vicissitudes

Afternoon at the Chateau.
I am in conference with the inimitable Uncle Scutch.
"I heard a former editor of the Leinster Leader on The Pat Kenny Show today giving out about the Johnston Press," sez he.
We had been setting the world to rights over coffees in the kitchen.
My eyebrows rose.
"Was it the baldy little bollix who fired me?" quoth I.
"Which one is he?" sez the Uncle.
"John Whelan," quoth me.
"I'm not sure what his name was," said Uncle Scutch.
Outside the window Mrs Chaffinch chirped.
"It could have been Whelan," I mused. "He was editor of the Leinster Leader for at least a full two weeks. Arf, arf. And he's popping up on RTE now a bit. They had cameras following him into the dole office a few months ago. He seems to be trying to reinvent himself as a victim. Maybe he's trying to get in on my Johnston Press schtick as well."
Our conversation drifted to other things.
The eternity of a June evening was stretching her mantle over the garden.
Ah yes bold readers.
It is time for me to move on.
For a start, if that odious little shite Whelan is now bad mouthing the Johnston Press, then it may well behove me to start saying good things about them.
And so John Fry Week comes to an end at The Heelers Diaries.
Would you ever have guessed it could end like this?