Friday, 14 September 2012

Long Thyme, Know Right.

Deer Gerry, long thyme, know right. The Summer was one mad, social whirl of going to outside markets and steam engine konventions. Me and by blessed sun, Bon Jovi, like to throw brandy balls in front of a steem roller and watch the big front wheel smash them to Smither-eens. Every thyme the whistle blue, Bon Jovi, let a roar out of him like a constipated donkey. Bye the bye, constipational donkeys is causing much mayhem and frenzied speculation in Clougher and surrounding districts. Poisoned thistles is in the frame for the big, burro, bung up. The farmers, spray far two much auld infractize. It kills everything it touches. Poor auld Pansey Potter, tottered out two her garden wan morning. Touched a petal of a rose called, "Paddy's Delight" intoned, "If flowers be the food of love, give me a big plate of lupins", licked her fingers and fell down as dead as an X-tinct mammoth. She wool be sorely missed Gerry. The Clougher boys, borrowed her ladder to put up the saint Patrick's day flags. You should have scene the flowers on her coffin. A veritable mountain. She was layed two rest with swarms of bees and wasps frantically harvesting pollen, before the flowers were interned in the cold, dark earth. "She, is knot dead, but asleep!" roared the priest. Devil a wan believed him. Sure, we all scene her in the coffin, deposing before our very eyes. Needles to say, Clougher festival was a riot of fun and frolics. Numbers seemed a little down, but we put that down to clashing with the Olympic games. I thought that Lovely sports boy from the BBC, Steven Watson, mite have brought a kamera crew to cover the wee pigs jumping over hurdles, but apparently, Steven Watson AND the BBC, have know intrest in swine sports. A position which I find short sighted and Inn-De-Fence-Able. Strong words, say you, maintaining standards, say I. My lumb of a cub, has moved into a new klass in September. The cub is so smart, his teechers have described the class as, "Special". Like the boy in the film, Bon Jovi, has a, beautiful mind. His search for the origion of dark matter has became an obsession. This constant studying could lead to mental health problems and loss of marbles. So, I make the cub go for long rides on the back of a donkey to clear his mind. Bon Jovi, is six foot wan now Gerry. His head hits the ceiling. The number of tilly lamps that cub has broken. "Illumination, Bon Jovi! Illumination!" I cry when he enters the house to remind him of the tilly lamps. The nites are drawing in Gerry. Darkness desends on the bog, earlier and earlier. Black, heavy. Van Goo, crows fly low over stubble fields. The fox is on the prowl and the sharp eyed owl falls on a mouse. Red flannel drawers are appearing on cloths lines. Old men, who used to venture to the front gait, sit sleeping in front of turf fires. Toothless mouths, wide open and steam rising from their sodden forks. Autumn. A thyme of mists and mellow fruitfullness. A thyme to refract on the past. A thyme for a humbling of the hart and a promation of the sole. Must go Gerry. Hugo Duncan, is appearing in Clougher to-nite and I intend two get full as a po. Ah, you will, you will, you will. Its the way the wee man from Strawbane tells them. AAH-Dew, old friend. From, she who walks with beauty. Rosie Ryan xxx

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