the first pressies
Christmas Eve at the Chateau.
A rampaging Doctor Barn emerges from the hall.
"Who took the bags off the presents I left under the tree?" he enquires no nonsensally.
Ireland's greatest living poet stirs like Churchill in his armchair.
"They were Easons bags," I announce without looking up from my Shroud Of Turin.
"What did you do with them?" quoth the goodish doctor.
"I threw them out," sez me.
"Why?" wondereth he.
"You will remember my paranoid delusions a few years ago about being hassled by some of Easons book shop Dudes Where's My Car Low Rent Scruff Management And Staff off the premises," sez ,me. "You will remember my fulminous rage about the scruff in the pirate bandana and the bespectacled scruff in the little BMW. You know full well I will not abide Easons employees on the planet nor Easons logos in this house. Yet you left them under the tree in plain view as if Easons was somehow an acceptable part of human experience. So I shot them. I shot them down. The bags I mean."
Doctor Barn sighed with all the heartfelt sorrow of a man in the grip of an extreme pression.
"I was worried when you thought the Arab guys on Grafton Street were an Al Qaeda gang out to get you," he stated reproachfully. "And I'll admit I was concerned when you started saying that Vladimir Putin was sending Russian honeys to seduce you. But Jim this is the limit. Book sellers? Easons book sellers? Trying to take over the world with mind control devices in their books, are they?"
"I don't like em Barn," I expostulated loonily.
"You threw out my Easons bags," he muttered to himself again somewhat unnecessarily.
"I did," I affirmed. "I consigned them to the eternal fire. You see Barn, Easons book shop no longer exists. It is an ex book shop. It is a former book shop. It is a derelict bomb site. Easons book shop has left the building. Easons books shop has gone bust. Easons book shop is propped up by idiot banks but has no life of its own. It is past its sell by date. It is defunct. It is a null book shop. It is closed for the winter. And by that I mean eternity. Easons book shop is a book shop that once was. In the Heelers Universe, Easons book shop is extinct."
"What did you do with the books I gave you?" enquired Doctor Barn suspiciously.
"I binned them."
"You did whaaaaaaaaaat?"
"I told you not to buy me presents from Easons book shop."
"Do you realise I left you 200 quid in the pages of the George Bush book?"
I smiled indulgently at my brother.
"Noble and honorable Doctor Barn," I said softly. "How little you know me after all these years. I never destroy useless gifts from you without first checking that you haven't left some worthwhile gift secreted between the pages. Thank you very much. It was the best present I've received so far. And you even picked out my favourite denominations. Hallelujah. Praise the Lord."
A rampaging Doctor Barn emerges from the hall.
"Who took the bags off the presents I left under the tree?" he enquires no nonsensally.
Ireland's greatest living poet stirs like Churchill in his armchair.
"They were Easons bags," I announce without looking up from my Shroud Of Turin.
"What did you do with them?" quoth the goodish doctor.
"I threw them out," sez me.
"Why?" wondereth he.
"You will remember my paranoid delusions a few years ago about being hassled by some of Easons book shop Dudes Where's My Car Low Rent Scruff Management And Staff off the premises," sez ,me. "You will remember my fulminous rage about the scruff in the pirate bandana and the bespectacled scruff in the little BMW. You know full well I will not abide Easons employees on the planet nor Easons logos in this house. Yet you left them under the tree in plain view as if Easons was somehow an acceptable part of human experience. So I shot them. I shot them down. The bags I mean."
Doctor Barn sighed with all the heartfelt sorrow of a man in the grip of an extreme pression.
"I was worried when you thought the Arab guys on Grafton Street were an Al Qaeda gang out to get you," he stated reproachfully. "And I'll admit I was concerned when you started saying that Vladimir Putin was sending Russian honeys to seduce you. But Jim this is the limit. Book sellers? Easons book sellers? Trying to take over the world with mind control devices in their books, are they?"
"I don't like em Barn," I expostulated loonily.
"You threw out my Easons bags," he muttered to himself again somewhat unnecessarily.
"I did," I affirmed. "I consigned them to the eternal fire. You see Barn, Easons book shop no longer exists. It is an ex book shop. It is a former book shop. It is a derelict bomb site. Easons book shop has left the building. Easons books shop has gone bust. Easons book shop is propped up by idiot banks but has no life of its own. It is past its sell by date. It is defunct. It is a null book shop. It is closed for the winter. And by that I mean eternity. Easons book shop is a book shop that once was. In the Heelers Universe, Easons book shop is extinct."
"What did you do with the books I gave you?" enquired Doctor Barn suspiciously.
"I binned them."
"You did whaaaaaaaaaat?"
"I told you not to buy me presents from Easons book shop."
"Do you realise I left you 200 quid in the pages of the George Bush book?"
I smiled indulgently at my brother.
"Noble and honorable Doctor Barn," I said softly. "How little you know me after all these years. I never destroy useless gifts from you without first checking that you haven't left some worthwhile gift secreted between the pages. Thank you very much. It was the best present I've received so far. And you even picked out my favourite denominations. Hallelujah. Praise the Lord."
posted by heelers | 4:05 PM
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