What is it with all th' world!? Forever goin' down wi' th' Depression? Are there not mornin's after every night? An' can folk not stand on th' two legs th' Creator gave 'em? It's th' animal creatures need four. Well, I says it's better t' be lyin' lookin' up at th' stars than forever peerin' up yer own arse. That right? No shit! T' be truthful I think it was that Oscar Wilde first said that. Or somethin' like it. No matter. Mind, when it comes t' talkin' about arses that smartarse don't have no equal. Dirty beast! Any huckster's monkey could tell you that.

An' talkin' about smartarses, isn't it also true we all remember a smasrtarse? Isn't that right? Specially th' kind o' smartarse sucker what forgets he's smart an' goes an farts down his nose!? Maybe its that bald tent head loon in his blazer what always takes it on hiself t' step out from th' back o' th' queue an' stick his hand up th' like o' some demented Nazi, t' stop th' bus. An' 'course th' feckin' thing mows him down 'cause he didn't tumble some wired up Tonto's just nicked th' feckin' crate! Or maybe it was just some joker yous remember f' school. You knows. Th' type in his knitted tank top that always had t' have th' last feckin' word. Only every time th' lig opens th' trapway t' his brain free zone them feckin' brains fall out!   That's how it was wi' th' guy I remembers. Vincey Gough he was called........

My people had known th' Goughs f' longer than I can recall. F' th' land over Borishlough. Ol' Man Gough, Moxey t' you an me, was th' last o' the famliy t' farm there. Kept hiself t' hiself. What we'd call an insular feller. Like when one o' th' White Fathers comes round collectin' his Mission place in th' Congo an' asks th' ol' Doke if he knew where Africa was. Moxey comes back...

' Indeed I do Reverence. It's over there beyond me hedge. Along wi' th' rest o' th' world! '.

Yous gets my drift? So it wasn't surprisin' that his two boys, Francis an' Vincent, Fancy an' Vincey we used t' call 'em, wanted away. Fancey went first. He'd took up very much on th' Mammy's side an' was into needlework, dressmakin' an' th' like. Slim chap. Walked funny. An' I own there was a lot o' loose talk about him. But hey! Each t' his own I says. Left t' live wi' a friend in Dublin. Died quite young a while back, I was told. Of a cold; or somethin'. God rest his soul, I says. Mind you, highly unlikely if it's true what I hear he was up to at that Pink Shillelagh Club. But let's leave that f' th' present.

Now Vincey was different. Took after th Ol' Man. Hewn f' th' Mountain o' th' Marble Giant. Yet a wiz wi' a pencil an' paintbrush. An' didn't we all just know it. Always crowin' how his brush strokes was goin' t' make his fortune. Mind he once done a lovely vase o' flowers fetched up ten shillin's at th' Pound Shop over Ballydriscoll. But there was always a hint o' somethin' off centre. A chip o' that marble loose. Like when he sprays th' whitewashed walls o' th' school Pookies w' a picture o' Miss Mellons, our teacher, in th' nip. Normal they'd have t' smoke out th' culprit. But th' Head rounds up Vincey in a jiff an' gives him th' bobbydazzler of a Balkan shitstuffin'! Would yous credit th' buck eejit balls o' th' barmy goon!!? Turns out th' dozey runt had signed it!!!  But, hey! That was Vincey! Always crowin' without knowin' as they say. After leavin' school I hadn't a whisper of him since God was in shorts. Either he's in clover, in clink; or some bastards's clattered him, I thought. But not quite. Hey! Guess what.....

I heard not th' other day that some while back he'd wed one o' th' McAliskey girls f' over Ballybunion. Therese. A well stuck up civic flagpole if ever there was one. She didn't have shoes t' show up in till she married Vincey. But like him she's always braggin' she's bullsballs better than any other blighter. Th' both o' them got set up in Cork, where would you believe it, Vincey's makin' grand waves round hiself... as a painter!!! OK. Painter an' Decorator. No matter. His business is doin' just dandy. That's when he has his little accident.

He's up his ladders doin' a job on th' window frames when he goosenecks in an sees some other lucky tool doin' a different kind o' job. Turns out th' place is a Knockin' Shop!! Well like all painters he's a great one f' workin' f' Nature. An' he's right in th' boxseat f' th' world's oldest live creative show. Wouldn't yous just know it his belltower sprouts stiff so swift it jacks his ladders back an' sends th' nosey nob end on his ear in th' street!! 

'Course he's soon patched up, minus his ear. An' that's when Herself's got him off on pilgrimage..... t' Rome! T' th' shrine o' th' Blessed Martyer, St Serveyousrightyousbastard, t' give thanks f' th' other ear stayin' on. That way she can still give him a blisterin' panhandle an' not feel he hasn't heard. Now in Rome, that's where it all kicks off......

Isn't he there tryin' t' figure out how he can make a few bob t' cover th' trip, him not workin' like, an' God's honest truth! He get's a bell f' th' ol' VAT 69 hiself!!

' That you Vincey?'

' Can't hear Yer Honour! ..........Can yous speak up? I've th' blower t' me poorly ear.

' That Better!!?'

' I'm gettin' yous now.... Just......


' This is Sixtus. Sixtus the Fifth. That's the one after four but before you get to six. The Pope to you, sunshine.'

' Grand t' hear f' yerslf, Holiness. How yous doin'?

' Grand Vincey. Just a wee let down. A cove come round a couple of mornings back knocking me up. Said he was working on some picture of some grinning floosie name of Mona Lisa and said he had a shitload of paint over. Do I want St Peter's covering while he's in the neighbourhood? I said, ' Great! You can give the Cistern Chapel a lick. It's been looking a tad dusty since they had them coal fired heretic burners put in round the Reformation. He says ' No sweat!'. And I drops him a fearful packet in advance. God's butt!! Would you believe the brass neck of the cheeky dam shyster!? I've not seen hide or hair of him since! Can you help me out here, Vincey? There's fifty days off Purgatory if you can get through by lunchtime!

' No probs, Yer Pontificals!', says Vincey. I'll get me plank an' ladders out th' case an' I'll be over St P's before yous can say ' What's f' Last  Supper?'.

An' as good as his word, Vincey's up th' Vatican wi' his brush an' buckets an' has th' ol' chapel done berore th' last stroke o' th' Angelus Bell. Two coats!! Nice bit o' Primer, an' top quality Emulsion. an' a lovely spot of Aertex on th' ceilin'! That's when he's on t' line herself crowin' again what a fine job he's done, an' how he's thinkin' on now how next he's goin' t' put in t' touch up th' Palace o' Versailles. An' she can't get ff th'  bloody phone fast enough lettin' on t' th' relatives back in Ballybunion how her Vincey's well in wi' th' Holy Father. An' how as like as not th' pair o' them will be gettin' th' nod t' take tea wi' th' Virgin Mary! .........That's when Sixtus rocks up f' a gander,... takes one gawp... an' goes about as do lally incandescent incsensed he near as dam it turns t' incense himself!

' YOU FECKIN' BUCK EEJIT BARMY THICK MICK!!!!!', howls Sixtus. ' YOU FECKIN' DAFT AS WELL AS DEAF!!!??? I SAID THE CISTERN CHAPEL WHERE THE BOILER'S KEPT NOT THE FECKIN' SISTINE CHAPEL!!!! YOU HAVE GONE AND WIPED OUT THE HISTORY OF WESTERN PAINTING!!!!! RAPHAEL!! RUBENS!! ROLF HARRIS!! THE FECKIN' LOTS GONE OFF MY FECKIN'WALLS!!!!!! 

'Jeeeeeeze Yer Pontifness!', says Vincey. ' I'm well banjaxed!' An' here's me thinkin' them was a few doodlins b' a devil wi' a dirty mind!! 

'Doodlings!?.... Doodlings!!??..... DOODLINGS!!!!!????? roars Sixtus. You feckin' pop eyed Irish cretin, thanks to you I'M NOW MISSING THE LAST SUPPER!!!!!!!!!!

 That's when Vincey chills an' smiles...... An'  then crows again.

' No worries Yer Worshipfulness. I'll get us a Take Away F' Pizza Hut!'





Slan! And my very fondest wishes to you all.