Good on ya Spitty, I love the cheeky snappy ending too.
Very dodgy eating pies, you never really know how old they are or what's inside them until you’ve eaten it. Did not Mrs Mooney make her pies from some of Sweeney Todd’s victims?
“Mrs Mooney has a pie shop
Does a business, but I notice something weird
Lately all her neighbours cats have disappeared
Have to hand it to her, what I calls enterprise
Popping pussies into pies”
There used to be a sausage factory beside where I once worked in town, some of the stories I heard from the girls who worked there would make you puke.
The only way to get a safe pie is to buy your own piece of meat, dice it up into small chunks, add whatever veg you fancy and cook it yourself, my missus is a terrific pastry maker and she makes all her own meat pies, I don’t eat meat, so it’s only fruit pies for me, besides I was never very fond of meat anyway, and sausages!, God knows what they put into them now, as one sad sausage factory owner told me recently “These days it’s very hard to make both ends meat”
Day in day out they have them on, heroes to the left and right, the enemy above you and below you, and the other day as I sat down to relax with a bit of TV there’s Chuck Norris taking on a battalion of Vietnamese soldiers single handed and blowing everything in front of him up, as me granny would say “God! isn’t he a great little oulfella altogether”
Then today we have another one called “The War Lover”, no not starring GW Bush and Tony Blair.
Yesterday in another war film a soldier was being decorated for bravery because he “single handedly took out a German machine gun nest” and good luck to him, but that’s the third film I’ve seen in the past week where German machine gun nests were taken out.
With all these war films on TV I actually had a nightmare last night, I had fallen asleep in the armchair and when I woke up I made my way up the stairs to bed. There at the top of the stairs was a German machine gun nest!, I woke up with me hands in the air screaming “Don’t shoot! I surrender! I surrender!.
Once on a solo mission I donned a pair of thick gloves, put a flour bag over me head with two holes for me eyes to see out, and armed with just a hook at the end of a long pole and a smoke sprayer I bravely took out a wasps nest from the shed, and do you think I got a medal? not a bit of it, all she said through the open window and from the safety of the kitchen was, “Are they gone yet?, hurry up I want to hang out me washing on the line”
Dear Lord, If ever a man suffered.
I was never a soldier long enough to get a medal, and I wasn’t even in the regular army, I just did the 2 years part time reserve and thought I’d never get out of it, armying was not for me, yes I know there’s no such word but it fits in with the army, they even tell the time differently just to be awkward, who ever heard of one day having thirteen hundred hours?, “Alright lads, set your watches to thirteen hundred hours, we’re goin' over” yeah that’s what they say in the films.
I do love films, but I don’t enjoy war films. sports films, romantic films, and musicals, anything else is OK with me.
Talking of machine guns, how about this song about cows with guns, farming folk be afraid, be very afraid.
I was a bit of an easy touch in the Pub Jem, Never liked to see any of the lads left out so, when they were short of a few Bob, I would buy the beer, eventually I became known as Spitty the Gatling Gun, the guy who could Buy 200 Rounds a minute.
Ah the old round system in the pub, I remember a campaign running here back in the 70’s by the temperance crowd to get rid of it because it encouraged access drinking, say for example you went into the pub with five mates and you got the first round in, you would have to hang on until the last chap got his round otherwise you’d miss out a pint on your original ‘investment’.
The campaign didn’t work because the round system was traditionally engrained in the drinking population, passed down from father to son over many generations, and anyone who went for a pint with his friends and said he was buying his own was frowned upon as being a miser, old traditions die very hard over here.
It did however slowly ease out around the early 90’s when the price of drink became too dear and folks were reluctant to risk an ‘investment’ resulting in everyone buying their own drink, or at least splitting into pairs.
I still buy the first round when I’m with my family, but I wouldn’t be able to have more than three pints for the night at my age, after that the younger family members just leave me out and carry on, that suits me fine.
Indeed that great comic novelist Brian O’Nolan, who, along with his mate Brendan Behan were probably the best authorities on Dublin pub culture that ever lived, they ought to be they spent the best part of their adult lives in tough inner city pubs, spit and sawdust kips as they were called then.
O’Nolan was a terrific observer of bar room behaviour during the 40s/50s/60’s he wrote something like this if I remember correctly.
“In a Dublin public house, a seasoned married man will treat his wife and his pint with complete indifference, unless one or both are knocked down in his presence”
How true that is in a way, I know a few well married men who take their wives out to the local regularly and both of them just sit together silently not saying a word to each other all night, but if someone accidentally spilt his pint or tried to chat up his wife, watch out.
These lads made a song and dance about getting a round.