when worlds collide
Afternoon at the Chateau de Healy.
A gentle September sun is playing through the great bay windows on the face of Ireland's greatest living poet.
There I sit in an armchair flicking through the pages of a book called Watership Down, a veritable treasure of literature that I have read many times before.
Abruptly the front door swings open.
A whirlwind in vaguely human form enters the hall, twists about a bit and then joins me in the living room.
And lo!
When the dust settles we see...
Tis my feminist cousin Pauline and none other.
"Watcha reading?" sez she in that tone she adopts when she's not particularly looking for trouble but might happily accept trouble should any happen to come along.
Wordlessly I incline the greatest book in the English language in her general direction.
Pauline unleashes a delighted squeal.
"Watered Down Shite," she crows. "You're reading Watered Down Shite."
Whereupon, her work with me complete, she whirlwinded off towards the kitchen.
It would not do to let Pauline have the last word.
"E Annie Prolix," I shouted after her. "E Annie Prolix."
And I meant it to sting.
A gentle September sun is playing through the great bay windows on the face of Ireland's greatest living poet.
There I sit in an armchair flicking through the pages of a book called Watership Down, a veritable treasure of literature that I have read many times before.
Abruptly the front door swings open.
A whirlwind in vaguely human form enters the hall, twists about a bit and then joins me in the living room.
And lo!
When the dust settles we see...
Tis my feminist cousin Pauline and none other.
"Watcha reading?" sez she in that tone she adopts when she's not particularly looking for trouble but might happily accept trouble should any happen to come along.
Wordlessly I incline the greatest book in the English language in her general direction.
Pauline unleashes a delighted squeal.
"Watered Down Shite," she crows. "You're reading Watered Down Shite."
Whereupon, her work with me complete, she whirlwinded off towards the kitchen.
It would not do to let Pauline have the last word.
"E Annie Prolix," I shouted after her. "E Annie Prolix."
And I meant it to sting.
posted by heelers | 12:12 AM
2 Comments:
Damn those bunnies! They seem so cute and cuddly, but they are a menace, a menace I tell ye!
E. Annie Proulx is a bit of a menace too, albeit an interesting one and a good writer. But I don't think the Newfoundland Irish were too happy with their portrayal by her in Shipping News.
Four legs good. Two legs bad Schnee. At least in this instance!
James
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