scenes from a life

Afternoon in Dublin.
The Spanish professor is playing with her hair. Women who play with their hair are dangerous. This law is constant.
"James," she says. "I don't know if you'll want to do this..."
At this moment I would have done anything for her short of culpable homicide.
Somewhat expectantly I wait for her to continue.
Her suggestion when fully revealed falls a little below the divine afflatus of my fantasies.
"I don't want you to pay me for Spanish lessons anymore," sez she. "We'll just do a language exchange from now on. You give me English. I give you Spanish."

Evening at the Chateau de Healy.
The family are elsewhere.
God knows where.
I am alone in the hall with a rolled up batch of Christmas wrapping paper.
I am wielding it like a sword.
A light sabre to be precise.
I am making electronic humming noises to simulate the sound effects for the light sabre.
Occasionally I do funny voices too skipping from different characters along the lines of: "Trust in the force Luke." "Is Darth Vader my father?" "Let me put it this way, one of your parents he is. Your mother he ain't."
(And somewhere the ghost of Mad Magazine is smiling.)
I get inordinate jollies from my impression of Darth Vader which includes his intimidatory heavy breathing routine.
"We have captured your Spanish teacher Luke. Pant, pant. She told us everything. Pant, pant. Including the Spanish word for snuggle. Pant, pant."
Well you'd have to be there.
It's funny when I do it live.
Anyhoo.

Strolling through the fields at midnight near Kilcullen.
Bitter cold frosty air.
I stop at the hedgerow near the river and gaze up towards the heavens.
The moon is like a slice of watermelon.
"Look Paddy," I murmur. "It's a Chamki moon."
"My tail is freezing off," replies Padddy Pup drily. "Are you going to stand here all night?"
And we return home.