Friday, 17 August 2012

"This is Rosie Ryan, reporting for BBC Ulster, from Clougher.

Hell Oh Jelly, 'Tis Rosie Ryan 'ere. Beauty, personified, mother of wan and Clougher's answer to Vanessa Felts. How is you and yours Jelly? Bouncing with health and vitality I fervently-hope. I, myself, in the singular, is doing fine. My sun, Bon Jovi, once removed, is a veritable whirlwind of unbounded vigor and bon-ah-me. You should see him Jelly. Standing tall and proud in his dungerees, eyes standing in his head, hand over his hart as he sturdily sings, "Mother McCree". I got a good wan when I got Bon Jovi. There was a time, I thought the cub, might grow up to be as thick as a brick. But, when I hear him explain the abundance of rushes round Clougher and the erratic orbits of the rings round Jupiter, I know I got a cub, full as a po, with branes. We live in woeful times Jelly. The weather is awful, the banks is burst and auld 97 year old Orville McSlugger, has just been told he has only six years to live if he doesn't give up cigarettes. Auld Orville, went into a fit of coughing, took a pull on his inhaler, held up a packet of Benson and Hedges and cried. "Out of my cold, dead hand!". The family are in a wild way. They locked auld Orville, in the hen house, but he chewed through the door with his false teeth and spent all his pension on fags. His daughter, wee 71 year old Millicent said, "Daddy, is wild headstrong, during the bird flu epedemic, he would eat nothing but chicken". A wayward daddy, can be an awful worry for the family. I told wee Millicent, to pray to saint Woodbine, the patron saint of smokers and not let him watch, that auld Joe Mahon, on, "Lesser spotted Ulster". That programme is ruining the young wans, with auld white head Joe Mahon, running about flirting with every woman he meets. I let Bon Jovi, watch, "Lesser spotted Ulster" wance and he spent the next week walking among the rushes, talking to himself!. Say, NO! to Joe! is what I say!. I hear Gerry Anderson, is off on a hunt for monkey glands, but keep that to yourself Jelly. Apparently, his face is so full of wrinkles, tears can't run down his cheeks. Everytime he watches a sad film, his face gets water-logged. And of course, Sean Coyle, has been done a long time ago. Can't throw his leg over his bicycle, or climb the stairs without the help of ropes and Sherpa's from Nepal. AH! God love him. When alive, he was the life and soul of the party. Standing on the sideboard, with a bottle of stout in his hand, reciting, "Eskimo Nell". We will never see his like again! Which is something to be cheerful about. Well, Jelly, it only remains for me to say. "This is Rosie Ryan, reporting for BBC Ulster, from Clougher. Keep hope in your hart and Spam in the fridge, or the flies will eat it. Until we meet again. Farewell my handsome prince, from Rosie Ryan, your faithful hand midden. Think of me when you're lonely Think of me when you're blue Think of me when you're far away And, I'll be thinking of-YOU! --