The Heelers Diaries

the fantasy world of ireland's greatest living poet

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Location: Kilcullen (Phone 087 7790766), County Kildare, Ireland

Tuesday, October 13, 2009

this little life

Evening at the Chateau de Healy.
Me sitting in front of the television.
The Mammy nearby.
"Son," sez she. "I noticed you've been reusing tea bags. What are you playing at?"
With some reluctance the noble Heelers shifted his attention from Die Hard.
"I am reacting to the economic down turn," I told the Lildebeest pleasantly.
"By saving tea bags?" quoth she.
"Yes," sez me.
"And how many tea bags will you have to save before you pay for that Joanna Lyons painting you bought last week?" wondereth she.
"That's not the point Lil," I sighed.
"You know that painting is frightening people who wander down the hall," she prodded.
"It's a lovely painting," protested me.
"It mugs you as you're going into the toilet," insisted the Mammy.
"It does not," I mouthed.
"It's like it's leaping at you off the wall," she mused.
A series of explosions drew my attention back to the television screen.
The Mammy who is not much into Die Hard, tried another conversational gambit.
"Are you getting many visitors to your blog?" enquireth she.
"Just a lot of Jihadis, Irish government apparatchiks and googlebots," I replied absently.
From somewhere up my sleeve MC Hamster let out a cry of delight.
Presently she was singing.
"I wish I were a googlebot," she sang. "Today. Today. I wish I were a googlebot. I'd have such fun on the internet. Today. Today. Today way down in Dixie."
This made very little sense even by the hamster's usual high standards of incomprehensibility.
"Hey Hammy," sez Ireland's greatest living poet, "I hope you're not pee weeing in there."
"Ah a little pee never did anyone any harm," shot back the hamster.
"Have you never heard of Weils disease?" I demanded.
"Who's Weil?" wondered Hammy.
"Some bloke who owned a hamster that kept peeing on him," sez I.
"How did it end?" asked Hammy.
"He died," sez me.
"Cool," sez Hammy.
Paddy Pup placed his head on my knee.
"Any chance of a walk?" he asked his brown eyes gentle and pleading.
"I suppose so Paddler," quoth me.
We went outside to the night, the wind and the stars.


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