THE BOG ELVIS

I gave my bisum a hike, adjusted the load carrying tension of my drawers with a jerk and gazed around my snug abode with a look of satisfied satisfaction on my girlish maidenly visage. All morning I had been dusting, sweeping, hovering and polishing my nick-nacks with the wino's last refuge-Brasso. The floor was spotless, devoid as it was of, fleas, lice, ticks, daddy-long-legs, slaters, small rodents and a heap of well gnawed bones that my Sun Bon Jovi had secreated in a darkened korner. "That's how a house should look" I muttered "A pristine envirement, where one kan relax and bring up a lump of a cub in sanity conditions, where the emphis is on Hi-Jean".

I went-greacefully too the half door to gaze out at the panarama vista that lay before my seeking oculars.

Ah, the beauty of nature. A gun metal blue mist hung over the purple mountains. A carpet of wild flours, a dancing profusion of colour and gaiety de-tour. Even the mundane held a secret beauty. The weathered wooden gait, an old rusty zinc bucket, the rounded contours of the midden. Generations of dung, piled up in a heap, to rot and fester. A breeding ground for nuterients that wood bulk up rhubarb like steroids. Beauty, beauty, beauty, too much beauty for one pear of oculars two take in. Then, in the barmy Summer air I heard a noise. I harked my lug-wholes. It was coming from the raised mound of whins, nettles and eggberries. Like an Indian scout, I crept towards the mound. I gently parted the eggberries and nearly kittled a kitten. There stood my Sun Bon Jovi, clutching a bisum shaft in loo of a microphone. The cub was going into frenzied gyrations. His legs were all a tremble and the contortions he was going through, must have put grate stress on the forkal region of his short grey trousers. Then he who has sprung from my lions, opened gis gub and began to bawl.

"WELL, LAWDY, LAWDY,LAWDY, MISS CLAUDY, WELL YOU SURE LOOK GOOD TO ME, PLEASE DON'T EXCITE ME BABY, CAUSE I'M IN MISERY".

I brust through the eggberries like a Pampas bull grabbed the miscreant by the scruff of the neck and roared. "What the hell are you up too boy? Secreating yourself in the flora and fauna and roaring like a constipated donkey". "Mien Gott!" screamed Bon Jovi "Kan the lump of a cub have know privacy? Must you dog my footsteps like a baliff or a bloodhound?" "You kan have all the privacy you like when I'm dead" I yelled "But as long as you sleep in a cardboard box in my house, I have the rite two no what you're up two".

"I'm practicing" yelled Bon Jovi. "Practicing for what?" I yelled "A guldering competion?" "If you must no" said Bon Jovi "I have applied to go on the X-Factor. I wool be billed as the Elvis from the bog and I wool wear overalls and wellingtons". I looked at the cub, so young, so innocent, so gullable, so-stupid. "Listen Bon Jovi" I said gently "You kan't sing, you just haven't got the voice. You are tone deaf and what to your ears sounds like singing, sounds like guldering to every one else". "Another dream shattered" muttered Bon Jovi, as he threw the bisum shaft from him. I put my arm round the cub and said "Singing's knot for you Sun, but yet you kan still live your dream. Later too-nite I wool rite a letter too Sir Alan Sugar and get you on the Apprentice show". Bon Jovi smiled and said "I'll need a knew soot" "Yes you wool" I said "And an attackie case" said Bon Jovi. I hugged him and said, "I wool get you the best attackie case that Clougher has too offer". We waked home arm in arm, Bon Jovi was kicking madly with his hobnailed boots and yelling. "You're fired! No, you're fired. No, I'm knot--you're-fired" I kissed the top of his head and thought, "I's a waste of an attackie case, but if it makes the cub happy".