Greetings, salutations and a big hows she cutting too all my fiends on facebook. I is Rosie Ryan. Beauty in hobnailed boots. My grace and poise is the talk of Clougher and surrounding districts. A full bodied, feminine woman, full of grace and red of face. A coo-ettish, slow-eyed midden from the rural hart of country Tyrone. When I pulled on my red flannel drawers this morning, the nicker elastic snapped with the sound of a sonic boom. Hairy bums and tadpoles I roared. Now I would have two go commando into Clougher, two purchase a reel of nicker elestic. Industrial strength, this thyme I muttered to myself, as I slipped into a yella floral dress, a puce cardigan and plopped a flat cap on my head. As I passed a mirror I could knot help uttering. Oh, fragile, beautiful midden, may the road rise up too meet you, and your hobnailed boots, keep you out of drains, shucks and culverts. The first blast of wind, billowed my dress and played havoc with my feminine accouterments in my Southern pasture. As I left the nicker shop with 50 yards of strong, hard core nicker elastic, the wind blue my flat cap of my ginger ringlets. As I bent to pick the cap up, another gust of wind blue my yella, floral dress over my head. CRY HAVOC!!!! All hell broke lose!. Dogs began to bark. Kars, honked their horns and three old men on bicycles, rode into a wall and cut the hole face of themselves. Clutching my windblown dress, I ran out of Clougher shouting, Did youse never sea a bear arse before?. Safely ensconced at home, I drank half a bottle of Black Bush whiskey, lit my clay pipe and soon was nodding sagely as I red the whisdom of John Paul Sarte. Aaah-dew. Aaah-revoir. Aaah, veed-a-zen. Missing you already. Rosie Ryan. xxx
Posted on: Tue, 28 Oct 2014 18:22:00 +0000
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