they serve also who only stand and grimace

Coffee with Bunton.
No, still not the Bunton I wish it was.
"Jamie," sez she. "I'm trying to think of ways to raise money."
A cold and clammy hand fastened around my heart.
Baby Spice studied me closely.
"Are you alright?"
"I'm fine."
I took a swig of coffee which restored me somewhat.
She who knows not kismet continued with her train of thought.
"I was thinking of trying to sell some of my art on Grafton Street?" sez she.
The noble Heelers breathed easier. No mention of loans. Has to be a good thing.
"What do you think?" sez Bunty.
"Hey Hod as long as it doesn't involve me, you just knock yourself out."
"But do you think they'd sell?"
Ireland's greatest living poet paused for thought.
Really in these circumstances the ancient proscriptions against lying could surely be suspended.
No Deity in the universe could hold it against me if I dissimulated just a little to spare her feelings.
Ah dissimulation, disshmimulation.
We owe it to ourselves to live a little.
"Annie," I said honestly, "If people see your paintings when they're out for a peaceful stroll on Grafton street, they're going to riot. You could get hurt."
"Oh come on. My paintings aren't that bad. You don't really hate them."
"Hod to be honest they're terrible. Okay. No. Listen. Draw something now. Anything. Just not terrible."
I opened my diary and thrust it across the table to her with a pen.
Hodders with a defiant look on her regal features doodled briefly and pushed the diary back.
A forlorn looking Goofie stared up at me from the page.
"Suffering sagotash," I cried warmly. "Walt Disney used to have cartoonists shot for drawing Goofie like that."
There was a beautiful moment of pristine silence.
My gentler nature reasserted itself.
"Anyway," I said in a mollifying tone. "You don't want to be selling on Grafton Street. For one thing it's hard work being a street vendor. For another it really is dangerous. The city is full of street urchins and druggies and cops and druggie cops in league with street urchins. I mean it's hell out there. It's not safe."
"I thought you might help me," murmured Big Hair distantly. "You know. Like stand with me and keep watch."
And somewhere not too far away the ghost of Ennio Morricone's soundtrack to The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly went: "Aiiiiiiaaiiiiiiiiiiiiiiaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!"