Deer Gerry, 'tis I, Rosie Ryan, henchanting forest sprite and the origional Cheeky Girl.
Hanging well I hope there are this fine morning. Each day the planets revolve and we take a step closer to the cold, dead, embrace of the grim reaper.
But begone dull care, let's be joyful and merry with a hay-diddle-dee and a hay-diddle-do.
As you no Gerry, when it comes to haute katour Rosie Ryan is the first pig with her snout in the trough.
My dress sense is impediment. Every woman has a colour that matches her aura. My colour is tartan.
Nothing says style like a long, flowing tartan skirt which comes down to the tops of the wellingtons.
I have an pawn-shant for lime-green ganseys with plenty of round the oxters.
Even an illness or disabitity need knot be a hinderance to stile. When I had ulsters on my legs, I wore elastic stockings accessorized with too frilly, pink garters which were the talk of Clougher and surrounding districts.
Don't talk to me about Lady Gaga. I was Gaga long before that lady. Ribbons, flowers, bits of twigs, leaves, dockons, silver paper,placed stratigaphically can disguise a bad hare day.
Soon news of my fashion expertise spread and I came a Minotaur to the weeman of Clougher. I remember my first big success like it was a long time ago. I was wheeling a barrow load of shi--manure to the midden when big, Nellie Grantie came speeding up the lane on a man's bicycle.
"Oh Rosie" she roared. "You must come quick. Wee Pansy Bonjela is getting married this afternoon, but the poor, wee crater has locked herself in her room and is kicking and flinging like Delany's donkey".
"What is the cause of her distress?" I yelled.
"Its her wedding dress" roared big Nellie. "Wee pansey says it looks like cheep, nylon Krap and refuses to walk up the isle".
I leaped on my bike and hurried to the seen of the pre-nuptial hanlin'
I brust down the door with my shoulder and found wee Pansey blubbering and slashing in a pink, floral po.
"PANSEY!" I cried. "What ailes thee child? On this happy day when you wool be regiously cleaved to big Gideon Mc Scuttle?".
"Its this damned auld frock" shrieked wee Pansey. "I hate it!, it makes me look like a right wee plonker".
I scrutnised the wedding dress with my fashion concous oculars.
The wedding dress did need something and I knew what that something was.
How proud I was later that day when wee Pansey walked up the isle with a Robinson's marmalade gollywog pinned to her cleavage.
Needles to say, the Clougher wan's were agog at the gollywog.
From she who walks with beauty,
ROSIE RYAN xxx
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