MEMORIES OF MUMMY

In conclussion may I wish youse all, a rurual, cunt'ry greeting from your friend and mine-Rosie Ryan.

As I look back over my life, a life of Hi's, lows and middlings, I always return to my birth.I have know reconcilliation of my birth. But born I must have bean, because birth is a requisite for becoming a kuman beeing.Deerest mummy must have bean there. But too her dying day, deerest mummy wood never own up two it. "Go away" she wood say "And stop talking about auld dirty things". My first memory is at the age of too when I caught my childish fingers in the jaws of a rat trap. I remember deerest mummy yelling. "That wool learn you to steel sweets out of my handbag". A paneful lesson, but up 'till today I have never put my hand in a handbag that didn't belong to me. Off tomorrow, I can knot speak. Us sweet thieves just take it wan day at a time. Mummy was a ferocious arse skelper. I remember wan fierce, violent arse skelping. I kan still sea deerest mummy, her face as red as a roosters comb, yelling hysterically.

"Let that arse skelping be a lesson to you and never do it again! And the poor milkman sobbing "I'm sorry Mrs Ryan, the bottle of milk slipped out of my hand, I will run and get you another wan". Mummy was renowned for her arse skelping. Other mother's used too bring big lumps of cubs, who had got out of control to mummy and mummy wood put these boys of 28 or 37 over her knee and skelp the arse off them. None of them ever came back, which says more than mere words kan about the ferociousness and violence of mummy's arse skelping.

Darling daddy was a different kettle full of fish. Darling daddy found it hard to look at me. Perhaps it was my grate beauty. When darling daddy met me, he wood put his hand over his face and talk to me from behind his hand. Daddy wood say the things that all doating daddies say to their beautiful daughters. Little things like, "Are you still alive"? and "When are you going too leave home"?. "Daddy darling" I wood shriek "I'm only five" and darling daddy wood walk sadly away, with his hand still in front of his face.

Ah, my skool daze, the happiest daze of my life. I went to skool at the age of ate and left skool at the age of ten. When I left skool, my brane was fare brusting with nowledge and headucation. I remember looking sadly back at my seat of learning and seaing the head master changing all the locks on the doors. Ah, hapy daze. Now, with thyme on my hands, I was free too jump shucks and carry out experiments with varying kinds of farmyard dung. I remember wan day I lost both eyebrows, when I mixed donkey dung, sparrow dung and kuman dung and put a match to it.

CHILDREN! Don't try this at home!.

Ah, memories. Hapy, hapy memories. And now, thanks too my dallience at skool. I am a grown woman, steeped in arts and kulture. I am bye lingual in many, many languages. Speak a de German? Yah! I does. Speak a de French? Wee, I does.

I languidly leave you now to persue Proust, Sarte, Shakespeare and Ireland's Own

So if the good Lords willing and the creeks don't rise I'll see you all soon. Hasta La Vista Baby.