The Heelers Diaries

the fantasy world of ireland's greatest living poet

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

Sunday, July 19, 2015

storms in teacups

Wandered into the pharmacy.
"That was an interesting letter," comments my cousin John from behind the counter above the hubbub of a noisy and demonstrative clientele.
He is clearly referring to Eilis Philips' letter to the editor of the Bridge magazine excoriating my critique of a recent drama group production.
All South Kildare is in uproar over it.
Her letter I mean.
Not my critique.
And by uproar I mean that the peasants seems to be applauding her efforts.
"The thing is I don't need any new enemies," I groan to my cousin like a heffalump in pain.
"Ah Eilis won't fall out with you," says John.
"John you know Eilis Philips," I persist.
"Okay, she won't fall out with you forever," sez he with a meaningful stress on the last word.
My handsome preraphaelite features turn a bit gothic.
"I'd boycott her damn hairdressing salon," I tell him bitterly. "That would teach her. Only I still owe her for the last few haircuts. It's not really boycotting, is it? If I still owe her money and I just don't pay my bills?"
"No," sez John, "it's stealing."


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