Beauty And The Heelers

Launch evening for the Hopkins poetry festival. In typically Irish fashion the launch evening was on Monday. The festival is not for another six months.
Seriously though.
The launch was graced by the presence of one Andrea Roche. Just one. Not two. Two would have been great. But one was enough to be going on with. And there she was. A former Miss Ireland. Standing right beside me clutching a silver tray which she was due to present to some local worthy.
From close up she is indeed what we Irish call a handsome gerrul.
What could I say? My febrile mind raced.
If you're going to try it on with Andrea Roche you'd better make it good. You only get one chance.
I could say: "I love you. I love you. Oh you're so beautiful. You're so beautiful. Oh I love you. I love you. I love you."
No. She'll have heard it all before.
Or what if I came up with some superb joke: "Did you hear the one about Paddy Englishman, Paddy Scotsman and Paddy Irishman on a day out..."
Argh. Not much hope she'll fall for that.
Presently I was roused from my rather desperate reverie by the sound of Andrea Roche dropping the silver tray.
The discordant clatter was most discordant and indeed clatteracious.
Without thinking I spoke.
"Ah Roche," sez I, "for God's sake."