Deer Gerry, good to sea you again. As the blind man said to Jesus, after Jesus cured him outside Gallellio.
Now that Religion has made such a big inroad into the commercial festival of Kristmas. I said, "Too hell with it" and got stuck in two.
I have pulled out all the staps. This Kristmas wool be solely devoated too the ancient art of Kristanity.
I have a crypt. Into which I shall place all the cast members of the Naiveity. Pride of plaice shall go of course too Francie and Josie.
Sorry Gerry, I'm so excited. I meant to say, Mary and Joesph. I have a little baby Jesus. A manager, a donkey and a lamb. But I found in impossible to find three wise men in Clougher. So I got three Ninja figures and pasted on the faces of Peter Robinson, Martin McGuinnes and wee Reg Empty.
Jesus, as you may have heard on the grapevine. Is the SUN of God. I two have hatched a fertilised egg, that turned into my SUN Bon Jovi.
Bon Jovi doesn't no it. But I have bought him a lovely soot for Kristmas morning.
The soot is made from shiny velvet and has white lace ruffs round the neck and cuffs.
The boy who sold me the soot said the colour is Damson Plum.
But it looks more of a bright puce to me.
"Mrs Ryan" said the shop man. "I kan reinsure you that know cub in Clougher, will have a soot like your SUN on Kristmas morning".
Hi praise indeed. From a boy who spent all his working life in ladies nickers.
All the cruising shall be cooked by my own lily white slender hand. Food and beverages we shall have in abundance.
There will be a choice of road kill.
Ranging from sweet, succelet door mice up two roast badger.
The badger got a dunt from wan of Sean Quinn's big green cement lorries. A big lorry pulled up wan day. The driver opened the door. Threw out the dead badger. Yelled. "May hand on yer drawers Rosie and a hapy Kristmas" Then he drove away. And kept his hand on his horn, until he nearly deefened me.
Hangels. That's what Sean Quinn's drivers are.
Wee heavenly-Hangels.
The vegetation for Kristmas wool be.
Karrots, Par-snips, spuds, docken leaves and suelugs. Something there to tickle the fancy of any Gor-May I think.
After the meel, Bon Jovi and me has a little yuletide concert planned.
First, Bon Jovi in his knew puce velvet soot, shall sing a song or too. Then the cub wool do a trick with a hard boiled egg that has to be scene to be believed.
I don't no how he does it. You wood think the egg wood fall out when the cub walks.
Then Bon Jovi wool do some impersonations of our neighbours. Bon Jovi wool screw up his face and yell.
"Is that rite? Is that rite?"
You wood swear it was auld Mandrake McTwitter. Who lost a lung when he fell into a shuck blind drunk.
It wool be up to me to interject a little arts and kulture into Kristmas. I shall don white nite-dress and dance the dying swan.Which comes from the opera,Swan Lake. As I flutter down, popping clogs as I go in front of the coal bucket. I am sure the raw emulusion wool get too Bon Jovi and he wool ball his eyes out.
After that, Bon Jovi wool crawl into his cardboard box and go too sleep.
This will be my cugh to get stuck into a bottle of the crater. As the crater takes hold. I may sing, dance, pull faces, kick up my legs, or pick up a hatchet and go and settle some old score that has bothered me for years.
PIECE, is what I wish you Gerry. PIECE. May God and his holey hangels look down on you on Kristmas nite.
As you lie behind the back door pissed as a newt.
Seasons Greetings Two All At Radio Foul.
Mrs Rosie Ryan XXX
PS. I wonder what the knew black wool be next year?
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