apologia pro buns mea

Afternoon coffee with the lady known as Lil.
Around us the Whitewater Centre cafe burbles with life.
The noble Heelers looks troubled.
"Why so blue?" sayeth the Mammy.
"I'm sensing something," replieth moi.
"What is it?"
"A disturbance in the force. It's as though three hundred and fifty million people suddenly cried out with relief and were still."
"What are you on about?"
"Hodders. She's left America and she's back in Ireland. I just know it."
My aged parent shot me a worried look and said no more.
Late that same evening back at the chateau, the phone trilled.
I answered.
And lo.
It was she who knows not kismet, it was she who knows not taste, it was Big Hair, it was Bunford, it was Hodders at the gate.
Well you know what I mean.
"Jamie," quoth she without any preliminaries. "Check out Channel Two. There's a film on. You really should see it."
"Ummm."
"Quick check it out."
"What's the film Hodders?"
"It's called Shallow Hal. It's about this guy who's just into looks and who's really superficial. Remind you of anyone?"
And somewhere the ghost of Ennio Morricone went: "Aaiiiiiiaaaiiiiaaaaah!"