The Gloria Gainor Of Clougher

Deer Gerry, What a foundering me and my oft spring Bon Jovi got during the cold weather. We were snowed in Gerry. Cut oft from humididy.
The snow was up to my waste and up too Bon Jovi's oxters.Ex-key-mo's, that's what we were. Ex-key-mo's.
I had plenty of turf, but the turf was frozen into a veritable mound of frozen turf. My water was also frozen Gerry and icicles hung from my spout.
Bon Jovi and I lived for three weaks on chicken feed. I added hot water and it was quite palatable.
And I kan now konfirm too the scientific world that there is know side effects from eating hen meel.
I was afraid that Bon Jovi mite take to sleeping up in the rafters at nite. But the cub never let wan cluck out of him, or showed any disposition for laying an egg.
But I must say as time went on, both mother and sun showed an inordinate fear of prowling foxes.
I lagged both our under-carriages with bubble wrap. Too keep our reguvenative system from shutting down. I am hapy too report that both under-carriages are firing on all cylinders. And the Prog-noeses for grandchildren is 100%. Bon Jovi has promised to call his first sun Millington after my grandfather. If, when respected by the doctor, the child is a girl she wool be called Milly. I kan't wait to bounce my grandchildren on my knee like beech balls.
"Rosie" I heer you ask.
"How did you survive such a foundering?"
I wool tell you how I survived such a foundering Gerry. I was brought up like a hanimal. I was born in a cow shade and inhibited that structure until I was a big lump of a cuttie. I resided there with deer Mummy and Daddy. The only running water we had, came from us nose's and us you know what's. When the rats tackled me in my cot, I fought like a wild-kat. I learned from an early age it was dye or survive. At the age of too I could crunch stoat bones between my infantile gnashers. I was dressed in the skin of a beaver. I bit anything that was put in front of me. Including fingers and thumbs. I had the hearing of the blind bat and the sight of an howl. Devoid of porridge, I had to foriage. I wood wrestle a rat for a rotten spud. I communicated in grunts, yelps and snorts. I never had a shoe on my foot until I was 19. And even than, it was an auld boot and a wellington. Don't talk to me about hard thymes Gerry. I have known hunger so intense I thought of eating my own mammy. Not knowing that mammy was thinking the very same thoughts about me. I have been frozen in ice like the woolly mammoth and lived too tell the tail. I had frozen snotters stuck too my nose that looked like tusks. Very handy for rooting about in the frozen tundra. I have eaten everything that moved. From small aunt's too sheep stuck in bog wholes.
I am a surviver Gerry. As is the fertilised egg that sprang from my lions in the dead of nite. When the nuclear bomb goes off, Bon Jovi and I shall burrow deep underground and live on worms and clay until it is safe to surface.
We is Ryan's. And the last man left standing wool be a Ryan. I stand a top this midden. My garments blowing in the wind and I proclaim.
"Nature! Do your worst. Send snow, reign, tempest blast. Do your worst.
Fry me with heat. Founder me with cold. But you wool knot defeat Rosie Ryan. I am the Gloria Gainor of Clougher and I wool-SURVIVE.
Mind you Gerry. When the snow was gone and the breadman was able to call. It was nice in the extreme to get stuck into the cream buns again.
"Home is the little sailor, home from the see and Rosie home from the bog"
Ah-Veed-Ah-Zen Pet.