false modesty routine

Afternoon in the heartland.
I enter the cafe.
A mangeress approaches.
The nice one.
"Any news James?" she enquires brightly.
The cafe actually stills.
It really does.
I feel the expectations of those at the tables.
In this town, they always think I have something to impart.
A drollery.
A call to rescue our democracy from the IRA skanger mafias that are stealing it.
A congenial offer of blood, toil, tears and sweat.
But always something.
The weight of expectation is palpable.
"No," I tell her, " I have no news."
The cafe resumes its buzz.
The truth bold readers is that I do have news.
The news is that this very day, I have driven 200 miles for a job interview in Kerry, have taken a wrong turn, then driven another hundred miles out of my way, and ended up in Cork.
Now after a few hundred more miles, I'm home again, having missed the interview, and I want my pork chops.
Cafe society will have to manage without this news except for the bit about pork chops.
Seinfeld has cancelled the series at its height.
(You're not Seinfeld - Ed note)
(Churchill then - Heelers note)