I'm supping in Dick Mack's snug, starting it all off, inviting drunkenness.
I'm eating monkfish and toasting Oliver.
I'm falling a little bit in love with a barefooted chanteuse.
I'm requesting Paddy's Green Shamrock Shore from Fergus O'Flaherty who lives on Grey's Lane.
I'm whirring and stomping and moving on to the whiskey.
I'm handing over my jacket in a deluge, lamenting immediately my chivalry.
I'm applying the shirt to the hand-dryer, naked from the waist up.
I'm being filmed dancing a foxtrot with unsolicited hands on my arse.
I'm...
I'm waking up, cursing my exit after one spectacular night.
8 comments:
Great post. Lingering in Dingle still?
Thanks. I'm not, I'm back in the Pale, planning my next trip.
Party down Radge.
Barefoot chanteuse is a sight to be seen.
This really makes me wanna go drinking with you,if only to get a blurry frenzy of drunken photos!
I do my best drinking when there's a camera around, Green Of Eye, consider yourself invited.
I once applied a hand-dryer to my jeans - near-naked from the waist down in front of your sister. In Austria. I think a photo was taken. I certainly remember posing.
I know, and I can't believe poor Anne had to pay her own way through those years of counselling.
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