Painting Competition!!!!!

Well the posters are up and aren’t they all looking mighty, not a pimple between them. There’s a few budding artists around the village who have taken out the markers. In fairness some of the efforts are very good. Time to get painting lads and lassies. Leave your comments and your photos and we'll publish, especially if they are Mayo candidates. There might even be a prize for best poster. Here's a sample of local shinner Gerry Murray...let the games begin!

Ask Uncle Larry

Dear Larry,
Is it true that Billy Breslin is on the way out below in the hospital or is the wife right when she says they’re just doing tests? ‘Wires’ McLoughlin and meself have a tenner on it.
Mick Shelley.

Dear Mick,
Bad news on Billy Breslin I’m afraid, sure you know you’re fecked when they say they’re doing tests, it just means they don’t know what’s killing you. Doing tests, I think half of them in that hospital should be doing tests – they know feckin’ nothing and they’ll never give you a straight answer. They’re always covering themselves.
“Have I got cancer Doctor?”
“Well we couldn’t find it if you have.”
“And how good are ye at finding cancer Doctor?”
They’ll just smile at that stage and pretend not to hear you.
They’re an awful shower them Doctors.
All the best Mick, hope your piles are improving.
Larry.

Rain Dance

Well there was a small turn out for the dancing but there was plenty gawkers out walking who were supposedly ‘just passing by’. Fair dues to Mary Gilhooley and Bridie Hartigan, they both had body painted bras and grass skirts and Johnny Fadden was all out in a goatskin lookin’ the dead spit of Tarzan. He had fierce roarin’ and leppin’ and was going around to the women shouting “Me Tarzan, you Jane, we make little Tarzan.”
He ended up going home the back road with Mary and Bridie and there was quare laughin’, roarin and moanin’ heard late into the night. Paddy Mulcahy’s herd of prize freisians broke out and Mike Fitzs’ bull did himself a bad injury when he tried to jump a barbed wire fence. Fair play to everyone who got involved in the dancing, there was a grand drop of rain on Sunday and Monday.

Air Conditioned House

Young Packie Moore is after spending the guts of €15,000 on putting air conditioning into that monstrosity of a two-storey house that he’s building above near the lake. One thing is feckin’ sure, he didn’t grow up in a house with fresh air in it. Sure there was no such thing as fresh air in houses when we were growing up – all we had were houses with different smells. If it wasn’t the smell of cowdung from outside the door, it was the smell of sweat, dampness, turf smoke, farts, hairy bacon and cabbage boiling in a big pot, a child’s shitty nappy or the smell of an aul’ fellow sitting beside the fire who had wet himself. You had to be tough to survive in those days. They want their comforts now but with their air conditioning and all their gadgets they’ll end up in bad health I’m telling’ ye. They’ll end up sick oftener than we were and all we had to put up with. Sure every generation is getting weaker and then there’s eejits going around claiming that evolution is plausible.
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