Monthly Archives: February 2013
Dungannon court yesterday heard how aged Killyman Pharmacist, Mal Le Chien, allowed a local serial gossiper read the prescription book every day in exchange for a kiss on the cheek. The accusation was heard after the woman in question, Mary Gilroy, decided to ‘land him in the s**t’ after he allowed one of his hands to wander during the daily peck on his choppers. A packed courthouse heard how Le Chien fed Gilroy’s love of chit-chat by offering her his indecent proposal:
“I’d been coming in to the chemist for tablets to ease my woman’s problems and had built up a customer relationship with Mal. After a few weeks, and knowing of my penchant for tittle-tattle, he said he’d let me see his prescription book for everyone in the Killyman area as long as I planted the lips on him once a day. It was too good to turn down. Ha! – the things I saw. Finally, I understood my Mrs Donnelly had that oul sour bake on her. She’s a chronic migraine sufferer. Still didn’t stop me roaring at her in the morning even harder. Gary Taggert was taking viagra and him with no woman at all. Made no sense to me but at least I knew how to behave around him. Drove him mad I did with the low tops and winks. Fr Jackson’s itchy arse was causing him some bother going by the ass-cream he was picking up fortnightly. That fairly affected my communion-going habits. I had a head start on everyone.”
The agreement came to an end when Le Chien attempted to take things to the next level and laid a hand on her hip during the kiss.
“Typical man. He thought I was turning up to see him. Only for the free gossip I’d never be seen near than oul whack. One day he dropped the hand on me. Well, that was that. Everyone knows I’m a hateful warbler in these parts so I had nothing to lose. This oul pervert needed to be exposed. Sure he himself takes five aspirin every morning cos he’s on a bottle of brandy a day.”
The case continues tomorrow when Le Chien takes to the stand to explain how the amount of hypochondriacs in Killyman drove him to drink.
Government officials have confirmed this afternoon that families in West Tyrone are to receive monetary compensation for having to house tens of thousands of Fermanagh locals who are to be evacuated during the two weeks in and around the historic G8 summit in Fermanagh in June this year. The on-going ‘We’re Not Animals’ campaign demanding to allow Fermanagh natives to stay in their own houses appears to have lost ground today as many families in the west Tyrone area have already begun adding extensions to barns, outhouses and sheds to cater for the 60’000 evacuees expected at the end of May. Stormont have said they will allow 2000 Fermanagh people to remain in the county during the summit, mostly doctors, lawyers and blow-ins from other counties.
“We’re a wee bit excited and a tiny bit scared too”, claimed Trillick greengrocer Hillary Buchanan. “It’ll be great for the children to mix with the Fermanagh people and experience different cultures and morals. My young lads are big into the Discovery Channel and often harrass me into taking them to safari parks and zoos so this is like a dream come true for them – on our own doorstep. I’ve been reading up on what they eat and it doesn’t seem to be much of a problem. Their diet appears to be maize or wheat mixed with a lot of water. I’ve downloaded loads of ‘Glenroe’ episodes, ‘Knight Rider’ and the ‘3-2-1 dusty bin’ programmes as apparently they’ve big in Fermanagh right now. I’m a tiny bit worried about communicating but we’ll get by on slates and chalk.”
‘We’re Not Animals’ campaign organiser, Harry Bogue, says they’ve all but given up hope on a government u-turn but promises to take a positive experience from their temporary refugee status in Tyrone over the fortnight. Using a whiteboard and marker, the Lisnaskea lace-maker told us:
“We no want move but we try to take home spices and stuff”
Obama’s office released a statement today regretting the absence of a chance to meet the rural Fermanagh community but admitted that it’s probably for the best as Germany’s Angela Merkel’s failed romance with a lad from Tempo during a beer festival in Berlin during the 60s is still raw. The Fermanagh evacuees will be bused in by Chambers and by train.
Three Carrickmore students based in Belfast whilst studying at UUJ have been inundated with hard luck cards and commiserating phone-calls after marginally failing to make a beef casserole at their flat in the Holylands. Despite the early stages going to plan, a mishap saw the entire flat burned to the ground as well as the adjacent buildings in what has been described as a ‘ typical munchie horror show’ by the PSNI. Seanie Loughran, studying sums at the university, says it was a brave attempt inspired by something they saw on TV.
“Gutted. Not just us but this entire row of flats. Myself, Ciaran and Johnny were watching Nigella Lawson and I told them I was sick and tired of spuds and beans or fish fingers and spaghetti hoops. Nigella had just made a beef casserole and after we’d tired ourselves from the usual innuendos there, we went out to the Spar and bought 2kg of braising steak, onions, red wine, tomato puree, butter, a rake of carrots and a 24-pack of Coors. It was all going well after we’d chopped up the steak and got a big pot and bucked the whole lot into it. The smell was delicious. Ciaran cracked open the Coors and that’s when things took a turn for the worse. The craic was mighty watching Deal Or No Deal as we got wired into the cans and the wine which we decided to drink too. It was the burny smell and subsequent towering inferno from the kitchen area that reminded us of the casserole. It was too late.”
The fire brigade were able to salvage the half of the end houses in the 6-row of flats although little was lost in the way of college notes as Loughran says they are the type of learners that don’t need to write things down such is the collective power of their memories. The police also expressed disappointment that they didn’t try to add mushrooms to their casserole. Loughran added:
“We’ll dust ourselves down and try again when we find a new place to live. I’d love to try making something deadly like lasagna. Imagine going back to the Carmen saying you made a lasagna. You’d be considered a culinary genius. But for a while we’ll get back on the horse with jammed toast and the like.”
The Rock, famous for its disused water pump and Ciaran Gourley, has made an audacious early bid to stage the 2014 Eurovision Song Contest in case Ireland wins it this year. Strabane man Ryan Dolan will represent Ireland in this year’s contest in Malmo and ‘Euro For The Rock’ chief organiser, Kitty McCreesh, reckons it’s only right that a county Tyrone village gets to stage the event.
“Ah sure why not. There bes Portuguese and Latvians in Cookstown and Dungannon all the time. Why can’t but put up a few thousand Ukrainians, Spaniards, Maltese, Swedes and the likes up around these parts for the guts of a week. If you take a drive around Galcussagh, Rough Hill, Sessiagh Hill, Knockavaddy and Mullynure you’ll see acres of space that would cater for tents, wigwams, them there cars that are also caravans or whatever them foreigners sleep in. Hammocks etc. My husband says he’d look after the Swedes any day of the week, especially the blade who won it last year. We’ll put on a quare welcome and the Rock Accordian Band says they’ll play for free when parading the 44 countries around the football field before the singing bit. I cannot see any problems with this idea at all. It’ll be rock-on in the Rock next year. Isn’t it a great way to promote the disused pump and the general friendliness of Rock people. We might even get two dots above the ‘o’ in Rock to give us a continental feel, like The Röck.”
Pierre Dumont of the Eurovision 2014 Committee confirmed they received the bid and will make an announcement shortly. Dumont did express concerns about the crowding around the disused water pump and whether or not they can employ enough security to control it:
“Yes, there is a concern about the water pump. Although disused, it’s still up there with the towers in Pisa and Paris, the Great Wall of China and the Statue of Liberty. In school in Montpellier, one of the first things I was taught about when it came to foreign places of interest was the ‘Rock Disused Water Pump’. I’m giddedly excited myself about the possibility of seeing it so I can’t imagine how people in Luxembourg or Belarus feel. It’s a grave concern and might scupper their bid. And anyway, Cookstown isn’t what it used to be they say, like Pompeii.”
Following the news that people dressed as nuns were caught drinking after-hours in Listowel last July, Killyclogher pub-owner Jessie McGinn claims the fallout and subsequent tightening of nun drinking may force him to close the bar soon due to loss of revenue. Although the Kerry contingent were not real nuns but dressed in the garb for a charity idea, the nuns drinking in Killyclogher are bona-fide members of the Sisters of the Holy Hedge from Donemana who have traditionally used McGinn’s for a ‘good oul blow-out’ at the weekends and sometimes during the week. Sister Cecilia has no doubt that the Kerry escapade has impacted on their libation habits:
“I know it was for charity and I suppose that’s a good thing, but them lads in Listowel have given the powers that be here to clamp down on our running about and general galavanting. To be brutally honest, we’re totally pissed off. For years we’ve been heading down to McGinn’s on a Friday and drinking the bit out til Sunday at least. Sister Concepta is deadly on the Karaoke, singing stuff by Kurt Cobain or ACDC. The lads here think we’re great craic and a wee bit of innocent flirting with nuns of all ages is the only excitement they get down here. It was a win-win situation for everyone but now that’s all changed because of them winos down in Kerry. This weekend we had to sit in and watch The Late Late Show, supping on Ribena. Eff me pink like.”
Jessie McGinn says last weekend’s profits took a serious downtown, coupled with the general pessimistic mood of the lads who were missing the women and their flying habits and the woman who sings ‘Whole Lotta Rosie’.
“I’ll give it another week and if I don’t see an upturn in takings then big decisions need to be made. There is a group of women from the Drumragh Book Club and we’ll be trying to entice them down here for a feed of drink but it’s hard to see them being the same craic as the Holy Hedge girls.”
The Sisters of the Holy Hedge was founded in 1967 when someone spotted a hedge that looked a bit like Pope Urban VIII on the Gortin Road.
Fears that a new meat-industry scandal may emerge before the end of the year have been played down by the family of local farmer, Gerty Cushnahan, after they claimed he rubs his hands a lot of the time, even in the Summer. Rumours of impending burger skulduggery began to circulate after a group of men standing outside Falls’ Bar discussed the rising prices of donkeys with Gerty who owns about six or seven donkey for general choirs around the yard. JohnJoe McAliskey was sure he could read what Cushnahan was thinking by analysing his body language:
“I watched a programme on Loose Women a lock of weeks ago and they were discussing the reading of gestures and body language. I can tell you 100%, when Pat Hughes said the southerners were offering big bucks for donkeys for some reason, I saw Gerty licking his lips and rubbing his hands like mad without saying anything. I knew at that point what he was thinking. He’s going to sell off the donkeys to them boys in Navan who’ll pass them on to the meat factories and before you know it, you’ll be eating Cushnahan’s asses for your dinner before long. I’ve seen how Cushnahan treats his donkeys. You’re best not knowing.”
Cushnahan’s family have moved quickly to defend Gerty and at the same time sent a warning shot to the lads standing outside Falls’ Bar.
“Listen, the oul boy is always rubbing his hands. When he’s even lining up for communion, he’d be rubbing away at his hands subconsciously even though it unnerves the women in front for him and the licking of the lips makes it worse. That’s just the way he is. He’ll never sell those donkeys. Them lads outside the bar would need to quit the gossiping and scaremongering. Our Henry is now working for the bru people and if they’re not careful there’ll be a JobSeeker’s van pulling up on the Reenaderry Road.”
Donkey meat is seen as a delicacy in Iran, Cuba and Gweedore.
70% of women in East Tyrone were said to be distraught this week following the decision by The Irish News to give Paddy Heaney a break from writing his column last Tuesday.
Heaney’s ‘Against The Breeze’ slot is said to be a firm favourite with women from Ballinderry right down to Derrytresk with sales on Tuesdays doubling that of a normal day, with some comparing it to ’50 Shades of Grey on tap’. Paddy’s dreamy middle-aged looks and suggestive smirk has long been the bane of many husbands in mid-Ulster, with any form of marital communication a write-off on a Tuesday. Mary Muldoon, a 45-year old school cook, maintains this has been the longest week of her life:
“When I woke up on Tuesday to find 32 text messages and missed calls on my phone I knew something was up. I could feel the blood draining from my forehead as the horrible truth was laid bare in front of me. Disbelieving, I walked down to the Spar to get the paper anyway. Alas, it was true. No Paddy Heaney this week. I only had to look around me to witness at first hand the effect this man has on us women down here. Bernie McGahan was crying at the meat counter. Denise Molloy was buying wine at that time of the morning. Two of the McGoreys were fighting over cooked ham. We all hit the drink by midday. It was carnage.”
Reports suggest that husbands and boyfriends frantically searched their recycling bins in order to placate their partners with old Tuesday editions of the paper but Muldoon admits it wasn’t the same:
“To be fair, my Harry tried his best to comfort me. But looking at old pictures of Paddy isn’t the same. We need fresh pictures, with the new smell of the paper wafting off his alluring mop of Oak Leaf hair. Oh Paddy, never do this to us again. Seriously, The Irish News need to give us a firm warning a few days beforehand that we’ll not be getting our Paddy-fix on any given week. Kitty Tougher from Brocagh drove the whole way to Belfast to sit outside The Irish News on Tuesday just to get a look at him, and him in Majorca probably with some oul money-grabbing bint.”
Heaney has yet to comment on his missing column but there was woman rejoicing along the loughshore this morning as he appeared in today’s paper, with Paddy reportedly looking particularly handsome.
The 2013 Trillick Fun Day did not reach the expected heights the planning committee had envisaged, reflected in the general content of an essay competition the local school ran in its aftermath.The mid-February extravaganza was a new initiative by the planning committee to raise the profile of the area, after the national census figures revealed that 96% of teenagers can’t wait until they’re 18 so they can move to Tempo or somewhere like that where there are slot machines or the pictures. Local principal and committee treasurer, Master Grimes, told us that going by the essays he read it wasn’t exactly a fun day.
“It seemed to be a bit of a washout to be honest. We didn’t have much of a budget so all we could hire was a third-rate carnival company from Lusk. Alarm bell rang when they arrived with just the one lorry. Out of it they pulled 6 bales of hay, a pony, 10 hula-hoops, the game Twister, 3 skipping ropes, 2 cats, a crate of raspberry TipTop drinks, 2 old boxing gloves, eggs and spoons and a few newspapers. Having charged locals £10 in, we knew we were in a spot of bother. It started to rain heavily as well. The cats were running for cover, the pony refused to get out of the lorry when it saw the weather, the bales of hays were soaked through but at least everyone had a go on a hula-hoop and most managed a slug of the TipTop drinks. One of the pupils’ essays on Monday had a rather witty title called “A Fête Worse Than Death” but went on to describe the horrors of seeing one of the cats choking its way through the hard-boiled egg. We made £4000 though.”
Organisers say they plan to use the £4000 to pay off some of the damage caused when a few lads donned the boxing gloves and went around boxing the heads off ornaments outside houses down the Galbally Road.
An Eglish Pioneer, John McGleenan, has reportedly smashed his lenten promise in style and is currently ‘worse than ever’ at the cursing, according to his son who has decided to move to Cappagh. McGleenan had lasted over a week without a bad word emanating from his mouth until he heard the result from the Ulster Senior League match between his beloved Eglish and Magherafelt. A former reserve player and waterboy from 1986-1999, ‘Feckin’ John, as he’s called in the area, is a passionate and ardent St Patrick’s supporter but had recently been told to stop his match-going following a high blood pressure reading last month. Enda McGleenan, his 26-year old son and playing member of the senior team, knew his father’s lenten vow of a period of 40-days without cursing was about to end when he got home after the game.
“Ah as soon as the final whistle went I knew it was all over. In normal circumstances a draw in a friendly game with Magherafelt would be seen as acceptable progress, but not when my da’s concerned. He loses the bap completely if we don’t win. Last year we lost to Derrytresk and he locked me in the attic for five hours and burned down the outhouse. We thought the lent cursing thing would help him to curb his temper but it was simply a simmering volcano waiting to explode. 10 days of abstinence erupted yesterday. I muttered “9-all draw” when he asked. He simply set down his knife and fork and walked out to the yard. The next thing I saw was the dog yelping and hurtling through the spring Eglish sky, followed by a string of expletives I’d never even heard of. What is a ‘bollocksing shower of a hoor of a Derry bollocks’ anyway? Made no sense”
Reports suggest that McGleenan went on a rampage for the rest of the day, cursing vehemently at any passers-by regarding land, horse-meat, the Brits, Free-Staters, Europeans, the weather and spuds. 93-year-old Maisie Gildernew near fainted after hearing rude words she’d last come across when the Yank soldiers stopped off at the Brantry in 1942.
The much-anticipated ‘Nostalgia Night’ organised by the newly founded Stewartstown Historical Society ended early last night as not many could remember much that had happened in the area. The reason for the mass loss of memory is still under investigation with possible theories to be assessed such as some kind of lignite poisoning, too much drink taken over the years or the possibility that nothing has actually happened. The meeting, which started at 8pm and was attended by at least 1000 residents, ended at 8:30pm with a rendition of Faith Of Our Fathers and a goodie bag (pencil, tracing paper and a fudge) for all attendees. Chief organiser, Gerry Fee, was at a loss to explain the early finish:
“To be honest, I thought we’d be yarning away long into the early hours of this morning with tales of daring deeds and humorous turn of events. It wasn’t until the introductory speech had finished and the floor was opened up to the public that the horrible truth was clearly evident. Nobody could remember anything that had happened. After ten minutes, one woman did put her hand up and thought the football team reached an All-Ireland final a few years ago and says she vaguely recalls Fergal Logan in a jersey. She was quickly ridiculed by the others who said it was a foolish thing to claim and that Stewartstown have never nearly won anything. I put All-Ireland final with a question mark on the massive ‘White Board Of Memories’ just to take the bad look off it.”
Events appeared to take a turn for the better when another elderly man says he clearly remembers Dennis Taylor coming home in a van to parade a cup he won in England in the early 80s. A cheer went up at this recollection until it was pointed out that this probably happened in Coalisland as he was born down there. The Historical Society have asked people to email them with any memories they finally recall so they can put something on the whiteboard.
Benburb erotic fiction writer, Jack Jordan, was fined £20 and warned about his future conduct after he was caught ‘zig-zagging all over the place’ and ‘singing his head off’ on his Mountfield 1430M Lawn Tractor yesterday evening on the Clonfeacle Road.
Jordan, 44, has also been enrolled on a 6-week drink-awareness programme in the Moy in order to curb the desire to commit the same offence again. Strawberry pickers in an adjacent field alerted the police after they witnessed an inebriated man revving his lawnmower ‘a wee bit more than normal’. Sarah Mullan told us:
“I was picking away when I heard a loud engine sound flashing up the Clonfeacle Road. He must’ve been doing, say, 7mph like. Then the terrible truth was laid bare when I saw Jack, full out of his head on brandy probably, slurring his way through ‘The Black Velvet Band’ at the wheel of his Mountfield 1430M. I was at my wits end thinking of the damage he could do on that. Mrs Glackin up the road has a lovely bed of daisies outside her front hedge. Jack was capable of obliterating the whole lot in this form so I phoned the cops who arrived before any carnage was committed.”
Initially, Jordan defended the accusations vehemently, insisting that Mrs Hughes had just given him ‘a nip of the craytur’ for mowing her bushes in her back field. The breathalyser indicated he was 20 times over the tractor lawnmower limit after which he admitted he’d downed a bottle of Bush as well as a few ‘glasses of stout’ whilst making a hames of Hughes’ field.
“I was only making the short half a mile journey home sure on the Mountfield. All these bloody do-gooders in Benburb would sicken your happiness. That Mullan girl never liked my singing.”
Jordan will attend the lawn-mower drink-awareness programme after Easter and is at present the only person enrolled.
All roads lead to Greencastle this weekend in what is sure to be one of the biggest bargain days of the calendar year at the foothills of the Sperrins. Car merchant and general wheeler and dealer, Diarmuid Donnelly, has promised to put an entire fleet of FSOs, the famous Polish car manufacturer, up for sale at half price following a fatal error in translation yesterday morning. Donnelly, who famously sold a decrepit Lada to the Vatican in 1986, stands to lose thousands of pounds on the transaction but feels he has little other option.
“Some handlin. I left our blade to do the bartering as she has an O Level in Latin in 1977. Last time I do that. I’d my eye on the Fabryka Samochodów Osobowych (FSO) motors for a long time now as they’re the type of cars that would look well on the roads around Greencastle. I ordered, or well Deirdre did, 100 of them in all kinds of colours. They arrived within hours on a boat from Poland. I nearly choked when I saw they were all left-hand drive. 100 left-hand drive FSOs! When I phoned up the Poles they were unrepentant, claiming that we didn’t stipulate it was Greencastle Co Tyrone, not Greencastle Co Donegal. I was still a bit confused but they put the phone down and I wasn’t paying for another phonecall. I’m in enough debt.”
The FSOs will sell at £3000 tomorrow in his big field, with first come first serve. Donnelly is expecting a quickfire sale:
“Hotcakes at that price. Fair enough the left-hand driving will be a bit of a bollox initially but I’ve asked the council if it’s OK to drive on whatever side of the road we want, maybe on the left at the weekends or something at that. The new roundabout planned for the top of the village can be driven around anti-clockwise and the other one at the bottom can be approached either clockwise or anti. I can’t see many problems, well no worse that the current standard of motoring around here.”
Gate opens at 7am.
The Glenelly Boxing By The River Fight Night, originally staged at the Mellon Country Hotel last weekend, is still raging on as four bouts have yet to witness a knock-out or retirement. Eight boxers from Glenelly, Gortin, Newtownstewart and Strabane have completed a total of 3022 rounds of fighting at the time of writing. The longest fight, involving Sheerin and McGlinchey, has just surpassed the 1000 rounds mark with ‘Give Em Hell’ McGlinchey finally showing signs of tiring today, day 12. Referee Leon McCaul insists it’s only a matter of time before Sheerin hits the canvas:
“You have to admire these lads. Sheerin had an advantage a couple of days ago when McGlinchey experienced a bit of a cold but a good sleep on Wednesday night saw ‘The Red Devil’ in fine fettle at the sound of the bell at 9am this morning. We normally call it quits at 7pm so the lads can go home, watch the soaps and refuel for the following day. I don’t think Sheerin will last that long today. He has only the one tooth left and has been blinded by the swelling since Sunday. It’s only one clean uppercut away.”
Other bouts have been less civilised. The McAnena fight has spilled onto fields in the surrounding area with members of both families taking welts out of each other on a daily basis as the main fight edges towards its conclusion. Local politician, Gary McVeigh, says the madness must stop:
“Ah come on now lads. What does it matter who wins now? McGinchey’s face is resembling his arse at this stage, and that’s not a sight women and children need to see. Tim Harney’s fight (round 886) is just a hugging match. It’s like the slow-set at Sense. Harney’s tongue is hanging out, for the love of God. This isn’t great for Glenelly’s image atall and our bid to host the paralympics in 2022.”
PaddyPower has suspended betting on the four remaining bouts after unconfirmed rumours suggest McGlinchey might take a dive in round 1011.
This year’s Tyrone Valentine’s Limerick Competition was the “worst standard in living memory” prompting the county council to write an email to all school headmasters to “up the literacy skills a notch” according to sources at the Clogher Poetry Society Headquarters.
The annual poetry competition attracts thousands of entries from single men from all over the county looking for a partner. The top three poems are read out at a dance in the Clogher Halls by the winning poets who usually head home with three women from the pack who gather to hear and inspect the talented wordsters.
“Eff me pink, it was cat altogther,” Henry Wisdom, chair of the Clogher Poetry society told us. “I had to wade through mountains of pure tripe. I’d reckon that 90% of the entrants managed to slip in farm machinery or drinking. One boy, from the Moy, was able to somehow rhyme ‘X Factor’ with ‘Caterpillar Track-Type Tricycle Tractor’. Romance is dead in Tyrone. I pity the women, I really do.”
Despite the falling standards, the panel eventually managed to narrow the entrants down to three, with “Ardboe Women” getting top honours for its depiction of a man sneakily looking at a naked woman around the Lough shore.
Winning entries below:
1ST PLACE – ARDBOE WOMEN: By James Devlin
It’s great to live in Ardboe
To Moortown I’d hate to go
The women here are fair
And great when they’re bare
Like my neighbour beside me on Sundays, ghost-oh
2ND PLACE – NICE STRABANE MAIDENS: By John McElhaton
The women in Strabane are wile nice
But there’s none I can entice
What’s wrong with me?
I’ve a diesel turbo SUV
I’d buy you a chicken fried rice
3RD PLACE – LONELY IN BRACKAVILLE By Godfrey Gillis
This year I hope someone says yes
Now that I’ve a permanent address
But, if you say no
I couldn’t stick the woe
And I’ll have to torch the buckin wedding dress (that I bought in the Island)
Following the shock resignation of Pope Benedict today, Carrickmore PP Fr Colman Gormley (69) has gone on the offensive immediately with a series of twitter statements advocating the appointment of a Pope from the Carmen for the first time since Catholicism was invented thousands of years ago. Despite there having been no Irish Popes since St Peter got the first gig, Fr Gormley says that this should be no impediment to the drive for a Carrickmore Pope to shake up the whole Vatican movement.
“It’s about time, to be honest. We’ve had a black President of America, women prime ministers, a TV show called The Manageress in the 90s, Tyrone beating Kerry, men wearing skirts….why not a Carmen pope? Take me for example. I’m in my prime. I love pizza and at the sports day I travelled around the field standing up through the sunroof of the brother’s Mini Cooper, waving at the crowd. OK, it’d be a bit of a culture shock living in Rome but don’t forget, I did a stint in Loughmacrory in the 70s. I have big ideas too: twitter-style masses in 120 words or fewer; good looking Eucharistic Ministers; electro-dance homily music; altar boy reality shows where they are voted off by doing an average mass etc. I’m hoping to get a clipboard with pages for people to sign my petition.”
The Vatican refused to comment on Fr Gormley’s chances but did indicate that they were already in advanced negotiations with a young priest from Tattyreagh.
“It is Vatican policy not to comment on these things but Fr John Donnelly from Tattyreagh is at the top of his game. He did Stations of the Cross last year up in Glenelly in over two hours. That’s unavoidably impressive,” a member of the Holy See told us over the phone.
The Catholic Church have yet to rule out a Pope-Off mass competition at Edendork this weekend between Gormley and your man from Clonoe.
We visited the famous Augher cattle mart this morning to gauge opinions on the recent horse meat debate:
Is it that bad really? Sure in Asia they eat everything and them boys live til they’re 100. Listen, everything will run out eventually and our future generations will be eating each other to survive. I’d eat a man alright. FONZIE MCCLURE, CLONOE
Lucksee, I’ve begun thinking. Like, see them cows in the field, like, how do we know if they’re really cows like? What if they’re horses or zebras dressed up like cows? Them farmers are capable of anything. PADDY HARBINSON, ROCK
I was saying to the wife yesterday at the pictures. What’s in that popcorn? I’m prepared to question everything I eat now. Cream crackers – like is that cardboard or wood? I’ve long suspected an establishment in Omagh was passing off dirty water as Guinness. HARRY CULLEN, BERAGH
If I see one more horse joke on Facebook, i’ll not be responsible for my actions. SUSAN CASSIDY, COALISLAND
Spare a thought for Gavin Devlin. He must be sleeping with one eye open. He’d make one hell of a lasagne though. BRIAN MCIVOR, ARDBOE
What about the donkeys? They always get the raw deal. Even in a scandal like this, no one is thinking about the donkey. I’m sure ass meat tastes just as good too. There’s a marketing opportunity out there for ass burgers. You’ll find perverts buying them and all. MARY MUNROE, CARRICKMORE
In an attempt to add a few more years onto our planet’s lifespan, Derrytresk entrepreneur Harry Campbell has revealed plans to run all motors east of Coalisland on cattle flatulence. Scientists have long suspected that the methane produced by windy cows could be put to a specific use but it has taken the unemployed Campbell, a former Miss World escort, to take the plunge which it is set to make the wacky inventor millions he thinks.
“There’s all this take of compressing methane gas for vehicle fuel but that just sounded like a racket to me to make money for compressing firms. I was driving down the Washingbay Road and the gas motor I have was starting to splutter. The fuel gauge had been running on empty for a couple of days and it was late evening. I just thought ‘feck this’ and drove straight through a hedge and parked beside a couple of cows. I had an oul bit of blue piping so I shoved one end up the cow’s backside and the other into my gas tank. Lo and behold the Datsun burst into life and she’s been running on that dose of methane for three weeks now. Look about you. Every field in the lowlands is full of cattle just staring at you like mobile fuel pumps. I’ve managed to convince a handful of locals to change to gas and their lives have been transformed. Deadly.”
Campbell has patented the bit of blue pipe and is selling it for a fiver outside Spring Island on most days. He is currently drawing up plans with local farmers to get makeshift lanes running into fields as well as some kind of pay scheme for the fuel which is proving difficult.
“Talks are on-going but some farmers are being a bit bollocksy about it. I’d suggested getting a 2-for-1 deal with the methane on one hand and a bit of hand-milking at the same time. £40 for a full tank and a pint of unpasteurised milk. We’ll get it ironed out. I’m also looking at potentially using cow dung as some kind of facial masks for women looking pampered.”
Cow-fuel is available in a field in Drummurrer this weekend.
The family of Gregory Grimes, the first boy to achieve an A in the 11+ in Pomeroy since 1986, have said they’ll be gone from the village by the weekend and hope never to set foot amongst the “tightest shower in Ireland”. The remarkable turnaround by the Grimes’ seemingly surrounds the level of generosity in the village after young Gregory travelled from door to door last Saturday morning to inform the locals of his top grade in the ‘qualifying’ tests. Gregory’s father Kieran, a former A grade student himself and current Pomeroy tourism officer, claims they’ll never return to Pomeroy whilst there’s a breath left in his body:
“I loved Pomeroy. The mountains, the Diamond, Philomena Begley. We had it all. Well, all that’s wiped from my memory ever since young Greg, the first A in Pomeroy in 27 years, returned on his travels last Saturday with £3.56 in his pocket after telling his good news to 36 houses around the centre of the village. Three buckin fifty buckin six buckin pounds. Themuns couldn’t be happy for ye. The Kavanaghs down the road actually tapped him up for money for to pay the electricity meter. Paddy Devlin, and him a doctor too, gave him 11p after fumbling around in his suit jacket for fifteen minutes. The headmaster himself didn’t even open the door even though I could see him duking from the kitchen window and him boasting about our lad’s result at the shop this morning thinking he’s King Dick. What a begrudging, tight-fisted shower of glipes. Young Gregory, God bless him, was happy with the money and went out and bought a bottle of Lucozade and a giant Snickers. I’m not hanging around to count the pennies after his Confirmation. They can go and shite.”
No one from Pomeroy was prepared to officially comment on the Grimes’ plans to move off but the headmaster was reported to have said the following, on hearing about the A grade the previous night in the pub from the school secretary: “that wee Grimes lad needs taking down a peg or two. Who does he think he is? You’ll get nowhere reading books and spelling things correctly. He’ll be thinking he’s all it. We don’t need that sort in Pomeroy.”
The Grimes family are due to settle in Carrickmore.
Rumours persisted this morning that an Ardboe man who bought a DNA-testing kit over the Internet from India is to release startling results after secretly collating DNA samples from most families in the area. Barman Josh Coney, who boasts of an unhealthy interest in dismembering rodents and small mammals for the craic, stealthily collected pint glasses from punters in the front bar of the clubroom and tested the samples in his makeshift lab down at the bottom room of his house. His scientific henchman, Kyle Devlin, leaked the news to an undercover reporter posing as a priest at confessions last weekend. The transcript makes for startling listening:
“Ghost-oh, we couldn’t believe the results when they filtered back from Bombay, Father. It torns out that all Devlins and Coyles are inextricably linked to the pollan fish. Pollan is a silvery trout-shaped fish, with a dark greeny-blue back and you can sort of see that sort of hue off both sets of families in the winter. They’d have big trouty pouts too. Then there’s the McGuigans. The man in India says they’re closely related to pike. Northern pike are most often olive green, shading from yellow to white along the belly. I used to curt one of the McGuigan girls and she definitely had a green tint off her torso and big pointy gnashers would be showing when angered. Finally, all the Quinns appear to have the same make-up of the eel. I’ve had a few Quinns working here and when I think of it they were long slippery boys too.”
Scientists believe that, centuries ago, local fish may have settled on the land. Evolution saw to it that they began to resemble mankind after dubious and unthinkable mating rituals, not uncommon in that part of the world, were carried out. They claim that it’s not beyond the realms of possibility that Ireland could have a multitude of Olympic swimming golds waiting to be mined if they can get a few from Ardboe to head up to the swimming pool in Magherafelt for a slapping about session.