anecdotage

Aunty Marie's funeral has brought me into contact with family members I'd almost forgotten.
There's little Jen.
I remember her as the cousin who at the age of five would go into Grandad's saddlery workshop to look for money.
She'd approach each of the lads in turn with her hand out and say: "Have you got anything for me?"
I kid you not. She really did this. At that age.
The lads would give her a few coins from their pockets.
Jen was making a killing at the little girl begging routine.
Her practice of this arcane ritual went on in fact until the day she held her hand out to Grandad and he spat in it, seized her palm, and crunched up the goo in her fist.
I see Jen today.
Cool, assured, beautiful, stylish, professional.
Just returned from the Carribean where she works as an accountant for Denis O'Brien one of Ireland's richest men.
An accountant?
Well let me put it this way.
She knows the way to the doubloon cupboard.
I cannot help thinking she has found a career most suited to her talents.