van and he used to transport calves around in the back of it.  Well one day, he stopped to give me a lift and I got in. Now everythin’ went ok, until we started goin’ down a hill and I suddenly realised me feet was gettin’ desperate wet.  So I looked down and saw this owl yella liquid swishin’ round me ankles.  It was then that it dawned on me that it was calves’ piddle.  Well do you know from then on, whenever I was out thumbin’ and I saw him comin’, sure I used to clear the ditch with a buck lepp, for to get clayne out of sight.




There are times when I get really weary of the world and all the crabbid whoers that’s in it.  But then, it’s been the same all me life, with whoers gettin’ mad with me for no raison at all.  For example, there was that time, when I was only a young cub and I'd agreed to look after Herby's big Alsatian dog for a lough of days.  Well on the first day I had it, I let it run all around the whole back garden of our house, so that it could get acquainted with the place and all that.  But the next day, after I got home from school, I noticed me neighbour was in his back garden. So I went outside and layned over the fence for to have a wee chat with him.

“How's your cat gettin’ on with my dog?” I asked him all friendly-leck

Well Jaysus, this here buck went clayne mad and he clipped me on the ear.  But then how was I to know that he'd just spent the past five hours tryin’ to coax his damned pussy back down from the top of a big tree at the bottom of the garden!




I mind one Sunday many moons ago that didn’t turn out to be too good a day for neither me nor Marmeduke, me ma’s beloved pussy.  It all started when me owl sourpuss of a ma came bustin’ intil me bedroom on the hinges of 11 o’clock in the worst of bad humour.

“Quit lyin’ there stinkin’ and get up out of your bed, you slovenly quilt,” she snarled, “I’ve a job for you to do when you come down.”  And with that she stormed out, bangin’ the dooer behind her.  I screwed up me face.

“Och, damn you,” I thought, “I sleep for 12 hours and get nawthin’ but dog’s abuse and that curse-ed cat downstairs sleeps all round the clock and it gets its arse licked.”  Aye, if there was one thing that I didn’t leck, it was yon cat.  I mane, if it’d been any damned use and caught a few mice or somethin’ leck that, well that would have been different.  But sure it did nawthin’ the whole day except ate and sleep.

Well when I got downstairs, me owl ma and da was in the front room, so I went intil the kitchen for to get a bit of pace and have me breakfast.  But then I found there was no milk left for me cornflakes, cos that damned cat was lappin’ up the last of it.  Bejaysus, I went clayne mad.  That greedy, selfish, self-centred brat of a cat never thought of nobody but himself! 

Now I was just about to slip out the back dooer, when me owl ma suddenly appeared intil the kitchen with a hammer in her hand.

“Now about that job I’ve got for you,” she growled, “I want you to get up on that there stool and hammer a nail for a picture intil the wall.”  Well I didn’t feel leck hammerin’ no nails, but I could see from the cut of her that I didn’t have no choice   So I nodded reluctantly and with that she went out the back dooer intil the garden.

Well when I got up on the stool with the hammer and the nail I was ragin’, cos I couldn’t understand why I had to do this job and why that useless whoer of a da of mine couldn’t have done it instead.  Bejaysus, but the divil was well and truly in me and I was that mad, I was in the humour for smashin’ the whole damned wall down, cos I felt that maybe if I did demolish it, me ma wouldn’t be in such a hurry again to ask me to do any other wee jobs around the house. 

But then I decided that as I was already in enough bother one way and another, it’d maybe be wiser for me to cool down and do as I’d been tolt.  So I got on with the job and hammered the nail intil the wall, before jumpin’ down from the stool.

“Yowwwwwl!!!” went the cat ..... and said no more.  It just lay there in a crazy haype, stone dead.  Now as much as I dislecked that cat, I’d never have dreamt of touchin’ a hair on its head, let alone kill it.  Bejaysus, was I not in a right owl pickle now!  I immediately looked around anxiously for me ma.  But thanks be til God she was still outside, laynin’ over the garden fence, yappin’ away til that owl Mrs Crow next dooer about what someone down the road had said or done.

However, I was still faced with the pressin’ problem of what I was gonna do next to somehow get meself out of this real hank. But after a few anxious minutes of scratchin’ me head, I suddenly had a bright idea and I stuffed the cat up me jumper.  Now it was me intention to hide it somewhere until dark and then put it under the back wheel of someone’s parked car, so that when they next took off, it’d look leck the cat had been run over by accident.  But unfortunately, although the cat was under me jumper, I didn’t notice that its tail was hangin’ out for all to see, includin’ me owl ma, who happened to be comin’ round the side of the house with a waterin’ can in her hand, just as I came flyin’ out the frontdooer.

Needless to say, when she saw Marmeduke’s tail hangin’ out of me jumper, she was just a wee bit curious as til what the hell I was up til and as she was interrogatin’ me about this here situation, I could tell from the snout on her, that there wasn’t gonna be no aisy way out of this hank and that I was up til me neck in shite, let there be no doubt about that at all, at all.  So I decided that the best policy would be to come clayne and tell the truth.  And that’s when I discovered that waterin’ cans can be used for other things than just sprinklin’ water over a few wee plants.

Well while me owl ma was demonstratin’ on me head til all those who was watchin’, what a great weapon a waterin’ can be, it crossed me mind, that maybe it’d be an appropriate time for to bate a hasty retreat and give her time for to cool down.  So I dropped the cat at her feet and disappeared down the road in a cloud of dust.







Now when I was in me early 20s, I had a fierce head of long hair and while I never washed nor combed it, I was desperate proud of it.  However, one day I happened to glance intil the mirror in the pub and I noticed somethin’ absolutely desperate.

“I doubt I have a recedin’ hairline,” I whispered anxiously til me pal Jimmy.

“Recedin’ hairline,” he chortled, “let’s not bate about the bush, Mickle ..... you’re goin’ bald!”  Well that remark filled me full of dread.  So I tried every potion goin’ to try and stop the rot.  But it was all til no avail and sure it was no time at all until I had a Bobby Charlton hairstyle and man, I was never done combin’ the remainin’ wisps of me hair across the top of me bald crown.

But boys did I not hate the wind, for it always made such a mess of all me good combin’ work.  Aye, I’d be standin’ chattin’ up some woman and tryin’ to be a real cool dude and then bejaysus, there’d be a gust of wind that’d destroy the whole effect and layve me lookin’ leck an absolute clem.

But then I had the bright idea of usin’ weemen’s hair lacquer on it.  But that didn’t help much neither, for when the wind caught it, me lacquered hair would lift leck a kite and then hang down the side of me face leck a half-dooer.

And as for the rain, I hated that too, for it only made the wisps all straggly.  Of coorse I coulda used an umbrella, but I was always too scarred of me mates seein’ me, cos real men didn’t use umbrellas them days.

P.S. Aye, me hair used to bother me no end.  But now I’m past carin’.   Anyway, do youse ever see a bald dunkey do yee?  But not only that, sure grass doesn’t never grow on a busy road neither, now does it?




One time I got a lift with that owl ballocks Abraham.  My goodness, but he was that small a wee man, that he had to look through the spokes of the steerin’ wheel, for to see the road ahead.

Now although Abraham drove desperate slow, it wasn’t much of a consolation til me, because the most of the time he was on the wrong side of the road, or headin’ for a tree, or somethin’ leck that. 

Then bejaysus, but if he didn’t go and crash intil some owl doll's car.  However, because he'd only been doin’ about three mile an hour, there wasn’t much damage done til either vehicle.  But this didn’t stop the owl doll goin’ clayne mad and bejaysus, she called Abraham for all the useless whoers that ever was and threatened to call the cops.  My goodness, but did poor wee Abraham not wilt under that ferocious attack!!

Well do you know, although he'd been drivin’ for over 40 years, Abraham had apparently never heard about car insurance before.  But to cut a long story and a whole pile of bad language short, the owl doll eventually simmered down, after Abraham agreed to pay for the damage. Then we got back intil the car and Abraham started up.  Well my goodness, but if he didn't go and drive straight back intil the other car again, full tilt.  Bejaysus, it was a terra!

Now although I felt akinda sorry for owl Abraham, sure the truth of the matter was that the wee man wasnee fit to drive and me nerves was that bad, I wasnee fit to drive with him.  So I left the two of them to sort it out and the last thing I saw as I went round the corner, was the owl doll effin’ and damnin’, with her hands tight round wee Abraham's wee throat and man, his wee eyes was bulgin’ right out of his wee head!




When the quack told me many moons ago, that I had to go intil a taychin’ hospital for an operation, I was akinda confused, because I couldn’t understand what the hell they’d want to be taychin’ me.

However, it wasn’t long until I realised that it wasn’t the patients that got taught, but the young student doctors that was there.  But havin’ said that, I did larn one lesson quare and quick.  Man, every time I’d spy a consultant comin’ towards the ward with a pile of students, I’d make a beeline for me bed, lie down and close me eyes firmly shut.  Aye, I didn’t want no students gawkin’ at me, or pokin’ and proddin’ at me, or stickin’ needles intil me arm for to practise their blood extractin’ skills.

Now while I was there, there was this yank and he larned the quare lesson too.  He was an odd sort of a buck and often walked about with nawthin’ on but a ten gallon hat.  And sometimes, when I’d go intil the bathroom, I’d find him standin’ in front of the mirror, lookin’ at himself and sayin’ “you’re not alone, you’re not alone” over and over again.

Well anyway, one day he was lyin’ in bed and he called this here pretty nurse over.

“How can I help you?” she asked all friendly leck.  With that, he whipped back his bedclothes and pointed down til his Eiffel tower.

“Can you help me with that?” he asked, with a wee smirk on his chops.   Now they say Billy the Kid was fast on the draw, but he’d have been no match for that nurse.  Man, she whipped a pen from out of her top pocket and gave it the sharpest wee rap I’d ever seen in me whole life.  And that was the end of the Eiffel Tower.  Man, me eyes watered seein’ her do it!  Well anyway, he certainly larned his lesson, for he never done it again.   




Many moons ago away back in the 60s, not much ever happened down in Fermanagh.  So when we all heard that they was gonna hold a big jazz festival, we all got fierce excited, for such an event had never been seen round those parts before.

Well needless to say, there was a desperate amount of organizin’ to be done.  Now as well as the organizers havin’ to get bands to play (for example Chris Barber and Ottilie Patterson), they also had to think about where people was gonna to park their vehicles and where the caterers was gonna set up their marquees, so that people could get a drink and a bite to ate. 

Now with regard til the atin’ bit, some bright spark decided that it’d be a real good idea for to roast an ox on a spit over a big open fire, so that people could have hot roast beef sandwiches.  But that’s when they made their first big damned bad mistake, for they employed none other than the bowel Jimmy from our wee town to do the job for them.

Now,  although we all knew Jimmy was a good for nawthin’ eegit, we all thought that even he could handle this, because the job only entailed lightin’ the fire under the big ox on a spit at around midday and then turnin’ the ox at regular intervals durin’ the afternoon, for to make sure that it was thoroughly cooked right through, by the time the musicians started playin’ that night.

But on the mornin’ of the event, Jimmy went out til the pub for a cure because he had such a fierce bad hangover.  However, when it got til the hinges of midday, when he really should have been on his way til the festival site to light the fire and start roastin’ the ox, sure he sat on and to cut a long story short, he stayed in the pub until he was as full as a shuck.

But despite everythin’, Jimmy did eventually get til the venue about half-six that evenin’ and he soon had a roarin’ fire goin’.  He then started turnin’ the ox on the spit and by the time the jazz festival started proper at about 7.30, sure it looked lovely, well roasted and very appetisin’. 

Aye, the ox was a great sight and there was a fierce good smell waftin’ about the whole place.  Man, it wasn’t long till a whole pile of hungry farmers smelt this here lovely beef roastin’ and they came in their droves.  Well as full as he was, Jimmy did a grand job cuttin’ the mate and handin’ out juicy lumps of it between big thick slices of bread.

Now those big rough farmers had paid plenty for them ox sandwiches, so they wasn’t none too playsed when the red blood from the raw mate poured down their shirts, when they started hanchin’ on them.  Bejaysus, they got that rizz, that some of them grabbed Jimmy and held him tight, while others fed the fire with more fuel, until it was a ragin’ inferno. Then they went to tie Jimmy til the spit.  My goodness, but he would have been well and truly roasted, if the peelers hadn’t come along and saved his bacon (or should I say his beef). 

Aye, Jimmy was quare and glad that those cops came when they did, for if them farmer boys had started roastin’ him on yon spit, there was no doubt, but that he'd have got to see what hell was leck, before his time.




I once knew a useless owl clift called Eddie, who was always first intil the pub in the mornin’s and last one out at nights.  Now although he never did no work and didn’t have no money, he was never short of drink, for he was that skilled a mooch, there was always plenty of mugs around who was foolish enough to buy it for him.

Well anyway, he lived on his lone in an owl hovel of a cottage in the middle of our wee town and one night at closin’ time, he invited me down til this here dump.  Now it wasn't so much that I wanted to drink with the useless whoer, but I was desperate curious for to see what sort of a dive his home was.  So I bought a dozen bottles of stout for the two of us. 

Well what a hole!  Jaysus, there was dirt and dust everywhere and I was almost afraid take a sayte, in case I'd sit down on a lump of shite, or a dead rat or somethin’ worse.

But to cut a long story short, when I opened two bottles of stout, he offered me some sausages.  Well although I couldn’t see no sausages, I was akinda ravenous and I accepted his offer.  So he put this owl saucepan on til the stove and I'd swear there was over six inches of dirty, black, congealed fat in the bottom of it.  But there was still no sign of the sausages.  

Well when I saw this owl fat beginnin’ to melt, I began to have second thoughts about those sausages.   But I made up me mind for sure, when I saw them suddenly risin’ up from the depths of the fat til the surface and bobbin’ about leck mouldy owl turds on the top of that there evil black brew.  And that was the end of me and the sausages!  

Well the owl whoer was as playsed as punch that I didn’t want none and that he could get atin’ them all himself.  But what made it even better for him, was that he got drinkin’ all the rest of the stout too, on account of me pukin’ up and goin’ home early.




When I was a young man, I used to run around with a buck called Willy and he was one wild man for the weemen, let me tell yee.  Aye, he had a different one every weekend and man, did he not have a ball.  So it was a real surprise when he told me one night in the pub, that he was gettin’ married til a cuttie called Dolly from the next-dooer village. However, after a wee bit of interrogation, I soon found out that there was two raisons why.  Firstly, Dolly was up the duff and secondly, Dolly’s ma had a big shotgun stuck up Willy’s arse.

But as if that wasn’t bad enough, he then told me that after the weddin’, he’d be movin’ in with Dolly and her ma, who was a widow woman.  Now I didn’t hardly know Dolly at all and I certainly didn't know nawthin’ about her ma, or even what she looked leck.  But me instinct told me, that things was gonna change for the bowel Willy.

“I doubt you’ll have to change your ways and stop all the runnin’ about leck an eegit after weemen,” I told him.  He immediately started roarin’ with laughter.

“Umph!” he retorted contemptuously, “there’s no woman alive who’ll ever cool me!!”

Well anyway, he asked me to be his best man and one night he, Dolly and I headed over til the praycher’s for to discuss things.  But when we got there, the praycher was out on a visit and so we was ushered intil the parlour for to await his return.  Now Willy was one desperate boy for the fegs.  Jaysus, he was never without one in his gob and no matter what time, day or night it was, he'd always have a feg danglin’ out of the corner of his mouth.  So of coorse Willy lit up.   But Dolly wasn’t none too playsed, especially when she saw the ash goin’ everywhere.  

“Jaysus Willy, there’s no ashtrays for to stub it out,” she suddenly croaked, when he’d near finished it.

“Och, there’s plenty,” he replied.  And he jumped til his feet and went over til the fireplace, where there was three wee antique bone china dishes sittin’ on the mantelpiece.  He then proceeded to stub his feg out in one of them. 

Now on the mornin’ of the weddin’, Willy came intil the pub where I was doin’ an early mornin’ shift and as I was workin’ away, he sat up at the bar drinkin’ large brandies and smokin’ feg after feg.  Needless to say, when it came time to go, he was full as a shuck.  Bejaysus, I nearly had to carry him and as a result, we was very late by the time I eventually managed to lug him up til the church.  As for Dolly, she was waitin’ anxiously by the church dooer, with tears runnin’ down her cheeks.

Man, Willy’s eyes was rollin’ in his head and he was that drunk, he was swayin’ about in the breeze, with a feg hangin’ out the corner of his mouth.  Well as he was staggerin’ over til the church dooer, I noticed this massive brute of a woman lumberin’ over in our direction and I could tell from the black look on her face and the cut of her, that she wasn’t in the best of good humour.  Now although I didn’t know who the hell she was, I soon found out, for she drew out with a big thick rough hand and slapped the feg right out of Willy’s gob.  Man, the feg went in one direction and Willy went reelin’ back in another, clutchin’ his jaw.  I’ll never forget the look of absolute shock on his face.

It was at this point that I remembered his very confident statement in the pub, about there bein’ no woman alive who’d ever be able to cool him and I sorta got the feelin’, that maybe he was wrong.  And I was right too, for that was the end of Willy and his days of actin’ the eegit and runnin’ around wild after weemen.  Aye, Dolly’s ma was certainly some woman!!




Now when I was still livin’ with me ma and da, we was neighbours til this owl sourpuss spinster Norah, who had a wee bit of bad luck with a large lump of roast beef, which she'd bought to feed visitors she was expectin’ the next day.  Now though it’d cost a fortune, it was one lovely piece of mate, let me tell yee!  Well anyway, she stuck it intil the fridge, shut the fridge dooer and got down til layin’ a brand new carpet in the parlour. 

Well while she was layin’ the carpet, her hound somehow managed to open the fridge dooer and get a holt of this here roast.  My goodness, but if the brute didn’t go and ate all the mate on the roast, layvin’ the bone as clayne as a whistle and all the fat til one side.

Needless to say, when owl sourpuss Norah saw the damage, she went absolutely bonkers and grabbed a big stick for to educate the mutt.  But then as she was raisin’ the stick for to batter the poor baste's brains out, she had second thoughts.  So she dropped the stick and got rid of her anger and frustration by cursin’ him up and down and tellin’ him in no uncertain terms, that he was the most useless good for nawthin’ hound she’d ever come across. 

Now although the dog didn't really understand English too well, he sorta got the drift from the snout on her, that she wasn't none too playsed with him.  So to make amends, he went intil the parlour and spewed the whole roast back up, all over the brand new carpet. 

My goodness, people said that they’d never heard such bad language from a woman.  Apparently it was a terra!  And do you know, that dog became a vegetarian after that - all of his own free will!




I once knew this farmer Wally and although him and the wife had a squad of chillder, they was all cutties.  However, Wally desperately wanted a cub for to be heir til his farm and when he told us one day that his wife was expectin’ yit again, we could see from the look on his face, that he was sure he’d be lucky this time and that the ba would be a boy.

Well in those days, there was none of this owl nonsense of men goin’ in to be with their wives while they was givin’ birth and so when she was in the hospital havin’ the ba, Wally was down in the bar with us.  Now there was no owl mobiles nor nawthin’ leck that them days and so Wally had to trundle all the way down the street til the phone box, for to ring up the hospital and find out the score.

But when he eventually came back in, he looked so distraught and his face was so ashen, that we all took it that somethin’ real bad had happened.

“Is there anythin’ wrong Wally?” someone asked all concerned.

“It’s another daughter,” he replied, totally dejected.

Now Cecil was in the company and he was an awful droll, slow-spaykin’ sorta buck.  Well after ponderin’ over this for a while, he eventually turned til the very forlorn lookin’ Wally.

“You know Wally” he said, “I doubt your wife’s gonna have to change the rooster.” 




I once knew a buck called Sammy, who always had a fierce druth on him.  The only sneg was that he was always short of money, so you had to watch him leck a hawk.  For example, if he was in your company, you always needed to keep a firm holt of your glass the whole night, because if you didn’t and turned your head away for a second, sure the whoer would have it drained on you in a flash.

Well one cowl night when he had no entrance fee intil the pub, he suddenly had a bright idea.  Now it was the custom them days, that if a man announced he was goin’ to get married, the whole bar would buy the condemned man drink the whole night.  So although no woman in her right mind would ever have had him, Sammy came intil the bar and told the whole company he was engaged til Margie McSweedlepipes and that they’d all be invited til the weddin’.

Well after he’d made this here announcement, Sammy beamed around the bar, lookin’ for people to step forward to buy him a drink or three to celebrate his good news.  However, the smile didn't stay on his face too long, for one of the boys who stepped forward out from the shadows at the far end of the bar, was none other than Margie’s da and from the look on his face, he seemed mighty interested for to hear a few more details about this here weddin, that he knew nawthin’ about. 

And as he was comin down the bar, for to have a wee word with his prospective son-in-law, Sammy decided that he was fierce tired and maybe in need of an early night.  So he was out the dooer and away quicker than a cat'd lick its whisker. 




When I was a single man, I always seemed to be short of money and so when Artur asked me one day, if I’d help him with a flooer layin’ job in the wee back room of the pub, I immediately agreed, although I had to admit til him, that I didn’t know nawthin’ about flooer layin’.  Well when I told him that, my goodness but did he not laugh.

“Och, neither do I,” he chortled, “but sure we can larn as we go along.”

Well although Artur got stuck intil the job, it wasn’t long til he stopped.

“Och, it's not that I'm lazy,” he explained, “it's just that I'm full of wee rests.”  And with that, he went away off down intil the main bar for to get a lough of drinks, which he told the barman to deduct from our wages.  He then sat on a stool with a drink in his hand and his tongue goin’ leck a handbell, layvin’ me to get on with it. 

However, later on in the day, I ran intil a wee bit of a sneg.  There was no bulb in this here wee back room and it was gettin’ that dark, I couldn’t see the bubble in the spirit level.  So I had to shout til Artur in the main bar for advice.

“Och, use your heed,” he roared back, “just pick the spirit level up and take it outside intil the light in the corridor and then you'll be able to see the bubble all right.” 

Well although I wasn't quite sure how the hell I managed it, I eventually got the job done, although by this time, Artur was as full as a shuck.  However, when we went to get our money off the bar owner, we got the quare gunk.  

“Your money?” he exclaimed, “sure youse owe me money!”  My goodness, but if the bowel King Artur hadn't drunk all the wages and more besides!  So I’d worked the whole damned day for nawthin’.  But not only that, I had to carry the useless whoer home as well!




There was a time when the main bar in my favourite pub was for men only and if any weemen wanted a drink, sure they had no choice but to duke in through the side entry when the coast was clear and intil the wee back room, well away from us boys. 

Unfortunately however, me mucker Geordie fell in with this Belfastian woman called Ruby, who insisted on comin’ intil the main bar any time she wanted a gee and tee.  Needless to say, none of us boys was too playsed by this.  I mane, how could we talk freely with some damned woman stickin’ her neb in and listenin’ til our every word!

Well anyway, one day Geordie and Ruby reluctantly agreed to babysit his sister’s ba. However, they soon got fed up with that and decided to go down til the pub for a lough of drinks.  But they didn’t want to bring the ba intil the bar. So they left the brat outside and sat near the windy, so that they could keep an eye on it in its pram outside.

Later on, Ruby left for home for to put on the spuds, but instead of goin’ up the main street past the pram, she went the back way and forgot all about the sprog.

Some time later, when it was drawn til Geordie’s attention that the ba was still there, he ran out the dooer and legged it all the way up til his home and ordered Ruby to come down and collect the ba.  Aye, there was no way that he was gonna be seen wheelin’ no pram up the main street of our wee town.  But then, men was real men them days.  




Now although I don’t leck football, I used to folly the locial football team, because there was always a great session in the pub after a match.

Well one Saturday, I travelled with them til an away match and when we arrived, the dumb clucks realised they was a man short.   So seein’ as I was the only eegit who’d come along to ‘support’ them, they asked me to play.  Now although I immediately said “naw”, I soon changed me tune, when they tolt me there’d be a lough of Guinness in it for me afterwards.

Now because I had neither boots nor togs, I had no choice but to walk out on til the pitch fully dressed, with me big long coat and cap on and a feg in me gob.  But it was then that I realised how thirsty me shoes was, for every puddle they came across, they took a wee drink.

Well as we was linin’ up to start, our captain came over til me.

“Do you see their left winger?” he growled, “I want you to make sure you MARK him real well.” 

Now I took him at his word and when this here winger made to go past me, I lunged out and got man, ball and all.  Well from the way he was hoppin’ about on one leg, while rubbin’ the big bruise on the other, I could see that I had indeed marked him real well, just as I’d been tolt.  The only sneg was, that when he stopped hoppin’ about, he marked me real well too, for he took intil me ..... and left me lookin’ leck a panda for two weeks after. 




One day, them ones down in the dole office tolt me that I’d have to start a job with the forestry people the next day.  Well when I woke up early the follyin’ mornin’, I was none too playsed, because it was cowl, dark and rainin’ outside and I’d far rather have stayed at home in me cosy wee bed.  So by the time I arrived on site, I wasn’t in the best of good humour, let me tell yee.

“Right boys,” roared the foreman, while rubbin’ his hands together, “let’s get stuck in and do a really good day’s work.”  Well this here rousin’ battlecry inspired me no end, until I saw the whoer disappearin’ intil his wee warm shed, for a cup of tay and a read of his newspaper.

Well anyway, his side-kick briefly told us that our job was plantin’ these wee trees and after showin’ us what to do, he retreated intil the shed as well, layvin’ us wet and shiverin’ eegits to get on with it. 

Now the trees was only wee sprigs of things and at first glance, it seemed to be an aisy enough kinda job.  However, within no time at all, me back was damned near broke.  On top of that, me hangover was really beginnin’ to kick in, layvin’ me feelin’ as wicked as a bag of buck weasels and fierce maggoty.  So I wasn’t best playsed when the foreman eventually came out of his cosy, warm shed and roared at me:

“Och, are you a complete and utter eegit? ..... sure you're not puttin’ them trees in far enough.”  Well, the divil was well and truly in me now and instead of seein’ rain, I just saw red mist.  So I glowered at him, before pickin’ up a sledge hammer and stovin’ one of these wee trees more than a foot out of sight intil the ground.

“Now is that in far enough for you?” I asked him.  Well he didn’t say nawthin’, but I could tell from the black look on his face, that I’d be plantin’ no more trees that day.  And so it was back home for me, til me cosy wee bed.




The most peculiar job ever I had was workin’ as a servant in the colonel’s mansion, on his big estate outside our wee town.  Now accordin’ til the colonel, he’d more or less won World War 2 on his own.  However, when the ungrateful wretches didn’t give him the VC, he’d left the army all disgruntled and returned home, for to spend the rest of his days drinkin’ gin and writin’ his memoirs.

But once in the army, always in the army.  My goodness, all us staff had to stand til attention outside in the cowl and rain, first thing each mornin’ and wait for him to inspect us, with his owl baton in his hand.  Then, whenever you met him staggerin’ about, you always had to stand til attention and salute him.  As for his missus, you had to curtsy til her and address her as “ma’am”.  And you couldn’t just walk anywhere.  Naw, you had to march left right, left right, left right, with your head up, shoulders back, chest out, stomach in and your arms goin’ leck pistons by your side.  Also, if you was ever caught doin’ somethin’ wrong, sure you’d be up on a charge and courtmartialled quicker than a cat’d lick its arse.

Well I put up with all this owl nonsense until he ran intil two liquidity problems.  First of all, he ran out of money and secondly, he ran out of gin, which left him leck a bear.  Well I’m one of those peculiar people who lecks to get paid, so although I knew I’d be lettin’ the whole regiment down, I went AWOL and never went back.

But you know, he had me quare and well trained.  One day some time later, when I met him swayin’ about in the breeze, my goodness but if I didn’t immediately stop, stand til attention and salute him.  But then, once in the army, always in the army. 




When I was a young man, there wasn’t a dance that I didn’t go til and never once did I have to walk, for I always had me coortin’ machine with me.  Needless to say, I never brought no woman with me, because not only did I not want to have to spend money buyin' her any pre-dance drinks down in the pub, but sure I didn’t want to pay her way intil the dance neither.

Well anyway, one night I met this doll at a dance up the country and boys a dear, but she took such a quare shine til me, that I could tell from the look in her eye, that I’d be all right that night.  So a wee bit later on, I asked her if I could layve her home.  Well she asked me if I had any transport and when I told her that I had, man she snuggled up til me even more.

However, when the dance was over and we went outside, all the snugglin’ and cuddlin’ suddenly stopped.  Man, she took one look at me passion wagon and she turned on her heel and stalked away as quick as she could go.  My goodness, but I was stunned.  I mane, I thought she’d be happy enough with me tractor and the owl trailer with a pile of hay in the back.  So I can only assume she must have been a snob! 




Many moons ago, I used to drive around in a van deliverin’ milk til customers all around the country, hail, rain or snow.  Well it wasn’t a bad job, but it did have its frustrations.

Now one day, there was a fierce storm ragin’.  But it didn’t bother me too much, because although the rain was comin’ down in torrents, I was that quick in and out of the van each time I delivered milk, that I hardly got wet at all. 

However, it was a different story when I arrived up at Lenny’s.  Now he was a crusty owl bachelor, who lived in a wee cottage away up the mountain and to get til his place, I normally had to drive up a long bendy lane.  But that day, the wind had blown down a big tree, which blocked the lane.  So I decided I’d take a wee shortcut across the fields.

So over the ditch I went, with the milk crate in me hand.  But the hill was that slippy, sure I was slidin’ all over the place. Not only that, but I fell a lough of times and sure it wasn’t long til I was covered from head til toe in muck and drenched til the skin.  But even so, after about 10 minutes of slitherin’ about, I eventually managed to make it up til his front dooer, where I noticed there was an empty bottle with a note stickin’ out of it. 

Well do you what the cheeky whoer’d wrote on it: “No milk today”.  




When I was a single man away back in the 60s, I had to go intil hospital for three weeks for to get butchered. Things was a lot different them days and it was just leck a holiday camp.  Man, I loved it in there and it was great fun.

I soon made friends and we used to sit round Johnny’s bed, chattin’, laughin’, jokin’, smokin’ our fegs, takin’ the odd wee drink of Guinness when nobody was lookin’ and watchin’ the hard-workin’ nurses, busily doin’ their jobs.  Man them nurses was all such angels and a real tonic, let me tell yee. They was absolutely great, always so kind, gentle, carin’ and cheerful and they looked after us all so well. 

Now it I don’t know what it is about the hospital environment, but it seems to encourage us men to fall in love.  Aye, after I’d run me eye over the nurses for a lough of days, I started gettin’ a fierce notion of one called Darryl and she was on me mind all the time.  And whenever she wasn’t workin’, I’d start pinin’ and couldn’t hardly wait to see her again. 

When it eventually came time for me to layve hospital, I felt desperate sad, for I was so much in love with Darryl and I knew that if I didn’t make a move, I’d never see her again.  But sure I was that shy, I wasn’t fit to ask her out.  So I asked Johnny if he’d do it for me and he said he would.  Man, I could hardly wait for the result.

“Well, did you spayke til her?” I asked him excitedly when I saw him later.


“And is she free and single?”

“Aye, she is now.”

“And is she willin’ to go out on a date?”

“Aye ..... she’s dead keen.”



“And where am I to meet her?”

“You!” he exclaimed. “Och, it’s not you she’s goin’ out with ..... it’s me!”  And so that was the end of me romance and all me wee dreams.




Me owl da didn’t have much til his name, apart from one beautiful antique oak chair with a solid wooden back til it.  Man, there wasn’t a scrape nor a scratch on it.  So because it was in such pristine condition, I knew it’d be worth a whole pile of Guinness. 

Well anyway, I told him one time that I wanted the chair after he’d gone and every time I went to visit him afterwards, I always used to say til him: “have you done anythin’ yit to make sure I get that chair when you’re gone?”  And every time he’d shake his head and say “naw”, but that he’d get round til it some time.

But it was when he suddenly started to go downhill, that I began to get desperate anxious about this here chair, because I knew me other brothers and sisters had their eye on it too.  So I knew I’d have to get him to do somethin’ about the chair real quick, before he kicked the bucket. 

However, I shouldn’t have worried, for the next time I went to see him, I had no sooner got in through the dooer, when he told me he’d had a wee idea, that’d sort out the problem once and for all.  And with that he led me intil the parlour where the chair was.  Well I could see instantly why it was that the chair’d definitely come til me after he was gone.  Aye, the silly owl whoer had gone and chiselled out me name in big block capitals all over the front of it. But sure he shouldn’t have bothered his arse, for the bloody chair was worth damn all now and therefore of no further interest til me at all, at all!




Henry the Hop was born with a club foot and as a result, he couldn’t find a job locally when he left school.  So on his eighteenth birthday, he suddenly took off and went away across the water til London, for to make his fame and fortune.  However, he was hardly gone till he was back, and bejaysus, but if he didn't have a wife called Gloria in tow. 

But my goodness, what a desperate sight Gloria was!  Bejaysus, her legs was all covered with thick black hair and as for her moustache, sure it was leck a third eyebrow and any sergeant-major would have been fierce proud of it.  Well anyway, although she was as odd as the divil, some of the locial weemen tried to befriend her and one day, one of them asked Gloria if her and Henry was gonna have any chillder.

“Och, how the hell could I have children!” she'd scrayked back, “sure I'm more than half man!”

Well anyway, Henry was a real alcho-curio and had therefore always been fierce fond of the booze.  But when he got older, the drink started to have asorta strange effect on the few brain cells he did have and bejaysus, he became nawthin’ but a damned nuisance when he got full.  So there was manys the time, when the barman used to offer me and me mates a few free drinks, if we’d do him - and ourselves as well - a big favour and drag Henry, club foot and all, back til his house. 

Now the first few times we managed to heave and haul him home, bejaysus but if Gloria didn't always show her gratitude by jumpin’ out the frontdooer and atin’ the faces of us, for “gettin’ poor Henry intil such a state” - leck as if we'd forced the glass up til his lips and made him drink! 

But then one night, when she was in a wee bit better humour and didn't ate the arses off us, she said in a right friendly sorta way, that if we carried Henry indooers, she'd give us all a cup of tay. Now although we wasn't interested in no tay, we accepted her invitation nevertheless, cos we was desperate curious for to see how these funny whoers lived.  So we dragged Henry indooers and intil the parlour and threw him intil a big armchair, where he lay groanin’, slabberin’ and hashin’.

Well anyway, just after Gloria went out til the kitchen for to make the tay, owl Henry suddenly called out that he wanted a piss and so she came back intil the parlour with a white jug, opened his flies, took out his lad, aimed it in the general direction of the jug and when she gave him the word, bejaysus he pissed away, right there in the front parlour in front of us boys. 

Then when he was finished, Gloria put his lad back intil his trousers, took the jug and went back out intil the kitchen for to finish makin’ the tay, layvin’ us boyos near bustin’ ourselves with laughter.  However, it was when she came back intil the parlour with the tay things on a tray, that we all suddenly decided that naw, we wouldn’t have no milk in our tay.  Aye, that white milk jug on the tray looked just a wee bit too much leck the white jug owl Henry'd been pissin intil, not five minutes before!




When I heard that a new family called the McClattys was movin’ intil a small terrace house down a dingy back street in our wee town, I was that curious, I couldn’t hardly wait for to get a look at them, for to see what sort of craturs they was.

But my goodness, were they not one nest of ignorant, hateful hallions, the lecks of which I’d never seen before in the whole of me life.  Apparently they’d lived in a shack up the mountain and bejaysus, they was one rough mob, let me tell yee.  Aye, and on top of that, they was all ragamuffins, who was just about as elegant as pigs in hobnail boots!  And the stink of them too!  Sure even hogs would have held their snouts when they was about!

Now with all their carryin-ons and this, that and the other, the police was never done comin’ til their dooer.  Not only that, but whatever money they made by hook or by crook - or should I just say by bein’ crooks - they used to drink it all and so there was never a penny piece left for to pay intil the house. 

But when winter came, it was an awful cowl one and although they always had plenty of drinkin’ money, they never had no other money for to buy coal.  However, because they didn't want to frayze, they ripped out the banisters and burnt them in the grate. Then they took off all the inside dooers and burnt them too.  Then it was the chairs, tables, cupboords, chests of drawers, flooer boords and this and that and the other.  But if that wasn't bad enough, sure they ripped off all the wooden claddin’ on the front of the house and burnt that as well. 

But the cowl winter went on and on and they was all still frayzin’.  So they ripped out the stairs and burnt them too, which meant they had to use an owl metal ladder for to get til the rooms up above.  Sure the only wood left in the whole house – apart from their own thick heads - was the front and back dooers and many's the time, I believe these dooers was seriously considered as well.  Well anyway, spring eventually came and the cowl weather went away without none of them havin’ froze til death, which was an awful shame for the rest of us.

Now they had this owl horse Ned and a cart for collectin’ owl scrap metal and one day, this here nag fell ill.  To be quite honest, nobody was a bit surprised, cos they didn’t have no shed nor field for it and as a result, they used to have to tether it up til the lamp post outside their house at night.

Well anyway, they decided that one way or another, they'd have to cure this here horse.  So they brought it in the front dooer, through the house and out the back dooer intil the yard at the rear.  But sure they didn't know their arses from their elbows and had no clue whatsoever how to cure it.  And they sure wasn't gonna spend no good drinkin’ money on a good for nawthin’ vit neither.  So the poor owl nag swelled up til nearly twice its original size and died.

Well it’d been a desperate tough job gettin’ that there horse intil the back yard, but with it bein’ deed, bloated and swollen til such an awful size, sure they couldn't get it back out through the house.  So they covered it with a lough of owl rags and let it rot there.  But they was such a bunch of desperate whoers, that people was fierce surprised, that the clifts didn't cut it up and try to sell it til the locial butchers as beef - or at least ate it themselves, with a pile of chips, vinegar and a few ladles of mushy pays!




I once knew a buck called Solly and bejaysus, he was some rare boy, let me tell yee.  Now I mind the time, when these two owl spinsters was lookin’ for someone to come and work for them on their farm and although they was a terra rich, they was such hateful owl crones and so fierce fond of bossin’ people around, that the majority of the boyos from around our wee town thought they’d be damned near impossible to work for.  But the bowel Solly thought different and he applied for the job and because he seemed such a nice dacent fella, they employed him as farm manager, for to look after their animals.

Now as far as they was concerned, he did a damned good job.  In fact, one of these owl witches was heard gushin’ til a neighbour what a great hard-workin’ fella he was and how he was that good and kind, that he was just leck a son til them, although between you and me, he was a good for nawthin' shite, who’d sicken your arse, let there be no doubt about that at all, at all. Or to put it more politely, he was just far too sweet to be wholesome.

Well anyway, those weemen's bastes must all have been of damned poor stock or summat, for Solly was never done comin til them, with tears runnin’ down his big fat rosy cheeks, for to report the death of yet another sheep or cow or pig or whatever.  And then, when they’d see him weepin’ and wailin’ with grief, sure the two owl dolls'd start roarin’ and bawlin’ with him. 

But sure the clift was only laughin’ at them the whole time, for none of those bastes was dyin’ at all.  Aye, the whoer was sellin’ them all on the QT at the locial livestock market and makin’ the quare fortune on them!




One time a long time ago when I was in hospital, this here plumber buck called Willie was brought in.  Apparently, he’d been seein’ til this woman’s pipes when her husband had returned home unexpectedly and Willie’d decided to take flight – from an upper windy!  The only sneg was that he didn’t have no wings and as a result, he’d dropped leck a stone and shattered both his ankles when he hit the ground.

Well anyway, after they’d set his ankles and put them in plaster, he was assigned til a wee side room away from the rest of us. Now this surprised us, cos he was only an ordinary country bumpkin leck the rest of us.  But then it transpired that they’d only moved him in there, cos there was no spare beds on the main ward.

Now because it was gettin’ so fierce near Christmas, the hospital was quare and keen to get rid of as many of us as possible.  Well with regard til this Willie buck, not only did he really hate hospital, but he was fierce anxious to get home for Christmas and because he made such great progress over the next lough of days, it seemed leck his wish was gonna be fulfilled.  But then one evenin’, his mate came in and unbeknown til the nursin’ staff, Willie and this buck got stuck intil the bottle of whisky, what his mate had smuggled in.

However, some time later we heard a big crash and a blood curdlin’ scrayme from Willie’s room.  Bejaysus, but if Willie had fallen drunk off the bed and gone and broken both ankles again!  And the poor eegit never got home for Christmas after all!




Many moons ago, there was this crusty owl bachelor called Tommy, who lived on his own in a wee cottage away up the mountain and because he had no radio nor TV, he used to entertain himself by playin’ an owl set of bagpies while roamin’ the surroundin’ hills, although sadly, it sounded more leck the wailin’s of a banshee than music.

He also used to go and visit his owl chum Johnny, who lived in a wee hovel a lough of fields away.  Now Johnny had a black face. But this wasn’t down til him bein’ an African.  Naw, it was on account of him havin’ no chimlay in his cottage and it was therefore a wee bit smoky inside when he had the fire lit.  The other sneg about him was that he wasn’t the best of company, as he was as deaf as a post.

Well Tommy was desperate lonely, so one day he took it intil his head for to get married and when he spied this here owl widow woman at the market, he decided she was the one for him, even though they’d never spoke and he didn’t even know her name.  So as was the custom them days in such circumstances, he got himself this go-between to put out some feelers, for to see if she’d be interested in marryin’ and the reply came back that she was.

Now although they still hadn’t even met each other, the next thing the go-between had to do as a part of the intermediary process, was to establish how much each of them was worth.  But whereas she had cows, pigs, sheep and even a donkey, Tommy only had a lough of owl scrawny chickens. So it was clearly a mismatch and sadly for Tommy, the dayle was off.

Poor owl Tommy was desperate sad for a while.  But he got over it and it wasn’t long till he went back til playin’ his bagpipes and the eerie wails of them echoed all around the hills, for the rest of his days.




A long time ago, there used to be an owl buck called Bobbie Bunion, who lived on his own in an owl hovel on a wee island up Lough Erne and he had no company at all, except for the wild phaysans that roamed about the wee wood on the island.  Now he bought an awful lot of the best of good grain and he told all and sundry that was gullible enough to believe him, that he fed it til these here phaysans, because he was so fond of them.  But I knew for a fact that that was only a ruse and that he actually used if for somethin’ else.  Aye, he made poteen from it on the QT.

Now whenever he had a few bottles to sell and was in need of a lough of bobs, he used to go round the locial pubs and announce that he had turkeys to sell.  But although most people didn’t know what the hell he was hashin’ on about, those that were in the know realised from this chat about turkeys, that he had poteen for sale and they’d folly him out til the gents, for to do a dayle.  And when they’d agreed a price and the money’d been paid, he’d pull a 'turkey' out from one of the many deep pockets in his big long coat and hand it over. Aye, and it was always the best of good stuff, let me tell yee.  Sure he supplied half the country round there with it.

Mind you, he did get caught one time and had to appear in court.  Bejaysus, it was the best of good crack at the time and the court was packed with all his customers, for to see how the owl rogue'd fare.  Aye and bejaysus, when a bottle of this here poteen was produced for the jury to examine, sure everyone could see that it was real good stuff, cos when it was held up til the light, man, it was as clear as crystal.

Well anyway, if he'd been a younger man, he'd have done time, cos makin’ poteen’s a fierce serious offence.  But because he was so owl, the judge just levied a big fine on him instead.  But do you know, he didn't pay one penny piece of that there fine ..... cos all his customers round the whole country chipped in and paid it for him ..... and from what I heard, that included the judge ..... and some members of the jury as well!

But anyway, I decided one time that I’d leck to get a wee drop of poteen.  So I went over in a wee rowin’ boat to see Bobbie on the island, cos somebody'd given me the nod that he had some poteen goin’.  However, the boy who'd tolt me this, warned me not to ask him for it straight out, on account of him bein’ as odd as the divil.  Aye, accordin’ til me pal, if you was to as much as to mention the word ‘poteen’, he wouldn't give you one damned drop of it.

Well anyway, when I got over on til the island, it was absolutely bucketin’ down with rain.  Now I wasn't all that hopeful when I rapped on his dooer, but bejaysus, didn't he immediately invite me in and give me a cup of tay, even though he didn't know me from Adam.  And then bejaysus, he hashed away for ages about this, that and the other and half the time, I didn't have a clue what he was goin’ on about.

Well anyway, I was just beginnin’ to wonder what the hell I was doin’ there at all, when he suddenly got up and suggested we go for a wee stroll round the island, for to see the phaysans.  Now I thought this was a very strange thing to suggest, cos it was still pishin’ down outside. But I decided to go along with him and out we went intil the teemin’ rain.

Bejaysus, we began to walk round this here island and every now and again, owl Bobbie'd stop and kick at a clump of grass.  Well after about half an hour or so, I started gettin’ that fed up with all this arsin’ about and gettin’ drownded, that I was almost on the verge of sayin’ cheerio til him.  But then suddenly, he kicked at yet another clump of grass and bejaysus, his foot hit somethin’. And that’s when he put his hand down and pulled out a bottle of the craytur.  My goodness, but if he hadn’t it hid all around the island.  And begod, he sold me five bottles of the best poteen I’ve ever had!




Two of me neighbours was Aida and Tilty and one day, I decided I'd pay them a wee visit, for to catch up on all the locial gossip.  Now I knew there’d be plenty of that, cos Aida had a nose on her as long as a snake’s arse, which meant that there wasn’t much that went on locally, that she didn’t know about.

However, when I got up there, I found them fierce preoccupied, because they had some builders in puttin’ up an extension at the back of their cottage.  Even so, Aida and Tilty was very playsed to see me and they invited me in. 

Now their toilet was right beside the back dooer and I asorta gathered from Tilty quite early on, that because they was so shy about goin’ there for to do their business, what with the builders bein’ about, they’d had to do it elsewhere, although he didn’t say where exactly. 

Well anyway, they asked me if I’d leck a spot of dinner and I didn’t say “naw”, cos I was feelin’ desperate peckish.  So I went til the table and sat down.  Next thing Aida set this big plate of sausages, mash and gravy down in front of me and although her and Tilty chattered away, I didn’t  pay too much attention til all their hashin’, cos I was too busy gettin’ stuck intil this here big feed. 

But then me foot suddenly hit somethin’ under the table.  So I looked down to see it what was and spied this basin.  Well bejaysus, it was full of yellowy lookin’ liquid and there was big brown turds leck sausages, floatin’ around on top!  My God, but it looked desperate leck the sausages and gravy on me plate. Man, me hunger disappeared in a flash and I left tout suite, before I puked up all over them!




Man, it’s quare and hateful when someone sells you somethin’, that turns out to be no damned use.  Well it’s often happened til me, cos I’m such an eegit.  So it’s great when you can get your own back.

Now once such time was that day a long time ago, when I had a wee bit of a run-in with Slammy the cobbler.  Aye, I met him by chance on the street and my goodness, he was all smiles and smarm.  Of coorse, I knew instantly what he was after and that he was only bein’ sweet til me, cos I owed him a few quid for a pair of owl boots he’d sold me a long time before, which had turned out to be nawthin’ but a load of owl cobblers.

Well anyway, he didn't fool me with all this sickly slabbery owl shite, so I just looked real cowl at him, cos I was gettin’ fierce sick of him always tappin’ me for that money every time we’d meet.

“Any chance of you lettin’ me have that cash you owe me?” he asked me all syrupy-leck.  Well I shook me head.

“Naw, I'm afraid not,” I replied, “I'm still savin’ up to pay you off.”

“Well how about payin’ a wee bit of it now then?” he went on.  I shook me head again.

“Naw,” I replied, “I don't operate that way ..... it's either the whole duck or no dinner, as far as I’m concerned.”

Well at this point he got desperate sad lookin’.  But then he obviously had this great idea, for he suddenly brightened up.

“Look,” he said, “I'll tell you what I'll do ..... seein’ as you're such a dacent fella, I'll knock off half of what you owe me.”

My goodness, I had to smile.

“Och Slammy, that's wild generous of you,” said I til him. “So I'll tell you what I'll do in return ..... seein’ as YOU’RE such a dacent fella yourself, I'll knock the other half off.”




In the maelstrom and turmoil of life, we all need our own wee refuge where we can go til from time til time, to escape from all the stresses and strains in our lives, for a wee while at least.  Now before I got married and was livin’ up the country, my sanctuary was me wee back garden.  It was me haven of peace and tranquillity and a place where I would always go, when all me trials and tribulations was gettin’ on top of me.

Well anyway, there was that time when I endured one hell of a desperate bad day at work.  It seemed leck all the most irritatin’ and contrary people in the whole wide world had conspired to converge on me, for to aggravate and hound me the whole day long.  My goodness, they came at me from all angles and by home-time, I felt absolutely frazzled. 

So it was quare and nice later, when I stretched out on me sun bed in me garden of peace and tranquillity, with a cool refreshin’ drink in me hand.  It was such a lovely sunny evenin’ and it was heavenly lyin’ there, with the warm evenin’ sun caressin’ me tortured brow and the gentle breeze ripplin’ through me hair.  In fact, it was so relaxin’ and peaceful, that all me stress and woes quickly began to ebb away.

When I first became aware of it, it was almost inaudible and in fact initially, it was quite calmin’ and relaxin’.  However, it began to get louder and louder and more and more intrusive, until it eventually reached such a crescendo, that it was totally deafenin’ and it completely took over me mind, so that I could think about nawthin’ else.  Me nerves was in shreds and I could feel me blood beginnin’ to boil with rage.  This racket had completely destroyed my oasis of peace and tranquillity.

Then, through all the tumult, I heard a shout and when I looked round, I spied me next-dooer neighbour smilin’ at me.

“Hello,” he called cheerily, “I hope you’re enjoyin’ them.”

Well what happened next is a wee bit of a blur, but I do remember two vehicles arrivin’.  The first one took me away til the locial loony bin.  As for the other, it was an ambulance and it took me neighbour away til the hospital for an operation ..... to extract his new wind chimes, which was about a mile and a half up his junction. 




Now where I was rared, they have this funny thing about how they pronounce some names beginnin’ with the letter ‘H’. For example, Hubert is pronounced Qbert and Hughie is pronounced QE, just leck in the QE2 liner. 

Well anyway, here’s a wee tale about a QE I once knew.  QE was fierce tall and tin and in fact, if he’d been any taller and tinner, sure one eye woulda done him.   Now although QE’d been happily married with a few chillder, his wife had unfortunately died.  However, he’d met and married this widow woman Gertie and she and her chillder had moved intil his house up the mountain, where they’d had more chillder.

Well one day many moons ago, I was up visitin’ at QE’s, when suddenly there was this terrible commotion outside.   So QE leapt up from his chair and when he went outside to investigate, he found the whole chillder all fightin’.   So he roared intil his wife:

“Hey, Gertie, get out here quick and sort these ones out ..... your chillder and my chillder are knockin’ hell out of our chillder!”

Then another day, QE asked me if I’d babysit for him, because him and Gertie wanted to go out for the evenin’.  Well although I agreed, I wasn’t all that keen, cos QE and Gertie had an awful squad of chillder and my goodness, but they was never done fightin’ with each other

Now before they went out, QE and Gertie tolt me that I wasn’t to put up with any owl nonsense from them, even if it meant givin’ them the odd skite or two about their lugs for to cool them down.  They also told me, that when it came til nine o’clock, I was to put them ALL til bed, without exception.

Well when QE and his missus Gertie got home later on, I told them proudly, that I'd shut me ears til all the chillder’s whingin’ and  whinin’ and got all thirteen of them off til bed before half nine, even though I’d had a wee bit of bother with two of them. 

Well when I mentioned the figure thirteen, they gave me the quare funny look.  And that's when Gertie went off on a tour of inspection of the house.  A few minutes later she returned with a big grin on her face.

“My goodness, you did a grand job there Mickle ..... however, there's just one wee sneg ..... two of the chillder up there in bed, sure they belong til our neighbours!”




One desperate wet day many moons ago, I was on me way til work in the big city, when I felt me feet gettin’ desperate wet and when I looked down, I noticed me shoes was fallin’ apart.  So I popped intil a cobbler’s that did repairs while you waited.  However, when the boy had the job done, he gave me the quare gunk when he asked me for more money than I had on me.  So I said til him:

“I’ll tell you what ..... you give me the shoes and when I get the money, I’ll come back and pay you.”  Bejaysus, he gave me the quare look.

“Well, I’ll tell YOU what,” he said coldly, “no money, no shoes!”  And with that, he put the shoes down behind the counter.

Now them days, there was no cash machines, so I had to walk through the pourin’ rain in me sock soles for about 2 miles til a bank.  But though there was hordes of people along the way, nobody really seemed to notice me dilemma.

And even when I squelched me way intil the packed bank, layvin’ a whole set of footprints behind me on the marbly flooer, still nobody seemed to notice.   However, when I joined this long queue behind a woman with a wee cub, guess who did notice. 

“Mammy, mammy!” cried the wee cub, while tuggin’ at his ma’s skirt, “why’s that man not wearin’ any shoes!”  Well of coorse, that was the cue for everyone in the whole place to have a damned good look at this peculiar buck with the big red face, who was standin’ there in his sock soles.  It was akinda embarrassin’, let me tell yee.  But what made it even worse, was the fact that me soakin’ socks was all full of holes.




Let me tell yee about somethin’ really peculiar that happened a lough of years ago til a very wealthy relative of mine called Clive, who lives over in England.

Despite massive efforts over a very lengthy period of time, the English police had not been able to resolve a particularly bafflin’ crime and it was beginnin’ to look leck they was never goin’ to get a result.  However, because the victim of the crime was a very important establishment figure, they was under unrelentin’ pressure from on high for to get a conviction and as a result, they was willin’ to consider anythin’.  So when a clairvoyant suddenly stepped forward and managed to convince them that he knew who the culprit was, they was very happy to listen til him. 

However, their joy was short-lived, because despite everythin’ he told them, the CPS informed them that the clairvoyant’s evidence would not be admissible in court and that as a result, they would still have to find some substantive evidence that would stand up in court. But despite all their subsequent intensive investigative efforts, they was unable to find any sound evidence and so it was beginnin’ to look leck that it was goin’ to be impossible to even arrest and charge the suspect, let alone secure a conviction in court.  But then, followin’ even further pressure from on high, the legal authorities decreed that a special court should be set up, with its aim being to decide whether the clairvoyant’s evidence could in fact be ruled as admissible, if the case did actually come til court.

Well the unfortunate judge who was appointed to preside over this special court was in a right owl quandary, because he had never had to dayle with such a question before and as a result, he scratched his head and prevaricated for a long time.  But he eventually ended up sayin’ that if the clairvoyant could prove beyond all doubt that his abilities was foolproof, then he would rule that his evidence would be admissible. 

Now the clairvoyant was a chap called Bill Moses, who by chance was actually a very good friend of Clive’s and he was brought intil the special court and asked to demonstrate his skills on a selection of court officials.  Well he soon had them all agog, for he told them very personal things about themselves, that only they or their close relatives could possibly have known.

But although this was all very entertainin’, everyone present could see that the judge was still not convinced.  So Bill Moses was asked to turn his attention til the judge.  Well Bill started to tell the judge what he'd had for breakfast and what colour his underpants was and so on and the judge was obviously very impressed.  But it was when Bill started sayin’ somethin’ about some young bit of stuff called Penny down in a Mayfair flat, who was very much intil whips and bondage, that the judge went a wee bit pink, immediately interrupted Bill and said that his rulin’ was that Bill's evidence would be admissible in a court of law.

Well Clive got one hell of a surprise after this rulin’ was given. There he was sittin’ in his huge Hampstead mansion, drinkin’ his whisky and soda and avidly watchin’ 'Teletubbies' on TV, when the dooer bell suddenly rang.  He was, needless to say, more than a wee bit annoyed, because he didn't want to miss any of 'Teletubbies' and so when he answered the dooer, he was a wee bit sharp with the caller and none too friendly.  However, he soon changed his tune, when he realised that it was the police and that he was bein’ arrested for a serious crime.

Needless to say, he was as innocent as a new born babe and therefore extremely puzzled as til how such a charge could possibly have been laid at his dooer.  However, when he saw his owl pal Bill Moses comin’ up intil the witness box to give evidence at the subsequent court case in the Old Bailey, he was greatly relieved, for if there was anyone alive who knew for sure that he wasn’t capable of such a vile deed, it was Bill.  So you can imagine Clive’s astonishment, when Bill pointed his finger at Clive and said in a loud clear voice: “That's him, m’lud .... he’s the one that done it!”

Well you know, gettin’ a life sentence for somethin’ he didn't do was one thing.  But what really gets his goat, is that while he’s locked up behind bars in a desperate grim prison, that blaggard Bill Moses is livin’ the high life in Clive’s palatial mansion, sleepin’ with his wife and drivin’ his Rolls Royce!




One day many moons ago, me and me pal Herby was havin’ a few quiet drinks in a pub up the country, when this big ignorant lookin’ hallion called Mack started bummin’ and blowin’ about what a great draughts player he was and how he was the undefeated locial champion.  Now Herby was a right good player himself and because he was sure that he could bate this ignorant lookin’ clift and make himself a few aisy quid, he chirped up and bet Mack £50 that he could bate him.

Well Mack took up the challenge and after a wee bit of negotiatin’, it was agreed that they’d play a ‘best of five games’ match that very afternoon up in Mack's cottage.  However, the only sneg was that Herby didn't have the 50 quid stake money on him.  We therefore had to zoom off home til our wee town, so that Herby could ‘borrow’ the house keepin’ and rent money from Rita's wee jar, when she wasn't lookin’ of coorse.

Now Mack's tumbledown shack was at the end of a long guttery lane, which was full of pot holes and covered in cowshite and when we arrived up there, Herby was beginnin’ to feel a wee bit nervous, in case he'd underestimated this here buck Mack.  However, when we saw him again, he looked even more stupid than he'd looked in the pub.  So Herby’s confidence soared sky-high again and we was sure that he'd win, on account of Mack's obvious dumb thickwittedness.

But jaysus, what a kip it was inside!  Man, it was all dark and cowl, with puddles of water (or maybe it could have been piss) on the flooer and the stench of the place near made us puke.  Well Mack and his witness was that cowl and unfriendly, they didn't even say “hello” til us.  But not only that, there was a terrible malignant evil air about him and his eyes never quit glintin’ at us in the gloom.

“Now no chaytin’!” he growled at Herby, “or I'll break your back with a shovel!!”  And to demonstrate his point, he smashed a shovel down on til the table with such force, that he broke the shaft of it intil skittereen.  And that sorta left us in no doubt, that whereas Mack might only have had the brains of a mouse, he certainly had the strength of an ox. 

Now Herby was about to tell Mack, that he didn't want to see no chaytin’ from him neither, but then he had second thoughts and wisely he said nawthin’.  But despite everythin’, I still felt very confident that Herby'd annihilate him and sure enough, he won the first two games so aisy, that we couldn't hardly stop ourselves from laughin’ in Mack's big stupid face.  Jaysus, I started havin’ day dreams about how great it was gonna be back home in the pub, bummin’ and blowin’ about this here match and how Herby'd brought that ignorant whoer Mack down til size and humiliated him.  And bejaysus, the booze'd be flowin’ and things'd be absolutely marvellous.

“So you've won the first two games,” big Mack growled quietly.  He then stood up and went intil the next room.  Herby smiled round at me and quietly rubbed his hands, for he was sure victory was nigh.  But then big Mack came back intil the room and he sorta spoiled things by layin’ a shotgun down on the table and glarin’ malevolently at Herby.  Now it wasn't that Mack actually said nawthin’, but the look on his face said enough.  And so needless to say, Mack won the match 3-2.

Now although big Mack gave Herby an awful baytin’ at the draughts in those last three games, it was nawthin’ leck the baytin’ he got when he arrived home.  Bejaysus, when Rita discovered the housekeepin’ and rent money all gone, she went clayne mad and decided it'd be a good time for to change Herby's features - with a saucepan!




Now Bert was a mountain of a man with a paunch that big, that if he was in a pub, he could rest his pint glass on his belly, just leck it was a wee table.

Well anyway, one day a lough of years ago, he asked me if I’d leck to go til the market with him and I agreed.  However, I wished I hadn’t bothered, for I soon realised that he was, without doubt, the worst driver in the whole of Northern Ireland.

Man as we raced along, Bert kept lookin’ at me, as he mumbled and muttered away about this, that and the other.  Well although I did plenty of noddin’, I didn’t actually hear one word what Bert said, because I was that scarred.  And the odd time that he actually let me get a word in edgeways, I immediately took the opportunity to talk about the road and the cars ahead, in the vague forlorn hope that maybe he’d take the odd look at them, rather than me. 

Well anyway, the inevitable eventually happened and Bert didn’t notice the bend up ahead and over the ditch we went.  Man, there was fierce a bangin’ and crashin’ and I was sure I was for the white sheet.  But then the car eventually came til a halt on its side.  However, the amazin’ thing was that neither of us had a single scratch on us.

However, Bert suddenly panicked and in his mad rush to get out, he stampled all over me.  Bejaysus, but his feet was goin’ everywhere.  Well HE got out okay, with not one single mark on him ..... but sure the eegit left me with cracked ribs, a smashed arm and a broken jaw!




Now I once knew a man called Norman and although he'd been the only cub amongst a whole squad of cutties and even though times had been desperate hard for his whole family, he'd been relatively happy durin’ the early years of his life. This was mainly because his da Joe had given him so much love and attention and some of Norman’s fondest memories was of the many times he'd sat on his da’s knee, listenin’ til all Joe’s interestin’ and fascinatin’ tales, about where he’d been and what he’d done.

But then one day, Joe went out for to get a packet of Woodbines and that was the last they'd seen or heard of him for manys the long year.  Poor Norman'd been so absolutely heartbroken by his da’s unexpected departure, that he suddenly developed a fierce bad stutter, which stayed with him for the rest of his days.

Well shortly after Norman's da disappeared, his ma went all bitter.  Man, she turned all peculiar and in next til no time, Norman started havin’ a real hard time, what with her constantly naggin’ away at him and his sisters forever gernin’ at him and mockin’ his stutter.  But then, when he got up a bit, the Second World War started up and bejaysus, it gave him a real good excuse for to get away.  So he left home and joined up for to do his bit for King and Country.

Now the first thing that happened til him when he joined the army, was that he was sent over til Glasgow for trainin’ and one day, while he was havin’ a drink in a pub in Glasgow city centre, who did he meet by an extraordinary coincidence, but his da Joe - for the first time in nearly 15 long years! 

Bejaysus, when Joe realised who he was, he immediately threw his arms around him, burst intil tears and started gushin’ and slabberin’ so much over Norman, that he started bawlin’ too.  And bejaysus, this went on for about 10 minutes, until Joe drew back and told Norman that he was bustin’ and that he just had to go til the gents, but that he'd be back in a tick, let there be no doubt about that at all, at all.  But the useless whoer never came back and sure poor Norman never ever saw him again, no never no more.

But sadly for Norman, his luck didn’t improve none and the next unfortunate thing was that he married a desperate owl targer called Maggie.  Bejaysus, things quickly got so bad, that there was hardly a day went by, that she didn't launch some sort of an attack on him and it was durin’ one of these vicious assaults one night, that she stuck a fork intil Norman's left eye. And so it was a glass eye from then on for poor Norman.

However, it was often said that Norman's glass eye was not actually a new one, but had in fact belonged til some other buck, who’d also had a glass eye.  Now from what I’ve heard, when this here other boyo'd died, they'd apparently took the glass eye out of his head, gave it a wee bit of a wipe and then popped it intil Norman's empty eye socket, which probably explains why Norman’s glass eye was brown, whereas his real eye was blue.

But then one day, Maggie fell ill with pneumonia and despite all the bad things she'd ever done til him, Norman was worried sick about her.  Now although he had to continue goin’ til his job, he wasn't really fit to do much good work for frettin’ about her.  So he eventually went til his boss to explain the whole situation til him, in the hope that he'd let him go home and nurse her.  But his boss was a hard, cowl sort of a whoer.

“Look Norman,” he said, “many people get ill, but work must go on.”       

Well anyway, Maggie's pneumonia got worse and she became so bad, it seemed leck she was on the hinges of death.  So Norman went and explained the whole situation til his boss and then asked him for a day off work.

His boss immediately shook his head.    

“Naw, you can't have any time off,” he growled.  But then he had second thoughts and decided that because Norman was such a damned good reliable worker, he shouldn't be too hard on him and that he should instead show him wee bit of leeway.       

“But I tell you what Norman,” he said, “if she does die, you can have half a day off to bury her.”




I’ll never forget Herby's weddin' til Rita all those years ago.   Man on the mornin’ of the big day, I mind wakin’ up with a huge grin on me chops. Then, after jumpin’ out of bed with a buck lepp, I decided that since it was gonna be such a big do and I was gonna be Herby's best man, I'd better take a wee bit of a wash, as cowl as the water was and maybe have a wee bit of a shave as well. 

Later as I was havin’ me breakfast, I couldn't help but smile when I thought about Herby.  Bejaysus, what sort of a header was he anyway.  I mane, Rita wasn't even expectin’ and yet there he was marryin’ her!  But what made it even worse, was that she hadn't got no money and no man in his right mind would ever marry a woman, unless she had a good figure - a good figure in the bank that is.  Aye, Herby should have had a wee bit more wit.  But then again, one night when he was full of porter and doin’ a whole pile of slabberin’ and hashin’, he'd tolt me that he loved Rita, which was a real peculiar thing for him to say, because them days, real men leck us didn’t ‘fall in love’ and say soppy things leck that! 

But what really made me smile, was the prospect of seein’ him kissin’ his future mother-in-law owl fat Fanny after the weddin'.  Aye, that was gonna be a sight worth seein’ all right, for Herby'd once tolt me, he'd rather kiss a sow's arse than that miserable owl battleaxe.  As for Rita, although Herby wasn't a bad fella, I just couldn't understand what she saw in him.  I mane he wasn't really good for nawthin’ but drinkin’, smokin’ and generally arsin’ about, which good-livin’ religious people leck her and her family normally looked down on.

Well anyway, later on when I arrived at Herby's, he was in fierce bad form and his face was so white, that it looked leck a vampire bat must have been at him durin’ the night.  Now I was more than akinda worried, for I was afeared that if he wasn't fit to go through with the weddin’ ceremony, then they'd call the whole show off and there'd be no weddin’ reception and therefore no free booze nor eegitin’ about.  So I decided there and then, that no matter what, I was gonna get Herby up til the church and so I went out of me way to cheer him up and reassure him and do all that other owl nonsense that a best man best does.

Now after a brave bit of footerin’ and faffin’ about, we was eventually ready to layve the house.  But that's when Herby's damned nuisance of a ma suddenly decided she wanted to show me all the weddin’ presents.  Now because I was tryin’ to be asorta civil on Herby's big day, I didn't tell her that she could go stick them up her arse for all I cared.  And so I gritted me teeth and follyed her intil the parlour.  But bejaysus, I couldn't hardly believe me eyes!  There was stacks and stacks of things that must have cost a fortune and broken the hearts of a lot of the whoers, who'd had to stump up to buy them.

“They're very nice,” I said, tryin’ me best to sound enthusiastic.  But really I was thinkin' “what a desperate waste of good drinkin’ money!”   However, this whole display did give me an idea and I decided there and then, that if any girl I was goin’ out with ever became a baker and got a bun in the oven, I'd sicken a few arses, let there be no doubt about that at all, at all.  I'd invite 1000 guests and get 1000 weddin’ presents, which I'd immediately sell secretly.  Then I'd give all the guests tay and buns at the reception, which'd only last 10 minutes, cos I'd have to be on me way for to catch a plane til the Caribbean  - all on me lone of coorse, with me pockets full of loot from the sale of the weddin’ presents.  Aye, they'd all laugh plenty when they'd hear about the bun in the oven.  But, bejaysus, I'd get the last laugh.

Needless to say, I never got carryin’ out me plans, for the bowel Mildred scuppered them all!




When I was a young man, I used to know a cub called Freddy.  Now he was an only child and he lived with his da, his ma and his granny in a wee cottage away up the mountain and from what he tolt me, it was a rough sort of arearin’.  But what made matters worse, was that if he ever got up til any badness, he didn’t get just one baytin’, leck what any other cub would have got off his da.  Naw, he always got three baytin’s – a bad one from his da, a worser one from his ma and an absolutely odejious one from his granny, who always had an owl knobbly blackthorn stick in her hand and who was nearly as big a brute as his da, who was a real mountain of a man, let me tell yee.

Aye, bejaysus his da was one desperate strong buck and apparently one time, when he was ploughin’ a field with his horse, my goodness, but if the owl nag didn't go and die on him.  Now accordin’ til what I’ve been tolt, Freddy’s da was totally undeterred by this and my goodness, but if he didn't just pull the deed horse til one side, put the reins over his own shoulders and pull the owl plough up and down the field himself, till the job was done!

Well anyway, one of the things that Freddy’s parents taught him was that he should always be honest.  However, he sometimes got desperate confused.  For example, there was that time when he found a ten bob note on the road and instead of spendin’ it on sweets leck any other normal cub would have done, he took it home for to proudly demonstrate his honesty til his parents.  However, when he went to give it til his ma, bejaysus she near bust his head with a skite, before rippin’ the money out of his hand and callin’ him all sorts of bad names.

Then there was that other time he went til the dentist with a damned bad toothache.  Well anyway, he was sittin’ on his own in the waitin’ room, when he noticed there was a quid lyin’ in a wee dish on the table.  The next thing that happened was that this other cub came in and sat down for to wait his turn to be tortured.   Now Freddy didn't pass no remarks on this cub and instead, he closed his eyes and began to day-dream and after disappearin’ intil his own wee world, he became totally oblivious til whatever activity and any other comin’s and goin’s that occurred in the waitin’ room.   However, it was just after he'd scored the winnin’ goal in the cup final at Wembley and become a real hero, that he heard the sound of the drill from the surgery next dooer, follyed by someone scraymin’ out in agony. Ohhhh bejaysus, that certainly brought him back til reality real quick.

Well anyway, the next thing that happened, was that the other young cub jumped up from his sayte and rushed fierce fast towards the dooer, lookin’ desperate scarred.

“Jaysus, I'm not stayin’ here to get kilt!” he cried before fleein’ out.  Well although Freddy would have lecked to have done the very same thing, he praised himself for stayin’ and not bein’ a cowardly wee whoer leck that other cub.  But that's when he noticed that the quid was gone from the wee dish on the table, obviously nicked by that other wee skitter who'd just fled.  Bejaysus, Freddy went bright red, even though there was nobody else in the room.  He knew he was in a desperate pickle, for he realised that they'd be bound to think it was him that had stole the money, especially when they’d search him and find the quid in his pocket, that his ma had given him that mornin’ for messages.

My goodness, but did he not feel sick with fear.  But then he suddenly got a great idea for gettin’ himself out of this hank and avoid bein’ accused of bein’ a thief.  So he took out the quid that was in his pocket and he put it in the wee dish on the table.  But then when the nurse came in to call him intil the surgery, she noticed the quid.

“I must be goin’ mad,” she exclaimed, “I could have sworn I lifted that not ten minutes ago.”

Well the dentist, he took out two of Freddy’s teeth that mornin’ ...... and when he got home in the afternoon, his ma knocked out three more!        




One mornin’ many moons ago, when I arrived down in Joey’s pub, I found him lookin’ desperate despondent. 

“And what’s the matter with you theday?” I asked him.

“Och, me owl whoer of a da’s got that fed up with me actin’ the eegit the whole time, that he wont sign no more cheques,” he replied, “so I can't get no more stock in.”

“What! A pub with no beer!  What a nightmare!!” I exclaimed. 

“Aye, I know,” he said, “it’s terrible depressin’.”

“Och, but maybe there’s no need to be worryin’ too much,” I went on, “he’s probably only bein’ awkward ..... but his love of makin’ money’s that great, sure he’ll relent in no time at all ..... wait till you see.”   

“Bejaysus, I hope you’re right,” said Joey mournfully.  And with that, we had a couple of stiff drinks for to comfort us. 

Well I was wrong and his owl da didn’t relent and it wasn’t too long until the pub began to run desperate low on various types of drink. But things really came til a head a couple of days later.  Aye, it was a memorable mornin’ that!  When I got intil the pub just after Joey had opened the back dooer, man did I not have a damned bad hangover and was I not dyin’ for a cure!  However, I could see there was no beer left.

“A whisky,” I said when I got up til the bar. But Joey looked at me sadly and shook his head.

“There is none.”

“Well a vodkey then.” Joey shook his head again. I frowned and went on to ask for various other types of drink - but in vain. Then with a weary tone, I asked for a gin.  Joey’s eyes lit up.  Aye, there was a drop of that left.  So he set up a half'un til me. Then he took a look at the gin bottle and noticed there was just enough left for one more half'un.

“Well,” he said, “I might as well join you.”  And he put a glass up til the optic and poured out the half'un. And bejaysus, he swallyed it with one gulp.

Well just as I was finishin’ me half’un of gin, all the other boys came in and rolled up til the counter. But sure there wasn't a damned drop of anythin’ left in the whole place and the shelves was all bare. Now although they stayed on for a lough more minutes, there somehow didn't seem to be much point in hangin’ around.  And after we all left, Joey shut the dooers of the pub ..... for the very last time.




Bejaysus, I mind the time many moons ago, when our wee town’s football team got through til the football cup final.  But then how could I forget! Aye, on the day of the match, the whole place was buzzin’ with activity. Bejaysus, everyone was desperate excited and there was a whole load of cheerin’ and shoutin’ and laughter reverberatin’ up and down the streets and the pubs was all packed full of people, chattin’ excitedly and boozin’. Aye, everyone was on high doe, cos they was all sure that this was gonna be one of the biggest days of their lives. And why not too! After all, what our wee town's football team had achieved was absolutely marvellous and never before in all their whole history, had they ever got so close til achievin’ such glory as this.

Well it soon became clear that nearly everyone was goin’ til the match and that our wee town was soon gonna become leck a ghost town.  As for our star player Robbie and the boys, they got together in the backroom of Billy's pub for to discuss tactics and bejaysus, the butterflies was flyin’ all round the whole place, as the players began to ate their nails and get desperate nervous.

But at long last, the big moment eventually arrived and they and nearly the whole rest of our wee town got intil their cars and buses and whatever else and headed off in a big toot-tootin’ cavalcade and my goodness, but everyone was really enjoyin’ the whole carnival atmosphere.

Now there was however, one slight disappointment regardin’ the cup final. Because of work bein’ carried, the final couldn’t be played at the usual county stadium with its stand and all its facilities and instead, it was bein’ played on a field out in the middle of nowhere.  Well, although the playin’ surface on this here field was actually extremely good, there was absolutely no facilities and all the players and match officials had to change in their cars.  Even so, nobody from our wee town gave a fiddler's damn where the match was bein’ played, just as long as our boys did well and won the cup.

But when the match started, the supporters from our wee town got the quare gunk. Bejaysus, within no time at all, our boys was 3 goals down and it looked leck there was no chance of the fairy tale comin’ true at all. However, Robbie and his teammates was all big hearted boyos and gradually they fought their way back intil the game and early in the second half, Robbie scored a fine goal from thirty-five yards. Then bejaysus, but if he didn't go and score another superb goal about twenty minutes later, makin’ it 2-3.

My goodness, but the spirits of our supporters really began to rise, cos not only was our boys beginnin’ to play really well, but the other side was wiltin’ noticeably. Then their goalkeeper didn't look where the hell he was goin’ and bejaysus, he collided with the goal post.  Now them days, there was no such thing as substitutes and after he was carried off, he was replaced by one of his team mates on the pitch and he was obviously no goalkeeper.  Man, he couldn't have caught a cowl let alone the ball. Then bejaysus, the other side's best player lost the bap completely and kicked one of our boys up the arse and my goodness, he got his marchin’ orders straight away.  So it really did look leck it was only a matter of time until our boys equalised.

But bejaysus, despite the fact that our boys was so much on top, they was that anxious that they kept makin’ desperate blunders. Even Robbie made a complete footer of things and bejaysus, even when he had an open goal in front of him, my goodness, but if he didn't loss his head and kick it over the bar (the ball I mane, not his head!).

What also wasn't really helpin’ matters was the referee.  Now at the start of the match, he'd been sharp enough and had kept up with all the play.  However, as the match progressed, he slowed up so much that he was hardly movin’. I in fact wondered if he was injured or somethin’, cos he had this funny pained sorta look on his face and it seemed leck as if his mind was elsewhere.  Well anyway, this here eegit turned down two really strong penalty appeals from our boys and bejaysus, some of our lads was beginnin’ to wonder if the whoer hadn't been bribed or somethin’.

Well anyway, things was gettin’ really desperate and it looked leck, that despite all their pressure, our boys was just not gonna be able to make it count. But then, with less than a minute to go, Robbie got the ball in his own 18 yard box and he bate 5 tackles as he raced towards the other team's goal. And then bejaysus, but if he didn't go and hit the ball leck a rocket past their goalman, nearly bustin’ the net. Jaysus, our wee town's players and supporters went clayne mad, for they was all sure that Robbie had hit the equalizer to make it 3-3.  And my goodness, everyone started jumpin’ up and down and throwin’ their caps in the air and whoopin’ and cheerin’ with excitement.

Well extra time now seemed inevitable and there was no doubt in anyone's mind, but that our wee town would go on to win the match, because our lads was all so fit and so much on top and the opposition had only 9 players. However, while all these here celebrations was goin’ on, the referee sorta spoiled it all by disallowin’ the goal, because Robbie'd been “offside”. He then blew the final whistle and before anyone could do a hate, he set off leck a greyhound for the far corner of the pitch where his car was parked and bejaysus, he was intil it and off before anyone could get the chance to take him by the throat. And that was the end of our wee town's dream and bejaysus, everybody was absolutely devastated.

Needless to say, when everyone got back til our wee town, they was all totally distraught and although there was a great dayle of discussion and postmortemin’ in Billy's, nobody could make it out at all, how the referee could have possibly disallowed such a perfectly good goal and to be quite honest, bejaysus but he was one damned lucky man, to have escaped with his ballocks at all!

But then later on that night, the truth eventually came out, when word filtered back til our wee town as til why that useless clift of a referee had disallowed Robbie's goal. Apparently the referee had confided til a friend after the match, that although neither Robbie nor any of our other bucks had been offside, there was absolutely no way he could possibly have allowed the goal and therefore extra time. You see, the trouble the referee had was that he was absolutely bustin’ for to go for a number 2 at the time and because there was no toilet in sight, nor no bushes for him to go behind, he'd had no choice but to blow the final whistle and flee before he did it in his shorts. 

Well needless to say, when this was revealed, there was total uproar and a whole pile of effin’ and damnin’.  But I went one step further and I rang up a locial newspaper reporter, for to tell him what had really happened at the match. And while I was spaykin’ til him, I suddenly had this vision of what the headlines on the back page of the follyin’ week's edition of the newspaper would proclaim: “Referee's dire need of a shite denies locial football team chance of an historic victory in the cup final!”




I mind somethin’ that happened til me many moons ago, when I was but a young man, still livin’ with me ma and da.  Aye, it all happened in the very early hours one mornin’, while I was lyin’ in the dark havin’ a feg in bed. Next thing, I heard this noise from outside.  So I got up out the bed and went over til the windy for to look out and see what was what.  Well Jaysus, I couldn't hardly believe me eyes, for down there in the gloom outside, I saw this shadowy figure creepin’ out of the backdooer of our house and as he duked across the back yard, I could see that he had our TV in his arms. 

Well bejayasus, I was just about to hurl up the windy, stick me head out and start bawlin’ at the top of me voice: “Oy you, you feckin’ bastard, where the hell do you think you're goin’ with our TV!”.  But then I suddenly remembered where I was and that really, there was damn the much I could do at all.  I mane, what could I do!  You see, I was in the bedroom of me next dooer neighbour Duggie! 

Now if you’re wonderin’ why I was there, it was because when I larned that Duggie’d be away on an all-night fishin’ expedition, I’d decided to take the opportunity to slip intil his house after midnight, for a wee bit of a liaison with his wife Emily (an owl flame), without Duggie nor nobody else knowin’ damn all about it.  So I couldn't very well start shoutin’ and roarin’ and drawin’ attention til meself, now could I!  So there was damn all I could do, except watch as this here buck disappeared down the back alley with our TV. 

But what sorta really vexed me was that the whoer hadn't even had to break in.  Unfortunately I'd left the backdooer unlocked, on account of it never havin’ crossed me mind, that there might be some useless whoer hangin’ around, waitin’ for the opportunity for to rob us and as a result, the rogue had literally just walked intil our house, through the backdooer I'd left unlocked. 

Well I knew right away that this might take a wee bit of explainin’ til me owl ma Maud and also til the cops, when they came along.  So I crept home, with me heart goin’ leck the clappers.  Then, with the aid of a cushion to muffle the noise, I broke a small pane of glass near the lock in the backdooer as quiet as I could, before creepin’ up til me bedroom, desperate thankful that I'd woke nobody up. 

But unfortunately, I larned the next mornin’ that I hadn't been half as cute as I thought I'd been, for the thievin’ whoer had made a few return trips durin’ the rest of night and almost clayned us out!  Needless to say, owl sourpuss Maud was absolutely ragin’ and went on and on about how times had changed and about there not bein’ any half-dacent people left round our wee town and all that owl shite! 

As for me, I was mighty relieved that just for once, owl Maud's venom wasn't all bein’ directed at me.  However, when Sergeant Carrothers came up for to investigate this here crime, I began to feel fierce unaisy, on account of the Sergeant repeatin’ over and over again how odd it was, that the broken glass from the backdooer was outside the house rather than inside.  So I made me excuses and left, for I knew that as thick as she was, it'd only be a matter of time until the penny'd drop with owl Maud and that’s when she'd start askin’ some very, very awkward questions, about this here broken glass! 




I mind one time in me late teens, when there was dance in the locial hall, which I wanted to go til.  Now although I had enough money for to get intil this here dance, I didn’t have nawthin’ for to buy a drink and the thought of goin’ til a dance sober was out of the question.  But then lady luck smiled on me.  Aye, some stupid eegit had left a dozen bottles of Gold Label beer on the back sayte of his car, which was unlocked.  So I had them out in a flash and was away with them behind the hedge quicker than a cat'd lick its arse. 

Now I didn't feel all that guilty about staylin’ the beer.  On the contrary, I actually felt I was doin’ the boyo a good turn.  You see, if I’d let him drink all that Gold Label himself, sure his hangover the next day would have been absolutely awful.  So although I knew he'd initially be a touch annoyed when he found the bottles gone, he'd eventually end up bein’ thankful til me, for doin’ him this here kind favour of sparin’ him from havin’ a desperate bad hangover the next mornin’. 

And while I sat in the bushes drinkin’ all this boyo’s beer, I toasted his good health with every bottle. Then, when I'd finished drinkin’ them all, I decided that because I was feelin’ generous, I'd take the empty bottles back til the car, so that the buck could get the deposit back on them the next day.  So there you are, I’m not really such a bad whoer after all.




Now there's no bigger eegit than the whoer, who thinks he's a cut above everyone else and Brian was one such hateful eegit.  When he left school, he claahed about on a neighbour's farm for a lough of months, but because he was so uppity and thought he was a bigshot, he decided to go til an agricultural college across the water in England.  Well we was surprised when we heard that they'd acepted him, on account of him bein’ such an eegit, but we was glad at the same time, cos it meant we'd be shot of the whoer for a couple of years, for none of us lecked him one wee bit.

But you should have seen him when he came back.  Jaysus, not only would he not look at nobody round our wee town, but he spoke with this here funny posh accent.  However, he surprised us no end when he quickly got himself a job as landsteward on JJ’s big farm.  But sadly for him, things went akinda wrong for him on his very first day at work. 

Now instead of arrivin’ up at JJ’s farm in ordinary workin’ clothes, leck what any other half-sensible man would have done, bejaysus but if he didn't turn up wearin’ a suit, a tie and a trilby hat.  Aye, and he was equipped with a clipboord and pen besides!  Sure it'd have made you laugh to see him stridin’ about leck a rooster, ignorin’ the other farm workers (cos they was beneath him leck) and writin’ a whole pile of notes on his clipboord.

Well anyway, he came across this here cow lyin’ down in one of the fields and bejaysus, he was real stuck as til what to do about it and although he scratched his head plenty and mumbled a whole pile of owl medical drivel about maladies that strayke cows down, the genius just couldn't come up with no answer.  So he had no choice but to call the vit.  Luckily for Brian however, the vit was near til hand and soon appeared. 

Well the bowel Brian filled his ear with a whole load of owl nonsense, as til what he thought was wrong with this here cow and the vit waited patiently until he'd quit his hashin’.  Then he took one quick look at the cow, before givin’ it a damned good tight kick up the arse.  My goodness, but that was fierce good medicine, for the owl cow awoke with a start, jumped til its feet and ran leck hell away.  They say you could have heard the other farm workers’ laughter for miles and miles.  However, one person who didn't laugh too much was JJ ..... when he got the vit's hefty bill a wee while later. 




Now when I was young and gallivantin’ wild about the country, one of me best pals was a buck called Merv and although he often used to come avisitin’ til our house, I never ever went anywhere near his home. This was because Merv’s mother-in-law Belle moved in with him and his wife Lucy shortly after they got wed and bejaysus, she was far better than havin’ 10 hungry rottweilers round the place for keepin’ folk away, let me tell yee.  I mane, she had the most desperate ferocious wicked temper that'd ever been seen in any livin’ baste and if anyone was ever stupid enough to get her rizz, they'd immediately regret it, for man she was the sort of woman, that if you annoyed her, she wouldn't hesitate for one moment, from tearin’ intil you and batterin’ you all the whole way down the road with a broom, or whatever else was near til hand.  So that sorta deterred me or anyone else from ever visitin’ Merv and ‘goin’ intil the lioness's den’ so to spayke.




One Sunday afternoon, I decided to go up and visit me owl mucker Sammy, not so much because I really wanted to see him nor nawthin’ leck that, but because I was feelin’ a wee bit druthy and in need of a cure and I sorta hoped that Sammy'd either have a lough of bottles in the house, or some of that homebrew stuff out in the garage.  At the same time, I didn't feel all that optimistic about gettin’ a sup, because I knew from bitter experience, that if his ratbag of a wife Madge was at home, there'd be absolutely no hope of gettin’ a lough of drinks.  Aye, although she didn't mind the bowel Sammy havin’ the odd bottle or two durin’ the week, she didn't allow no boozin’ at all, at all on a Sunday, on account of her bein’ all good-livin’ and religious.

Now I’ve never had much time for Madge and it has never ceased to amaze me, how she can keep someone leck the bowel Sammy under her thumb leck the way she does.  After all, he'd once been one of the wildest men there'd ever been round our wee town and when he'd been single and as free as a bird, me and him'd been the best of good drinkin’ partners and manys the rough session and evenin's great crack we'd had together round the pubs. 

Now them days, Sammy'd always been the best of good company, except that is when I wanted to go out huntin’ weemen.  Aye, whenever I went out on the prowl, I always made sure I lost the bowel Sammy first.  This was because Sammy’s that fat and ugly, that all the weemen always ran away off in the opposite direction as fast as they could go, whenever they saw him comin’ towards them, with that funny look in his eye and his tongue hangin’ out.

Aye, the bowel Sammy was certainly no glamour boy and when it came til weemen, he never had much luck at all, at all.  However, when he got til thirty, Sammy decided that he’d just have to make a move in the marriage stakes before it was too late and one night, when he had a fierce load of drink in him, he asked Madge to marry him.  Well Madge wasn't no spring chicken neither and on top of that, she’s as broad as she’s tall and only a wee bit better lookin’ than one of them owl heifers you see atin’ grass out in the fields. She wasn't therefore in no great demand by the boyos from around our wee town, so not only did she immediately say "aye" til Sammy's proposal, but she made damned sure that the weddin’ took place that quick, that Sammy didn't have no chance to change his mind.

Well anyway, although everybody said that him and Madge wasn't suited and that the marriage wouldn't last more than a lough of months and all that sort of owl stuff, they actually settled down quite well together and to be quite honest, there really wasn't that many pitched battles about the place at all, at all. 

However, things did start to go akinda wrong, when Madge got the notion intil her head that she wanted a ba.  The first thing she did was put an end til Sammy's pubbin’ and midnight movies on the TV etc and instead, it was early nights in bed and lights out.  Man, she kept him at it ding dong night after night, until the poor man was but a shadow of his former self and I'm not coddin’ yee, he eventually ended up walkin’ about all the time with a kinda permanent limp and his eyes half-closed.  But it was all no good, for he just couldn't do the business.  (To be quite honest, nobody was really all that surprised, because the both of them’s so fat, you'd wonder how it would be physically possible for them to couple, connect or perform right at all, if you see what I mane).

Well after a year or so of rollin’ about in bed without no joy, it eventually began to dawn on Madge, that she wasn't never gonna kittle.  And that's when she forgot all about havin’ chillder and got herself a little short-haired puppy dog.  Now this here mutt was no bigger than a rat and although she called him Churchill, it wasn't long til Sammy had another name for him.  Aye, when Madge wasn't listenin’, he called the hound Sooner - cos he'd sooner shite in the house than go outside.

Well anyway, Madge immediately took til traytin’ this here puppy dog leck he was a wee ba, dressin’ him up in chillder's clothin’, puttin’ a wee bonnet on his head and bootees on his feet and she was never done huggin’ him and kissin’ him and wheelin’ him around in a pram and wipin’ his wee arse with a tissue every time he did a wee job.  On top of that, she was never done sickenin’ everyone's arse by cooin’ and cluckin’ and talkin’ til him leck he was a child.  Bejaysus, Sammy absolutely hated this here dog-child Churchill, because not only did he become number one in the house, but Sammy ended up bein’ trayted leck some old mangy mutt himself.

Now as far as Madge was concerned, this here dog-child Churchill was heaven sent and could do no wrong.  However, as far as the bowel Sammy was concerned, the damned hound wasn't no good for nawthin’ but atin’, snorin’ and shitein’ round the house, which he always got away with, without as much as a murmur from Madge.  Aye, Madge loved that there hound, no matter what he did and Sammy was the worst in the world, if he ever opened his mouth agin him. 

But what made it worser was that the mutt seemed to know that he was tops and that Sammy was only number two, for if he ever came near Churchill, the wee bastard'd growl at him in a strange mockin’ sorta way and stare at him with a funny kinda smirk on his chops.  Aye, and as if that wasn't bad enough, sure Churchill also took over Sammy's chair, slept in his bed, got fed before him and if he'd been fit to read, sure he'd even have got the newspaper before Sammy as well.  But last but not least, Madge wouldn't let Sammy nowhere near her in bed when the dog was around, for fear of "upsettin’ the poor wee thing".

But then one day, one of Madge's sisters came from afar for to visit her for the first time in a long time and when she saw the way Madge was talkin’ and carryin’ on leck as if this here Churchill was a ba, she got fed up (especially when Churchill nipped her on the ankle) and she whispered intil Madge's ear, that if she wanted a real child, she'd be well advised for to have another go at couplin’, but to "change the rooster this time”. But Madge was so much in love with this here mutt Churchill, that she didn't seem to take no notice of her sister's advice. 

However some time later, when Sammy went away up the country for a lough of days fishin’, this boyo Bronco was seen a few times creepin’ over Madge's garden fence late at night and goin’ intil her house.  Of coorse when he realised later that he'd been spied, he put it around that he'd only been goin’ in for to see Churchill, because, accordin’ til him, he was a dog lover too, just leck Madge.  But who did the gonch think he was coddin’!  Sure we all knew rightly that Bronco was no dog lover and that the only raison the whoer'd gone in there, was for to sniff about Madge and to try and have his way with her, as fat and ugly an owl sow as she was.

Well by a very strange coincidence, Madge announced that she was pregnant a few weeks after Sammy arrived home from his fishin’ holiday.  Sammy was real playsed at this here news, for he was sure things'd get better now and that Churchill'd no longer be the king of the castle in the home.  But in fact things only got worse and no matter what Sammy nor nobody else said or did, Madge just didn't seem to be able to grasp the reality of the fact, that the ever increasin’ girth of her belly meant that she was goin’ to be havin’ a real child soon and that she should be givin’ all her attention til it, rather than that useless hound.  So Churchill continued to remain number one.

Well the time eventually arrived for Madge to go intil the hospital for to have the ba.  Bejaysus, they almost had to drag her there and of coorse, there was floods of tears when they tolt her she couldn't bring the hound in with her and that he would have to stay at home with Sammy.  And when the doctors came for to examine her, she wouldn't even look at them, let alone talk til them, because she was pinin’ that much for her poor "child" Churchill and frettin’ about the "poor wee baby" bein’ without its "mammy" at home.  And she rang up Sammy at least ten times a day, for to ask how Churchill was gettin’ on and if the poor wee mite was missin’ her and all that sort of sickly owl shite and even though the dog was off its grub and sulkin’ and skulkin’ about the place, Sammy reassured her as best he could, that he was lookin’ after her "baby" real good and that he was fine.

Well despite her not co-operatin’ with the hospital nurses and doctors and so on, Madge eventually popped out the ba. The hound somehow seemed to sense this and that his ‘mammy’ would soon be comin’ back home, for he suddenly dropped all his sulkin’ and skulkin’ and became very excited instead. He also took til growlin’ at Sammy all the time again, because he seemed to know that it wouldn't be long, until he'd be top dog again and that Sammy'd be back in the ‘doghouse’.

Then a few days later, the big moment arrived and Madge arrived back in the house with the new baby in her arms. The dog was so playsed to see her, that he ran hither and thither and jumped up and down and barked and licked her and wagged his tail.  But he got the quare gunk, for Madge clutched the new ba til her bosom and scraymed at Sammy, for to "get that dirty flay-ridden bastard out of my house and away from my baby!"  Well Sammy didn't have to be tolt twice and with the greatest of pleasure let me tell yee, he kicked that there mutt up the arse and right out of the house.

The poor hound looked akinda stunned at this sudden reversal in his fortunes and the totally unexpected loss of his ‘mammy’. Furthermore, things didn't improve none neither, for the mutt was banished to spend the rest of his days outside in the garage. As for Sammy, although he knew damned fine that the child couldn't possibly have been his, he didn't give a damn - just as long as he was shot of that bloody dog-child Churchill, once and for all!

Well anyway, to get back til the story, when I got up til Sammy's, I was real playsed to find that bloody Madge was out somewhere bible-thumpin’ and that Sammy was all on his own.  But then Sammy the whoer went and spoiled it all by tellin’ me that he hadn't one drop of booze about the place and when he asked me if a cup of tay'd be all right instead, I made me excuses and left.  A measly cup of tay indeed!  What’s the bloody world comin’ til at all!







Now when I was a young man and first became a postman round our wee town, I quickly became aware of a very peculiar phenomenon.  No matter how bad the weather was - hail, rain or snow - and no matter how early or late I was, there was always a few buckos waitin’ for me regular, outside their garden gates.  At the same time, they didn’t never want to let on that they was waitin’ for me and so whenever I approached them, they'd always be fierce busy, tyin’ up their shoe laces, or examinin’ the tyres on their car, or strokin’ a cat, or somethin’ leck that.  Aye, and when I’d tap them on the shoulder for to give them their letters, they’d always pretend to be fierce startled, leck as if I’d taken them completely by surprise.

Now this all puzzled me a wee bit for a while, cos I was akinda dumb at the start.  However, it soon dawned on me what it was all about.  Aye, the fact of the matter was this, that them bucks would have walked one million miles through all the thunder and lightnin’ in hell for to get a holt of those there letters BEFORE their wives, mothers, mothers-in-law or whoever else it was in the house that they was afeared of.  You see, the most of them letters was real dynamite - leck final reminders about debts and loans - or threats about revealin’ the truth about their other weemen - and things leck that!  And how did I know what was in them letters?  Because I opened and read them all of coorse! 




Bein’ a postman is a great job, although it does have one big sneg and that big sneg is the mutts.  Aye, a lot of them are ferocious brutes and when I first started deliverin’ letters, they used to come racin’ up til me, growlin’ and barkin’ with their fangs all bared, all set to tear me til pieces.  But without goin’ intil any detail, I soon got them educated, so whenever they'd see me comin’, they'd cringe away out of sight, with their tails between their legs.

However, it wasn't always the big mutts what caused the most trouble.  Aye, there was one house where they had this big boxer that was fierce fond of sleepin’ and also this yappy little runt that was no bigger than a rat.  Well, whenever I'd come up til this house, the boxer'd never pass no remarks.  But that other wee whoer’d kick up such a racket, that the boxer'd feel obliged to get up and have a go at me, just to get the wee runt to shut up its yappin’ and layve him in pace so that he could get back til sleep again. 

Well, it used to break me heart sortin’ that boxer out, for although he was fierce ugly, there wasn't no harm in him.  Naw, it was the other wee bastard that nettled me.  But unfortunately, I was never able to get near enough til him, for to educate him.




The sneg about bein’ a postman on a country round was that it meant me havin’ to ride an owl bike up and down hills in all sorts of weather.  But havin’ said that, it was right up my street for there was no way the postmaster could keep tabs on me and as a result, he never knew where I was, or what the hell I was up til.

Now there wasn’t no first class mail them days and more often than not, I wouldn't bother doin’ me full round at all.  Instead I'd just do a wee bit of me round one day and then another wee bit the next and so on.  And if I was in a real bad way and in desperate need of a cure, some days I'd do nearly nawthin’ at all.  So if anyone was ever expectin’ a letter real urgent and it didn't fit in with my scheme of things, then there was a damned good chance, they'd have to wait an extra day or three for to get it.  Aye, when I was out on the road, I could more or less do whatever the hell I lecked and if I decided, after deliverin’ a lough of letters, that I'd done enough for one day, I'd go ceilidhin’ until it was time for to show me face back at the postoffice, throw in me bag and then head off home.

Now although none of this was strictly legit, it was, nevertheless, the only sensible way for me to operate, especially as the most of me clients was farmers, who never got no mail worth talkin’ about anyway.  I mane, it was generally nawthin’ but owl advertisements, or junk mail, or farmin’ journals or some owl shite leck that, which the most of them whoers wasnee fit to read anyway and which they only used for wipin’ their arses. 

But bein’ a postman gave me a great deal of power.  Now I’m a desperate nosey sort of a clift and I love gossip.  So when anyone ever gave me any gossip, I’d be all ears.  I’d then pass it on til the next person I’d meet, with a wee bit added on of coorse for to make it even more interestin’.  And whenever I felt leck stirrin’ things up, I’d invent a wee story which of coorse’d spread leck wildfire and cause all sorts of ructions.  Man, I had the whole country goin’ and it was the best of good crack, let me tell yee!

Now although the most of me clients was dacent enough souls, there was a few crabs I didn’t leck at all and some of them was so mane, they didn’t give me nawthin’ at Christmas.  Well that was a fierce foolish mistake for them to make and I always got me own back, one way or another.  For example, if any of them was sent a Christmas parcel, I’d layve deliverin’ it til real early on a Saturday mornin’, when I’d know the eegits’d still be lyin’ stinkin’ in their beds with a desperate hangover and man, I’d go rat-tat-tattin’ at their dooers, until they’d eventually come downstairs, all bleary-eyed.  Man, you should have heard the grumblin’ of them.  But bejaysus, I never took any owl nonsense off them!  Aye, I was never slow in educatin’ them and taychin’ them a few damned manners - the ignorant whoers!




I mind one time when I was a postman, there was this family called the McMuggins, who lived off the beaten track up a long bumpy lane in a derelict owl kip, which had a whole pile of the slates missin’ off the roof and over half the windies broke.  Well I hated goin’ anywhere near that family with letters, for whenever I did, I never ever felt all that confident that I was gonna come back alive, on account of them bein’ such a nest of loonies.   

They was supposed to be farmers, but sure they couldn't even grow weeds let alone corn and in fact, there wasn’t much any of them ever did as regards work, for they was always far too busy either sittin’ around playin’ their owl flutes, or fightin’ and half-killin’ each other.  Aye, they was such a rough mob, that on the night before their mother was buried, they got half-mad on poteen and fought a pitched battle over her coffin in the house.

Now although they thought they was fierce good musicians, they was actually no use at all.  In fact, they was that bad, they’d have made the wails of a banshee sound lovely.  But things sorta came til a head one time when a locial talent competition was arranged and they was absolutely sure they'd win it. The bloody eegits!

Well on the night of the competition, they all went except one brother Sludge, who wasn't the full shillin’, if you know what I mane.  He was a complete simpleton, who, although about forty five, wasn’t hardly fit to dress himself, let alone look after himself.   Well anyway, the others left him at home and went away til the contest, all dolled up as best they could.  But what a desperate sight they was!  The father, three sons and two daughters, all stunted, ugly, hairy and smelly Frankenstein-leck monsters. 

Needless to say, when the results was announced and they realised that they hadn't won, they went clayne mad and all hell broke loose.  They wrecked the whole place and two of the judges ended up in hospital.  As for the McMuggins, they fled homewards.  Mind you, the cops should have gone straight after them.  But seein’ as it was so dark and knowin' what wild, unpredictable, fierce ruffians they was, the police was terribly afeared of gettin’ done in and they decided not to move in until dawn.

Well as soon as the McMuggins got home, a big argument broke out and they was all shoutin’ and scraymin’ and blamin’ each other for not winnin’.  Man, there was such a desperate racket, that the whole country could hear it and it was obvious from all the commotion, that there was a fierce battle goin’ on.  Meanwhile, while all this eegitry was happenin’, Sludge the simpleton had apparently been sittin’ on his lone, quite uninvolved, tryin’ to play his flute. 

Now nobody's quite sure exactly how it all happened, but it was said later, that the racket eventually so annoyed the bowel Sludge, that he picked up the shotgun that was lyin’ in the corner and he started blaychin’ off all round him, for to get a bit of pace to play his flute.  Well anyway, when the bobbies came round the follyin’ mornin’, they found wounded bodies lyin’ everywhere. 

Well it would appear from the reports goin’ round our wee town, that the McMuggins had apparently been so preoccupied with fightin’ each other, that they'd been took completely by surprise and seemin’ly, not one of them had seen who it was, that had blasted away at them with their own shotgun.  However, after some real clever detective work, the cops eventually came til the conclusion, that seein’ as Sludge was the only one of the family without a mark on him, he must therefore be the guilty party.  So they arrested him and took him away.

Now the coort case was a real good show, let me tell yee and everyone from about our wee town turned up for it.  But sure Sludge didn't know what was goin’ on, or where he was, or why he was bein’ dragged around the place in handcuffs.  Sure he was that confused, that one day in the coortroom, he tried to play his flute when they took the cuffs off him and he had to be restrained.  In fact, they had such difficulty in gettin’ the message through til him, that the judge didn't want to hear ‘Danny Boy’, that they had to take the flute off him.  So he had no choice then but to spend the rest of the case pickin’ his nose, belchin’ and smilin’ leck an ape at the judge and jury.

Now because there was so many lies flyin’ around and the whole thing so confusin’, the jury had no option but to eventually acquit Sludge.  This didn't displayse the judge too much because, as he said later, it wouldn't have mattered whether Sludge was guilty or not, because jail would have been no good for him and that his own home was actually gonna be the best place for him.  Mind you, although some people thought Sludge had got off lightly, it was as clear as day til me and a lot of others, that poor Sludge hadn't shot nobody and that really, if you'd handed Sludge a shotgun, the first thing he'd have tried to do, was play it leck it was a big flute. 

Well anyway, I was always terribly afeared of goin’ up round their place, especially when I had no bike with me for to make a hasty retreat, if need be.  My  view was, that if it really was true that they didn't know who it was who'd shot them, then there'd be no doubt but that they'd still be fierce curious as to find out who it was, so that they could get revenge and if they suddenly took it intil their heads, that maybe it was me who was the culprit, then that'd be the end of me, let there be no doubt about that at all, at all.




Duke was the greatest blaggard ever I knew.  Now although he lecked to have a real good time, he never had the money to pay for it, so he relied on everyone else to foot the bill.  Man, there was hardly a sinner he didn't owe money til, includin’ chillder and old age pensioners.  My goodness, he'd even have borrowed money off all the locial cats and dogs as well, if it'd been at all possible.

But you know, he was that sweet and plausible, that you’d think he was the most respectable and honest man you’d ever met in your whole life and boys a dear, was he not one slick operator. Aye, he'd come up til you with a big sad face on him.

“I hate to ask you,” he'd say in an urgent, pleadin’ tone of voice, “but I wonder could you help me out.” Then he'd ask for money and if you looked in any way reluctant, sure he’d turn on the tears, just as aisy as if he was turnin’ on a water tap.

“It's not for me,” he'd wail, “it's just that I've had to pay some bills and now I have nawthin’ left to feed or clothe the chillder.”  Sure how could any dacent man refuse!  And you’d hand over the money.

“Ah God love you,” he'd continue, “you've really saved my bacon ..... the kids'll ate tonight and it'll all be down til you ..... God bless you.” Sure you'd nearly be in tears yourself listenin’ til him. And when you’d watch him goin’ round the corner clutchin’ your tenners and dryin’ his tears, you’d assume that he was on his way til the nearest grocer's, for to buy grub for the kiddies.  But sure the only place he was headin’ for was the nearest pub. But to top it off, sure you never saw your money again.

But the worst thing he ever did was when he got married.  It was the biggest, flashiest weddin’ that had ever been seen round our wee town. There was big cars hired and a marquee, and a couple of bands and loads of fine grub, and the whisky and champagne was overflowin’.  Man, it was a great day, a day never to be forgotten, especially by all those poor suckers, who'd rented him the fancy suits and the big cars and the marquee and sold him the booze and provided all the lovely grub and the two bands.  Sure the cheques that Duke gave them all bounced.  And as for the cheque he gave the smilin’ praycher, sure it bounced as well too. 

Bejaysus, he was a terra.  He must have owed tens of thousands of pounds throughout the whole country and it used to break me heart watchin’ him in action.  Them damned barmen'd refuse to give me even one bottle of cowl black porter on tick and yet they'd lend that rogue £100 without even battin’ an eyelid.  Sure the man was no better than a common thief.

Now although Duke'd been on the fiddle for manys the long year, neither his wife nor his dreaded mother-in-law knew a hate about his shenanigans, which was mainly because Duke intercepted all the letters that was on their way til his house and as a result, they’d never got to see any of the countless bills or poison pen letters and such leck.

However, that all changed when I decided one day, that the time had come for the bowel Duke to get a wee bit of a come-uppance.  Now because I was a postman at that time, I had no difficulty at all in thinkin’ up a very simple plan, that I knew would cook Duke's goose good and proper.  So when I met Duke in the mornin’s, I took til givin’ him only the junk letters and keepin’ the dynamite ones til meself.  Then, when I'd got around 20 of these here ‘hot’ ones gathered up, I waited one day until Duke'd driven off til work and then I pushed all these letters (includin’ an anonymous one from meself) through Duke's rusty letter box.

Well, when the bowel Duke drove back til his house that evenin’, he'd hardly got out of the car, before his mother-in-law and the wife was out to meet him.  My goodness, it sure was a great spectacle.  That wicked witch of a mother-in-law took intil smiggin’ Duke and blackenin’ both his eyes, while his wife kicked his shins til bits.  And man, did they not ate the arse off him, as they battered him all the way down the path intil the house!  Jaysus, that night the roof on that house never quit shakin’. 

But that wasn’t all. Not only was Duke grounded, curfewed and put under constant surveillance, but all his monthly pay had to go straight til his wife at the end of each month.  And there was no pubbin’, nor arsin’ about neither.  In fact, his whole life changed completely and from then on, his routine entailed him gettin’ himself off til work early each mornin’ and then gettin’ himself back home early each evenin’, for excitin’ nights with the family and mother-in-law in front of the TV.  But as far as I was concerned, it was damned good medicine for the whoer!







When I was a barman many moons ago, one of me best customers was Bobby.  My goodness, but he was some boy and he always had a fierce druth on him.  The only sneg was that he never had a bob in his pocket.  But that didn’t never stop him from bein’ the first in and the last out, every day in life.

Now if you’re wonderin’ how he managed to drink the whole day without no money, well it was because he was the flyest and most cunnin’ mooch you could ever possibly meet.  Man, it wouldn’t matter who came in through the dooer, he’d always greet them with this here big toothless smile and no matter what they came out with, he’d agree with every word they said.  And no matter how pathetic a joke they’d make, sure he always laughed near fit to bust. 

Aye, he had this great knack of makin’ you feel you was the funniest and most inter-restin’ man in the whole wide world and of coorse, this was why so many of his victims used to reward him by buyin’ him drink.  Sure he used to drink that much free Guinness durin’ the day, that the buttons’d be near burstin’ off his waistcoat by home time.

But bejaysus, he was some ungrateful wretch too, let me tell yee.  I mind one time, when the days was gettin’ that short that the weeks was no length at all and winter was creepin’ up on us real fast and Bobby’s owl mate Johnny began to feel desperate sorry for him.  So he collected some of his owl jerseys to give til him, for to keep him warm through the depths of winter.  And when Johnny brought them in til the pub all clayne and washed, man was Bobby not desperate playsed to get them, although he was a bit leck a bear when Johnny left without buyin’ him a lough of drinks as well.  But do you know, the whoer never wore none of them jerseys.  Sure Johnny was hardly out the dooer, before Bobby had them sold ..... and a couple of Guinness from the proceeds up on the bar in front of him.

Well unfortunately, Bobby went til bed one night and woke up deed the next mornin’.  Now when it came til the day for puttin’ him under the sod, there are those who swore blind, that when the hearse went by the pub, they heard a knockin’ comin’ from the coffin, leck as if the owl whoer was tryin’ to get out ..... to have one last one for the road.




On me first Saturday night as a barman, I heard someone ringin’ the bell in the wee back room and when I went to see who it was, I found owl Stan.

“Give us a bottle of stout,” he said.  So I beetled off for to get this here bottle of stout and when I returned, I thought that would be that.

“Give us a packet of 20 Senior Service,” he said and off I went again.

“Give us a box of matches,” he said on me return.  Well I was gettin’ a kinda frazzled by then, especially as all the druthy boys in the main bar was bayin’ for drink.  But away I went wearily again.

But bejaysus, that wasn’t the end of it, for when I came back the whoer asked me for a bag of chayse and onion cripps.  My goodness, but was I not gettin’ near the point of takin’ him by the throat.

“Now is that all?” I growled at him after I’d got him the cripps.  Well when he nodded, I nearly dropped with surprise.  But then he went to pay and my God, what a palaver that was!  He took out this owl purse and while I was grindin’ me teeth near til powder out of frustration, he footered about in it forever, until he eventually pulled out a dusty owl note.  Now I had a lough of change in me pockets, but bejaysus not near enough for the size of the note he handed me.  So it was back intil the main bar yet again, for to get him his change.

Now I soon larnt over the follyin’ weeks, that Stan always came in every Saturday night at the same time and that he ALWAYS asked for the same things.  So because I’d got that fed up runnin’ backwards and forwards for him, I decided I’d introduce a new strategy for daylin’ with him. 

So when I heard the bell from the wee back room at his usual time the follyin’ Saturday night, I knew it was Stan and I put a glass of stout on the tray, along with a box of matches, a packet of Senior Service, a bag of cripps and a whole pile of change and out I went til the wee back room, convinced I’d have him bate this time.

“Och, I think I’ll have a wee change tonight,” he said. “Give us a bottle of Harp.”  I can’t repeat what I said next!




When I was a barman, I lecked the most of me customers.  But there was one I didn’t leck at all and that was Smelly the pigman.  Jaysus, was he not one ignorant hallion!  He was more of a bullock than a man and if he'd been goin’ around on all fours, sure it'd have suited him better.  And a mane, hungry whoer he was too, who’d have fought a ghost over a halfpenny.  But the worst feature about him was the stink off him. 

Aye, Smelly was an awful hard man to get near til, on account of the smell of pigshite off him and if I was walkin’ down the street and I saw him comin’ towards me, I’d turn on me heel and head off in the opposite direction as quick as I could go, for the smell of pigshite off that buck would have choked yee.  But not only that, whenever you’d meet him, the smell'd cling on til yee and no matter what you did, you just couldn't shake it off.

Now although Smelly only ever came intil the pub for a few minutes for a ginger cordial, the stink off him would remain for manys the long hour after he'd gone out.  In fact, it was sometimes so bad that it'd hang round the place the follyin’ day too. 

But despite the stink off him, he somehow or another managed to find a woman called Iris, who agreed to marry him.  Of coorse none of us boys believed it at first, because we didn't think it'd be possible for anyone to get within 3 foot of him and survive.  But it turned out to be true enough. But not only that, the rumour was that the raison why she was fit to be able get intil a clinch with the whoer and still survive, was because the stink off her was even bigger than the stink off him, although nobody never went close enough til the both of them for to find out for sure.

As for the weddin’, was that not a day and a half!  Nobody from about our wee town knew a hate about it, because Smelly was desperate afeared of anyone comin’ along to watch the comedy act.  So after he picked up some relatives (probably from Belfast zoo), they all headed off for Enniskillen, well away from the pryin’ eyes in our wee town.  Then they duked intil the church leck rats and the praycher got through the marriage service as quick as he could, before disappearin’ intil the vestry to be sick (it was said later that the poor man puked up at least three times and no matter what he did, the smell of pigshite stuck til him for weeks after and not even ten baths was fit to clear it).

Although Smelly and his lot didn’t normally drink, they got some booze after the weddin’ and then it was back til Smelly’s hovel for the reception.  Now because they wasn’t used til drink, it didn't take too much to make them tipsy and it was said afterwards, that some of them was actually heard to laugh and that someone even got up and sang some owl traditional pigshite songs. 

Well durin' the evenin’ Iris took huff and went off til her bed.  She was of coorse sorta hopin’ the others'd soon layve and that Smelly'd join her on her weddin’ night.  But the whole company all hung on, drinkin’ and chattin’ about pigshite and things leck that and by Jaysus, before they was finished, they was all as drunk as bags. 

As for the bowel Smelly, at the end of the night he was totally gone til the world and sure they had to carry him up the stairs and heel him in alongside his new wife Iris, where he snored better than any of his hogs.  As for Iris, she lay beside him, weepin’ and wailin’ and wonderin’ what she'd let herself in for.  Aye bejaysus, it was all desperate romantic!




Many moons ago durin’ me days as a barman, this here English fisherman came in.  Well me customers was all friendly sorta bucks and they turned to chat til him.

“Well,” one asked, “did you ketch anythin’?”  The big Englishman turned round, lookin’ as black as thunder.

“I got nothing but six bites ..... and five of those were from midges,” he exclaimed. And then he ordered a stiff whisky.

“Umph,” he went on, “I thought this was supposed to be fishing country ..... you know, what with my air fare, hotel, hiring a boat and all that, I’ve spent over £1,800 ..... and in all the time I’ve been here, I’ve caught only one measly little fish ..... yes, that one tiny fish has cost me well over £1,800!”  

Well one of me customers Cecil was a slow, droll sort of a boyo and after thinkin’ about this for a wee while as he puffed on his pipe, he turned til the Englishman.

“My goodness,” he eventually said with a desperate solemn expression on his face, “that one wee fish cost you over £1,800! ..... bejaysus, aren’t you quare and lucky you didn’t ketch any more then!!”




When I was a barman, I heard manys the wee tale and here’s one what tickled me fancy. Durin’ the last world war, this army recruitin’ sergeant came lookin’ for volunteers round our wee town.  Well he came intil the pub and when he saw a bunch of the locial lads sittin’ round the table in the main bar, he bought them all a lough of whiskies for to soften them up and after they'd had a brave few, he got them all to sign enlistment forms there and then, before settin’ them up even more half'uns of whisky. 

From what I was tolt, it was a great session.  But then things started to go a wee bit wrong for the recruitin’ sergeant.  For a start, Dickie had a club foot and it was only when he was clumpin’ his way over til the dooer til the gents, that the sergeant noticed it.  And then when he had a closer look at all the other bucks that was sittin’ around him, he began to notice other wee things what he hadn't spotted before - leck for example, Johnny's deformed hand and Willy's wooden leg and Jimmy's glass eye and so on.  My goodness, the sergeant jumped til his feet.

“My God, what am I doin!” he roared, “I'm signin’ up a battalion of cripples!”  Well that was the end of their army careers. Aye they’d served their country as soldiers for exactly 2 hours ..... and nine half'uns each!




One night when I was a barman, this boyo came intil the pub and the first thing I noticed about him, was that he had hardly any fingers on his hands.  However, I didn’t pass no further remarks on him until he asked me, if he could have a wee play on the piano in the corner.  Well his request intrigued me no end.  I mane, how does a man with no fingers play a piano!

Well anyway, he amazed us all by playin’ the piano very well and while we was chattin’ til him afterwards, he began to tell us the whole story about his missin’ fingers.

“I lost them all down at the saw mill,” he said.  And with that, he held up his right hand, that had only two fingers on it.

“Now do youse see this hand ..... well one day I was cuttin’ this here lump of wood with the electric saw and suddenly there was a swish and a swoosh and one of me fingers landed in the sawdust on the flooer ..... well I'd been on the owl gargle that mornin’ and I was that flootered with drink, sure I felt nawthin’ and instead of gettin’ all excited, I just looked at it all casual-leck and didn't pass no remarks ..... however, the foreman came runnin’ up and my goodness, was he not desperate agitated.

“How the hell did you manage that?” he roared.  So I lifted me hand for to show him how it had happened.

‘Well I just put me hand over here,’ I said til him ..... and my goodness, but if there wasn't another swish and a swoosh ..... and oops there was another one gone.”

So I suppose the moral of the story is this: never shake hands with a saw.




Now when I was a barman, one of the pubs in our wee town was owned by an owl buck called Monty, whom I wasn’t too fond of, on account of him bein’ such a miserable, mane owl whoer, who had a hump on his back that was full of nawthin’ but badness and no matter what drink you’d buy off him, sure it always had a kinda bitter taste til it, leck as if the poison that was in him, had dripped off intil your glass. 

Now Monty had a son called Sonny, who'd left our wee town many years before to join the merchant navy, but who then gave up the navyin’ after a lough of years to come back home to help his owl da run the pub. Now I don’t know where Sonny got his nickname from, but a more apt name you couldn’t have found, for he had the sunniest disposition and the most beautiful warm smile you’d ever see in your whole life.  Aye, he was the total opposite of his miserable owl da. Not only was he a smiley, cheery sort of a buck, but he turned out to be a wild dacent man as well. 

However, the strange thing was, that whenever owl Monty was about, Sonny used to change personality completely.  Aye, when he was on his own, Sonny'd be on top form, laughin’ and jokin’, but whenever that owl gern Monty'd appear, with that hump full of misery and badness on his back, sure poor Sonny'd go all silent and tense.   It was desperate strange, for although Sonny was a fully grown man in his early forties, he was, for some peculiar raison or another, desperate afeared of his owl 75 year old da. 

Now owl Monty was a real stickler for cleanliness and all that owl nonsense and he was never done givin’ Sonny hell and gernin’ on and complainin’ about the state of the shitehouse and how the flooers in the bar needed sweepin’ and moppin’ and how grubby the glasses was and other borin’ dreary things, that none of us customers gave two damns about.  Sure he had poor Sonny's arse well and truly sickened. 

But there was however the odd time that Sonny'd stand his ground.  Man, there was one night when Sonny and me was in the bar enjoyin’ a wee chat, when suddenly that owl crab Monty appeared.  Well he hurpled over til the freshly clayned glasses and in his usual sickenin’ way, he picked out the only one that had a slight smudge on it.  Jaysus, he held the glass up til the light, scowled and then started mutterin’ about what a useless whoer Sonny was and all that sort of owl shite.  My goodness, Sonny went clayne mad and he sent the whole glasses flyin’ with one swipe of his arm.  And they smashed intil skittereen all over the flooer.

“Now see if you can find another dirty one!!!” he roared.  And I roared too - with laughter.