hamming it up in the key of life

Evening at the Chateau de Healy.

Ireland's greatest living poet ensconced in an armchair.

Enter the Lildebeest stage left.

"Why does my face cloth keep getting holes in it?" proclaimeth she by way of greeting.

"How would I know?" sez me.

"Well I was thinking it might have something to do with your hamster?" quoth she.

"Mother are you mad?" expostulateth me.

"I'm not making accusations, just wondering," averred the aged parent.

"Are you seriously suggesting that hammy is releasing herself from her cage at night, making her way to the bathroom, gnawing a few holes in your face cloth, and then returning to her cage before dawn?" I asked in my best defence lawyer tones.

"Well is she?" persisted the Mam.

"I don't think it's likely," sez the noble Heelers all fond bemusement.

"Do you remember a few years ago we found your dog going around the house at night opening windows," challenged El Lil.

"The dogs an evil genius, I still don't think Hammy could have gotten to your face cloth," I reassured her.

"Okay," said the Mammy.

She exited stage left.

MC Hamster's face poked out of one of the fresh holes in the sleeve of my new 70 quid Clarkes Menswear pullover.

"Hammy," I murmured, "tell me you haven't been chewing holes in the Mammy's face cloth."