The Heelers Diaries

the fantasy world of ireland's greatest living poet

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

Saturday, April 27, 2013

the road to wellville

Ireland's greatest living poet wanders into the Mannah health food store in Kilcullen.
His feminist cousin Pauline who runs the place is absent mindedly battering a cash register to death.
Heelers browses in the asparagus.
"What's up cuz?" quoth the feminist still hammering the cash register mercilessly.
"I'm trying to wean myself off sylphs," sez me.
"Wotchya mean?" sez Pauline.
"Those young Kraut sylphs working in the cafe," I explain. "I've gotta develop a sort o spiritual detachment to thm. I mean, what greater curse than to want that which you cannot have. Oh lumme. What an utterly depressing thing to fancy someone like that. Them and their ethereal sensual sexual luminosity. They just hang around that cafe luminousing all day and it doesn't cost them a thought. Them and their youthful beauty. To what serves youthful beauty Pauline? What has youthful beauty done for us lately? I ask you! Bah. Youthful beauty! Let's have done with it, I say."
Pauline releases the cash register and eyes me keenly.
She takes a deep breath.
She seems to be labouring under the weight of a great pression.
Finally she can restrain herself no longer.
"Are you mad?" she exclaims. "Have you completely lost the use of your mind? Youthful beauty is the business. I don't care what anyone says. Bring it on. There's a guy who comes in here called Philip and I nearly lose it when I see him. Siodhna who works with me says: What about your marriage? But this has nothing to do with marriage. I'm telling you, youthful beauty is the way to go. There's nothing like it in the world. Let's hear it for youthful beauty. It's amazing. I mean it's, it's, it's..."
For long moments my feminist cousin enthuses variously on the ineffable qualities of human beauty in general and on what she'd like to do to someone called Philip in particular.
Her intonation is a bit like that of the actress Meg Ryan in a famously juvenile fake orgasm scene from the fembo attempt at a comedy film When Harry Met Sally.
As she finishes my handsome preraphaelite features take on an unusually poignant look.
"Pauline," I murmur, " I'm trying to achieve spiritual detachment from the sylphs. You're not helping."


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