sic transit gloria humour columns

Lunch with the Mammy and my brother Doctor Barn in Puccino's at the Whitewater Centre. Food awful, coffee good, twirly chairs sublime, staff mmmm.
Honey from Monaghan. Ay yi yi.
Seriously though.
But I digress.
The seating area serves about six different cafes so there's a great swirl of humanity drifting past our table.
Not all of it swirls past. Some of it stops to pay homage.
Homage to...
... to the doctor.
Great suffering saurkraut what is the world coming to?
Little old ladies keep coming up to my brother and telling him how wonderful he is.
The noble Heelers looks sick as a parrot.
He has known the two days.
Now the cup has passed to another.
After about the fifth thank-you-doctor-you-saved-my-life, I can take no more.
"Look at these ould ones," I proclaim bitterly. "They wouldn't know a humour column if it came up and bit them on the arse."
"What's wrong with you?" sez the brother mildly.
"He's upset because now you're the public figure," explained the Mammy.
She was right too.
"Well what did you expect when you stopped writing the column?" wondered the brother.
I stared into the middle distance.
"I sort of expected the world to end," I murmured. "I didn't seriously think life could go on without me."