betty who

Lunch with the Mammy and Doctor Barn in the Chat and Chew.
An old While I'm At It reader approaching our table.
"I read you every week," she cries. "I never miss it."
Her compliment has to be taken with a pinch of salt since the column hasn't been published for more than a year.
Ah life you bauble...
Still at least it wasn't one of Daktari's fans.
I mean I get tired of that very quick.
"Hey Doc," sez I when my fan has gone. "Do your patients ever come up to you and thank you for operations you didn't perform?"
We are in the window seats.
Outside sunshine breaking through the showers.
School children wandering down Main Street in flocks.
Newbridge revels in its afternoon.
I am with my family but strangely absent.
This morning Divya told me I must write a book.
Her words have been with me every moment since.
Yes folks, with all my other complications, I've somehow managed to pick up a Hindu Betty Blue.
Who knows what acts of creative genius she'll drive me to?
Ah life you bauble... Come to me.

apologia pro snots mea

Achooooooooooooo.
The sound filled the Whitewater Centre cafe.
The Mammy eyed me with less sympathy than you might expect.
"You could snot for Ireland," sez she.
Teenage sexors at an adjoining table adjusted their undulating limbs on the twirly seats and favoured me with their best patented cool assessive stares.
With the measured dignity of a poet under pressure, I withdrew a handkerchief from my pocket and sounded the maritime alert through my honker.
All the while, my venerable mother kept up the chatter.
"What I don't understand," sez she, "is why you have to examine the results after you've blown your nose. What do you expect to see? Do you expect the snots to tell you well done?"
Ireland's greatest living poet shrugged sheepishly.
"You're a howl Mother," he murmured. "You should take the show on the road."

the women

Morning coffee with Lu Yi.
I tried out one of my new aphorisms on her.
"The Chinese see the world from China," quoth I sagely, then sat back waiting for applause.
She favoured me with a searching look.
"What do you mean?" sez she sharpish.
I hastened to explain.
"It means that everyone sees things from their own point of view," I pronounced earnestly.
Lu Yi snorted.
"You could say that about any country," she shot out. "You could say the Irish see the world from Ireland. The Italians see the world from Italy. The Americans see the world from America."
Suddenly my great aphorism was looking a little peakish.
I cut my losses and headed into town.

In the afternoon met Marriedski for a Russian lesson.
In an unguarded moment she said: "You know I've really started to look forward to our meetings. They have become part of my life."
Yes folks the married one is the one that really likes me.
Why do you mock me oh Lord? Why do you mock me?

Tea time rendezvous with Hodders in the Mac Cafe on Grafton Street. I told her about Marriedski's comment which had moved me a bit.
Hodders snorted. (Second snort of the day.)
"Yup," sez she brightly. "You must really have her fooled. Wait till she knows you like I do."

Back at the old chateau there was an email from Jane Hapgoode.

The Keats House, Rome
Dear Mr Healy.
Thank you for your email and your poem. I am sorry to hear you will not be continuing with your booking.
Kind regards,
Josephine Hobgoode.
Assistant Curator.

That devil woman. She's leaving the field with all the honours. She's been exposed to the full glory of my personality and not a little of the splendour of my poems, and she hasn't shown the merest sign of cracking. She's remained courteous and professional throughout. Well by Gadfrey. I'm not having that.

The Chateau de Healy, Ireland
Jane.
My lost English love.
Why do you torture me with these callous and indifferent words?
Our souls touched in the bleakness of a cold universe.
Did it mean nothing to you?
Ah, how can I crack that rarified reserve? How can I put to sleep the curator and awaken the woman in you?
But I'm rambling.
On my cheek a rose withereth too.
Our souls touched.
84 Charing Cross Road it wasn't. But it was... something.
I'm sending you a ham, some sliced bread and a pair of nylons.
These are the last things you shall have of me.
James Healy

come into my sky

how heelers met his waterloo

God was peering down from heaven through a little hole in the clouds.
Saint Peter wandered by.
"What are you doing Lord?" quoth he cheerfully.
"Shhh," sez the Lord. "Come over here and look at this."
Saint Peter ambled over and peered through the cloud.
"What is it?" he wondered.
The Lord grinned.
"Look right there in the corner of Bewleys cafe," he said. "Look. It's Heelers. He's just sitting there happy as a man can be, and he thinks he hasn't a worry in the world."
"So?"
"Now look who's at the other table."
Saint Peter goggled.
"Hodders, my God, what's she doing here?"
The Lord groaned.
"Who knows!" he said. "I mean what's she ever doing anywhere? But what's important is that any moment now I'm going to bring her and Heelers together. Heelers is going to reach for the newspaper that's been abandoned at the other table. She's going to tell him it's hers. And then she'll reel him in."
"Ah Lord you wouldn't."
"Listen Peter, we owe it to ourselves to live a little."

And that's exactly the way it happened folks.