BRINGING KULTURE TO TYRONE

Deer Gerry, I heer you were in remote parts of Co Tyrone this weak. I heer you travelled to parts of Tyrone that wood still resort too cannibalism if the chip van failed to turn up. You were on a mission Gerry. Your relentless, remoreless mission to bring arts and kulture to the wild savages of Tyrone.
I heer kulture vultures flocked to the venue you were speaking at on bicycles and donkey's and carts.
Of course Tyrone is knot kompletly devoid of arts and kulture. Tyrone is very proud of it's two sons of artistic merit. Hugo Duncan and Barney McCool.
I was going to go and sea you Gerry. But unfortunately I had trouble and strife in the gnashers department. I broke my false teeth while eating a raw turnip. I think that was an intervention by fate.
It is probably better if we never meet. Given my grate beauty and your lack of self control.
A grope Gerry, while being a thing of beauty and a joy forever,could in time come between us. How sad if the beauty of Clougher and the brane of Derry should drift apart over a common or garden grope.
It is knot your fault Gerry. You appreciate beauty and when you see grate beauty, like what I have, you have know kontrol over your hands. Hence the groaping for which you are rightly renowed.
But what a boon, what a joy it wood have bean to have my foto took with you. There we wood be on the front page of the Tyrone Konstitution. Me with my head laid on your manly chest. Looking up into your artistic face with the doe-eyed look of a dear.
Then as we parted, fluff from your green hairy gansey wood stick to the silky, feminine stubble on my face like soft etheral thistledown.
I wood have framed that foto and it wood hang side by side with the German Pope Roland Rats-zinger.
Gerry my sun Bon Jovi want's me too tell you to,
"Hang loose as a goose". I wool tell you know such thing. A man of letters, like yourself has better things to do, than hang loose as a goose.
I thought of you last nite Gerry. As I lay in bed listening to the bed springs and the rats squeak. I thought of the gentile conversation we could have had about arts and kulture. Grate paintings. Ballys, and the wild fat weeman who are drawn like veritable magnets to opera. I hope your bicycle was all rite when you left the venue of arts and kulture. I hope the fly boys in Tyrone did knot remove the seat. Leaving you a long, painful ride back to Derry.
Gerry, wool we forever be like too chips that pass in the nite? Who no's. Maybe. Maybe one day we wool meet. Hold hands, look into each others eyes and sing. "We'll gather lilics in the Spring again"
Until that day, a fond farewell from,
Rosie Ryan xxx
SP. Gerry, our relationship reminds me of Withering Heights. You are my Heath-Clift. Bounding like a wild eyed pony through the heath. Run free my Heath-Clift. Run FREE!.