Wednesday, 21 December 2011


Deer Gerry, as we approach the festering season, it is good to no that Clougher know longer celebrates Kristmas with a kuman sacrifice.
There was a brief return to the bad old daze in 2005, when a stranger was dragged from his bicycle and never seen again.
The hole grizzly hanlin' was hushed up by the parish priest, the town elders and wee Tommy Tucker, representing the loyal order of Druids.
Pounds of special mince are flying from the supermarket shelves, as Clougher prepares to welcome the birth of wee JC with a good feed.
Clougher Hi street is a veritable fairyland, with fore Christmas lites on wan side of the street and three lites on the other side.
The Christmas tree, may lean like the tower of pizza, but the wains of Clougher look at it with amazement. Not just the wains, those who drool from the mouth and wet their trousers with impunity point to the tree and babble some festive gibberish. The small, condemed shops are choc-ah-block with late nite shoppers splashing out on Biro pens, bags of dolly mixtures and gaily wrapped boxes of Preparation H. YES! the countdown to Kristmas has began. On Kristmas morning, every member of saint Judas mouth organ band that is sober, or able to walk will march from the graveyard too the chapel. The priests Kristmas sermon this year deals with the banking crisis. He will deliver the first lines, "Better had a millstone bean tyed round their neck!" in a bull-like gulder.The PINS, are standing by in case his inflamatory words leads to an attempt to burn down the bank of Ireland. We live in dangerous thymes Gerry. The disappearance of the spondulects has given rise to a caldren of anger that has yet to be vented. When the great Vent comes, woe to he, or she who is with child, or ploughing a field with a pear of bollocks. Don't turn back for your coat Gerry. You can always order another out of Kays katalogue.
I have my Kristmas all planned. After mid-nite mass, I wool slip in the back door of Patels pub and drink to ten o'clock on Kristmas morning. I will then stagger home and incinerate a duck for us Kristmas dinner.There wool sit my beloved sun Bon Jovi, wearing a paper hat and a black eye patch for his lazy eye. I will sing, "Amazing Grace" and then we will get stuck in. Elbows guarding our plates and growls, grunts and yelps guarding our food. We will knot leave the table until we are both glazzy eyed and bloated like poisoned pups. Bon Jovi wool turn on the Queens speech. I wool loyally agree with her Majesty by yelling, "You tell it like it is sister! I couldn't have put it better myself and fine girl you are!".
By now us digestive systems wool be in ferment. We will rectify this by a strenuous bout of violent rifting and ferocious farting. This wool make way for some chocolate cake and a cup of tea. Soon, Bon Jove wool crawl into his cardboard box. I wool retrieve the bottle of the crater from up the chimney and offer a toast to God, for a good, holy, christian Kristmas, were nobody got killed, scalded or received any deep cuts or gashes requiring stitches.
This is Rosie Ryan saying, Merry Kristmas Gerry, Sean boy, Emma, Janet and Ken.

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