Cranagh Reject Digital Switchover: “A Load Of Balls” Says Pensioner
One of the smallest villages in Tyrone, Cranagh, have today unanimously rejected the digital switchover movement and vowed to keep their analogue aerials flying high for the foreseeable future. The tiny Glenelly Valley community are reported to be the only settlement refusing to make the switchover in the UK, although what they plan to do in its place remains unclear.
“It’s a load of balls,” claimed 92-year old native Maire Ni Houlihan. “Pure dung. Testicle talk. Remember the time they were going to dig up half of Tyrone for lignite – well this is the same shite. It’s a scam. Everyone knows no one pays their TV license in Cranagh so this is the government’s way of grabbing our dough. That Thatcher girl is capable of anything. They turned off BBC2 last week but so what. I’d rather watch my piles enlarge than that. We’re not for changing.”
The pigeon-Irish speaking villagers are holding a meeting tonight to see what they can do to entertain themselves in the days, months and years to come when the analogue signal dies. The 66-strong population are confident they can fill the void with good old fashioned pulling together and creating ad hoc entertainment. Community Centre manager Harry Johnstone has already drawn up a ‘Roster of Enjoyment’ for every night in the week.
ROSTER OF ENJOYMENT
MONDAY – Yarning about old days and making scarves. Roll call and notices about births, deaths and birthdays.
TUESDAY – Strong man and woman competition. Barrel lifting and staring competition. Moroccan-themed smoking.
WEDNESDAY – Midweek Reflection. Tales about banshees, leprechauns, graveyards and digging up men. Punishments for bad children.
THURSDAY – Recitations for different age groups. Irish dancing. Disco dancing. Samba dancing. Dirty Dancing. Stretching.
FRIDAY – Blind Man’s Buff followed by bottles of stout and babycham for the women. Romance time for the older ones. Children in bed by 8.
SATURDAY – Sports. Football, cricket, rugby, bowls, wife-lifting, synchronised swimming, polo and Jack Changes.
SUNDAY – Holy day. No shouting, kissing, rowing or general bad manners including wind breaking.
“I firmly believe our decision to go digital-less will instigate further such stances across the county,” added Johnstone. “Cranagh is the guinea pig here but also the flag bearers for not bending over and allowing the politicians to tell us what to watch. We’ll be the most cultured village in Ireland. We don’t need TV! To be honest, I’ll miss Joe Mahon’s programme but sure the 3G signal is great here and I can watch it on my…….sorry….delete that there.”
The Drumnakilly Devil – The Truth
Or was it a man from Gortin?
I met a girl in Beragh and she said her name was Sarah,
And I thought she was as fair a lass as ever wore a shoe;
So I went and sat beside her, and with tay and buns supplied her,
And to soften her I tried her with a lozenger or two.
Researching the census back then, we can narrow it down to two Sarahs: Sarah Grimes and Sarah Rodgers. Beragh women were great for tea and buns and it was oft said that that combination usually had the females in the area weak at the knees. Lozengers would be a delicacy in Beragh even yet. This man was no pauper.
Then later I got bolder and I nipped her on the shoulder
O I nipped her and I told her I would take her on my knee;
But she said, “You’ll be in bother, for I’ll go and tell me mother,
I’ll go home and tell me mother if you’re impudent to me.”
Nipping is an old Beragh custom between courting youngsters that still exists today. Usually around the age of 15, a Beragh father will sit down with his son and explain nipping. You only nipped a woman you were prepared to take a box in the face from. You never nipped big girls with strong arms. This rules out Sarah Grimes as she was a Feis arm-wrestling champion in 1923.
But she said it with a twinkle, and a brow without a twinkle,
And her laugh was like a tinkle that invited laughin’ back;
So I started to provoke her, and to hoke her and to poke her,
Till she vowed that I would choke her, and her stays began to crack.
It appears that the narrator was a bit of a nuisance and began poking away at young Rodgers who pretended to be rather affronted. Again, this was extremely civilized behaviour in Beragh, with the girl now being nipped and poked. All part of the mating process down there.
Says I, “Now don’t be silly, I’ve a farm in Drumnakilly,
And the more it may be hilly, there’s a handy bit of bog,
We’ll be happy there together with a bullock in the heather,
And the goat upon the tether and the donkey and the dog.”
This was the clincher for Rodgers. To be offered a farm, a bit of bog, a bullock, a goat, a donkey and a dog was like suggesting a diamond ring made from the most expensive gold in Ireland. There are Beragh women today who believe this was a made-up story like Cinderella or Mary Robinson such is their desire to be even offered a bullock.
Then it wasn’t long we tarried till the two of us were married,
And home the donkey carried us as the presents made a load,
And on them Sarah sittin’ with a clocker and a kitten,
As we jingled like a flittin’ up the Drumnakilly road.
The clocker may have been an instrument Beragh women were given back then to hit their men with if he continued to nip and poke after the initial courting phase. A rolling pin of its day.
But the night was getting chilly when we came to Drumnakilly,
I could hear the bleats of Lily as the graith came off the ass;
Says I, ” I’ll get a bucket, for I dunno how she stuck it.”
So I lifted wan and tuk it up to Lily in the grass.
The graith was a clamping device Beragh men put on their women’s backsides to prevent other suitors from pinching their arse. Even today, Beragh women who are engaged or married wear a graith under their jeans if they head into Omagh for the night.
Well, the goat was very willin’, and the bucket bravely fillin’,
But the milk was nearly spillin’ when I heered an awful squeal,
And then there came a clatter over stones and lyin’ water,
It was Sarah on the batter up the loanan to the field.
On the batter today means drinking heavily. It’s unlikely Sarah would have been necking poitin that early in the relationship. That usually came after the 5th child. Batter here meant roaring and shouting, like a normal housewife in Beragh. Beragh women are said to be the angriest females in Ireland due to the sheer laziness of the men.
She was leppin’ like a lion and her petticoats was flyin’,
She was roarin’, she was cryin’ fit to waken up the dead;
O she come without delayin’, and between the gowls and prayin’
I made out that she was sayin’, “John, the Divil’s in the bed!”
It is obvious here the narrator had a few rivals who were extremely jealous of the marriage. Many men dressed up as devils back then as it was said Beragh women were particularly fond of the dark arts, nipping, poking and being on the batter. Sarah seemed to have a man waiting for her in the bed as the narrator was out milking a goat. With her graith off, she was exposed.
I run in to see the Divil with a mind to spake him civil,
And behold ye Sarah’s Divil was a hairy oul buck goat,
With a smell for human noses that was anything but roses,
And a beard on him like Moses and a dickey at his throat.
The narrator appears to be either naive or unwilling to admit that there’s a good chance that he had his eye wiped just hours after being married. Gortin men were famous for their hairiness and Dickie-bows. Sarah Rodgers may have regretted her decision to turn a blind eye to the hairy devil and enjoy the moment whilst her hard-working husband was out milking the heavy goat, and ran out screaming a batter to make the whole thing look good. The bad smell confirms the man was from the Gortin/Plumbridge area where they ate a lot of wild garlic.
Says I, “Me neighbour Micky must have done it, for he’s tricky.”
But a goat that wears a dickey is a goat I can’t abide,
And because a man that smelled him would incline to do it seldom.
I cut the ropes that held him and I chased the buck outside.
Mickey McVeigh, the neighbour, was a bit of a ladies’ man but it’s unlikely it was Mickey. By this stage he’d been unintentionally castrated by a visiting freak show.
O sometimes me and Sarah dresses up and goes to Beragh,
But she’ll niver let me wear a dacent dickey like the rest,
And the thing that is uncivil is to mention Sarah’s Divil,
The Drumnakilly Divil with the dickey on his chest.
The marriage was a sham. There’s no doubt that the Gortin opportunist had a bit of success with Sarah in the 2-3 minute window he had. The poor narrator was not to speak of the incident again and dicky bows were a no-go area of conversation.
TV ‘Not All That Great’ Says Trillick Octogenarian
Trillick’s first TV
86-year old ex-taxidermist Bill Dougan from Trillick yesterday claimed there was ‘nothing but shite’ on the TV these days and has encouraged young people to take up ‘road boules or something like digging.’ The unprovoked outburst occurred after watching The Late Late Show on Friday night only to be presented with no one he’d even remotely heard of or interested in.
“I’ve been watching TV since the 1940s. My aunt Kathleen was a landowner and used to charge peasants a fortune for using her toilet, the only one in Trillick until 1962. She used the money to buy a big TV, again the only one in this area. It was a Crosley 10-428 bakelite dark brown table top one and she allowed us to watch it once a week. There were some great shows back then. Bonanza, 321, Glenroe, the news, The Plough and the Stars, Eurovision, The Riordans and the weather. Now it’s all lesbians and people ridin. That Tubridy boy. He has an eye for the buck naked women and tee-total boys who cry on that show. Best, Higgens and Behan are spinning in their graves.”
Dougan is worried about the future of the Irish people if the current TV content remains. He has called on young Irish men and women to turn off their sets and get out onto the roads to embrace the qualities we once held dear.
“Listen, Albert Reynolds needs to make a stand here. What type of Irish person are we launching on the world now? In my day we were hard working, hard drinking, racist, sexist, untidy, funny and unreliable. Those are the qualities we historically cherished. I see these young people walking around Trillick all cleaned up and the boys with tattoos, pushing prams. They all go to work on time and come home on time. There’s hardly any form of discrimination at all now. They’re watching all them politically correct messages in soaps and chat shows. Is this the kind of Ireland we want? I blame Pat the bollocks Kenny. At least Gay Byrne disliked some of his guests. Get Byrne back on the TV before all is lost. I caught my son doing the dishes a week ago. I may be 86 but a box to the head fairly stung him.”
Practical Joke Goes Wrong In Derrylaughan. Cattle Massacred.
An innocent attempt at a practical joke has ended in bloodshed as Katie Quinn’s entire herd were murdered in cold blood last night on the shores of Lough Neagh. With the hunting season in full flow, a group of shooters from Urney arrived in Derrylaughan after the news spread across the country regarding a gang of ravenous foxes who had been wreaking havoc around the general lowlands area. Quinn had been approached by the eldest in the Urney crowd, Larry Turner, to see if it was OK to shoot on her land.
“I thought it was good manners to ask permission. To be fair, Katie was very forthcoming and said that as long as we didn’t dung all over the place we were free to let loose on the foxes. She made one request though. I’d noticed a rancid-looking donkey standing behind a wall before she even mentioned it. She said that whilst we were out shooting, would we put a bullet into the donkey as it was too old, blind and lame and she hadn’t the heart to do that to Joxer who’d been in the family since Halley’s Comet visited in 1986.”
Joxer met his maker
Turner thought this was an opportunity to take a hand out of his fellow-shooters and told them that Katie had denied them the chance to shoot on their land. He also added that she was abusive towards them and said Urney was a hellhole full of wasters and bolloxes. He proceeded to tell them that he’d teach her a lesson and shoot her donkey. Little did they know that this was a prior arrangement between Quinn and Turner. Katie takes up the story:
“At first I thought he was a handsome young man. We came to an agreement that they could shoot on my land as long as they shot my poor Joxer. It was either them or the knackers yard in Coalisland and I wouldn’t give that shower a penny. I heard the shot and looked out to see poor Joxer drop to the ground, on his way to his eternal rest. What occurred afterwards will live with me forever.”
As it turned out, Turner was so convincing that, when he shot the donkey, the rest of his crew shot indiscriminately at all the cattle in the field in order to reinforce their anger at her supposed rudeness. The destruction was unimaginable as the field was strewn with murdered cows. One cow survived the ordeal and is currently receiving trauma rehabilitation. The Urney lads were chased down the Reenaderry Road but escaped up through Tamnamore.
Dromore a ‘Dark Place’ After Defeat
The mood in Dromore has been described as darker than the deepest recesses of outer space since their senior football side were defeated in the county final last Sunday. Not since 1838, when an English tourist labelled Dromore as a ‘bleak poor hilly town’ in a holiday brochure, has the ‘Large Ridge’ found itself wallowing in a slough of self-pity and despair. No bins have been collected, cattle milked nor men washed since the loss four days ago and the outlook shows no sign of improvement. Housewife Katie McCarron refuses to see any light at the end of the tunnel:
“It’s buckin ridiculous now. Jaysus, I know the football is big an all in Dromore but these lads need to catch a grip of themselves. My husband, a stalwart on the team, hasn’t taken a shower since Sunday morning. He’s still in his muddied kit, just sitting and sleeping on the couch watching reruns of Starsky and Hutch. The only time he rises is for the toilet but he’s even too depressed to flush it. He’s normally very aware of his appearance and was a rather gorgeous man. Now, he just looks like an oul hobo from Omagh. Not one fcuk does he give right now about anything. He should be shot with a ball of his own shite.”
Dromore, since Sunday
With rubbish piling up on the roads and loanans, cattle at bursting point and drunk men staggering from The Central Bar, pishing all over the place, women have given the male population 24 hours to snap out of it or they’re going to start flirting with lads from Trillick.
“I’m giving my lad another day. If no improvement, I’m heading down the Galbally Road and grabbing one of them Trillick boys. They’ll never be left in that post-county final depression, let’s be honest.”
Stewartstown UFO Unexplained.
New Stewartstown resident?
Although daily sitings of a UFO in the greater Stewartstown area have diminished slightly since the weekend, the local Community Watch Committee remain vigilant over the whereabouts of the mysterious alien motor. Word first spread that there was some kind of vehicle in the sky soon after service at St Patrick Church of Ireland. Terence Bunn claims he was the first to spot the vehicle:
“I was thinking about what the good vicar had said about abstinence during his sermon and found myself staring into the sky contemplating drinking less on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Sundays when all of a sudden I saw this unmistakeable disc-shaped object swirling gently in the breeze over the Stewartstown Credit Union. I almost collapsed in shock. No one came to my aid as they automatically thought I’d been drinking again, which admittedly I had been. It was only when I pointed to it that others became aware of the UFO. I hope that when the movie is made that someone like James Nesbitt or Clint Eastwood plays me.”
Before long, everyone in Stewartstown emptied out onto the main street (population approx. 1400) to stare at the moving object. Explanations ranged from a very fat moth to a hubcap. Within 24 hours, over half a million people descended on Stewartstown with the local pubs, shops and hostelries experiencing a roaring trade, unprecedented in the town’s history. They have since declared to be the richest town in Ireland with Fergal Logan as their first Lord Mayor.
One woman did come forward with an explanation. Frances Graham claimed her hat flew off her outside the church and that she’s 100% certain it’s hers as it was round, green with a red rosette on it – just like the UFO. She has since gone missing and her house graffitied with, “Do Ye Want To Be Called Tin Town Again, Ye Hoor”
Tyrone Classifieds – October
WANTED SECTION:
Two adult tricycles. Good breaks, not too rusty. Must be able to hold 15 stone each. Needed for romantic excursions with wife. Ardboe.
A yellow and green button for my shirt. Shirt has been very successful at Sally’s in Omagh. Tattyreagh.
Surgeon required for new surgery in Coalisland. No experience necessary. Must have own tools.
Someone to do farm work. Must have a hoolahoop. Augher.
The person I hit on the head with a tomato in Beragh in 1958. Feel guilty. Fivemiletown.
Someone to go back in time with. No time-wasters. Must bring your own weapons. Safety cannot be guaranteed. Will get paid when we get back. Only done this once before. Strabane.
Someone who can speak and write Australian. Relatives visiting in three months so want teacher asap. Brocagh.
SELLING SECTION:
Child’s potty chair. 10 years old. Slight staining. Newmills. £20
Used gravestone. Used only once. Must be called Patrick Kelly. Dungannon. £300
Soccer ball. Signed by either Pele, the greatest footballer on earth from Brazil, or some guy called Peter. Writing faint. Moortown. £100
Bagpiper. Will do wedding, funerals and children’s parties. Not the greatest piper but no one can tell. £50 per hour. Plumbridge.
Dinosaur bones. Not 100% sure but look a bit like the way I imagine they would. Found in bog in Greencastle. £50’000
Horse. Half Andalusian. Half Labrador. Very friendly. Likes bones. Drumragh. £600
One pair of hardly used dentures. Only three teeth missing. Galbally. £50
Vosene Shampoo. Only half used. Bargain at £4. Also Mach 3 razor blade. Only used twice. Mint condition. £2. Edendork.
Miss Greencastle Pageant Passes Off Peacefully. Aussie Actor Adjudicates.
Bishop was a big Greencastle fan
The 2012 Miss Greencastle pageant did not require a visit from the police for the first year since its inception in 1964, sparking a great night of celebration in the clubrooms. Formerly called The Loveliest Girl from Greencastle (1964-1969), The Beautiful Blade (1970-1989) and You’re A Quare One (1990-2004), this year’s Miss Greencastle was adjudicated by Neighbours actor Ian Smith who plays the angelic Harold Bishop in the long-running Australian Soap. Smith was called in due to the previous incidents which have plagued the highlight of the Greencastle Community Weekend. Harold Bishop (Smith was in character over the weekend) was seen as a safe option what with his Christian outlook in the programme itself.
‘We couldn’t chance another disaster”, gala director Dermy McDevlin told us. “Last year we had Alf Stewart from Home and Away and sure didn’t he wreck the place after he got his first taste of Guinness. There were a few of the potential Miss Greencastles he didn’t like the look of and hurled out insults like “flamin thunder thighs ye galah” and “strewth, bingo wings” much to the anger of boyfriends and family. It was a bomb-site after the riot receded. Harold was a gentleman and even blushed when one of the Miss Greencastles told the story of her slipping on a pick axe when dunging out the yard, displaying her knickers for everyone to see. I thought he was going to pass out.”
The winner, Magdalene Teague, won easily, scoring 79 points out of 100. Her party piece was plastering over a hole in the makeshift lorry truck in under 12 minutes. Her interests included shouting at GAA matches, playing dead and mooing. Last year’s winner Henrietta Tracey didn’t take the defeat too well and was caught slashing the tyres on Bishop’s Ute shouting “stick that in your blinking barbie, fair dinkum?”
Bishop, as expected, was in typical charitable form:
“Ah, one of God’s creatures gone astray, the young jillaroo. Up the ‘Castle. I’ve been a fan of them since way back you know. Yes, they’re a real rip-snorter club. Madge loved them and we’d a picture of Sean Teague in the bedroom.”
Eglish Entrepreneur’s Dragons’ Den Dejection
Self-styled madcap Eglish inventer Mattie Glackin has slammed the judges from the BBC show Dragon’s Den after being rejected by all five dragons following his sales pitch which fell on deaf ears. The show, which sees entrepreneurs attempt to secure funding from rich benefactors (dragons) for their innovative idea, saw its biggest viewing figures in Tyrone since the series began. A total of 68 people watched Mattie hit the dragons with everything he had, only to fall short of the mark in spectacular style. Earlier, Glackin gave his reaction:
“Shower a fcukers, the lot of them. How could they not be impressed, especially with my first proposal – the Spovel. The Spovel is a mixture of a spade and a shovel. You can dig holes with it as a spade and in order to shovel the soil away you press a button at the top of the shaft and hey presto – curved walls appear on either side of the spade. I showed it to the lads down the club the day before and one fella said it was class. Not these hoors. That Duncan Ballantyne boy said it was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever seen. I nearly rammed the Spovel up his hole right there and then. I should have.”
Undeterred, Glackin managed to pull out two more inventions only to be faced with the same response only on a much blunter scale.
“I then showed them the Bocks. The Bock is a boot with a sock already inside it, attached. I tried it for a week beforehand and I found that I cut my getting ready time in the morning by at least 45 seconds. There was no need to be looking for socks. One of the dragons asked for security to remove me at this stage. Before they arrived up the stairs, I showed the dragons my Spork – a mixture of spoon and fork. The woman dragon told me never to darken their doors again “with that shite” she says. The tall boy at the end of the line said the Spork already exists and that I would be hearing from a solicitor. All-in-all it was a horrific experience. I was glad to be back in Eglish. I’ve already received six orders for the Bocks from local builders.”
Glackin says he remains positive about his future and aims to shatter the local impression of him as a ‘useless oul bollox’ as described by his old headmaster. He is currently working on a ‘Studgel’ – a stick and a cudgel all in one – an instrument you can use as a walking stick as well as a weapon for fighting outside discos at the weekend.
This Weekend In Tyrone
A guide to What’s on in Tyrone for the weekend Sat 6th – Sun 7th October:
Suckin Diesel Debut In Clubland
New Moortown band – Suckin Diesel – make their first public appearance in Cookstown tonight. Describing themselves as a mixture of Eileen Donaghy music rapper-style classical jazz, the loughshore boys use only tools they picked up in one of their da’s sheds. Paddy Quinn is lead singer and also plays the chisel. Francey Devlin is on empty crate, Mary Hagan is on hammer and hubcap whilst the joker of the pack, Red Harry O’Donnell plays the welding mask and spade. More Power To Your Elbow, move over! They will also perform in Cappagh beforehand (see below).
Pomeroy Train-Spotting Convention
Tomorrow sees the 19th annual PTSC extravaganza behind the Post Office in Pomeroy tomorrow morning at 8am sharp. Although no train has passed Pomeroy since the late 50s, fanatics still gather once a year with binoculars and sandwiches in case they catch a glimpse of one that was running late perhaps. For thrills and spills, come to Pomeroy tomorrow morning. No mention of the hill/mountain debacle allowed.
Seskinore Peter Canavan Lookalike Competition
Last year’s Canavan lookalike winner.
The third Canavan lookalike competition takes place in the parish hall in Seskinore tonight (9pm). Last year’s winner Harry Tully is a firm favourite to win it for the second time of asking. Last year’s victory was all the more surprising as Peter himself took part and only finished third. This year’s winner gets a pound of mince.
Cappagh World Record Attempt
This evening (7pm, chapel car park), Cappagh will have the Guinness World Record officials in the vicinity as Peter Hampsey attempts to suck the diesel from 40 cars in three minutes. Using just a bit of plastic piping and a bucket, he’ll attempt to drain over three dozen family vehicles by sucking the fuel and letting it low into the aforementioned container. Police are not welcome. Sucking Diesel will perform their hit record ‘Tramp On, Boss” during proceedings.
Derrylaughan Healing Weekend
Derrylaughan GFC are staging a weekend of healings and cures at their well-being centre on the edge of the lough. Using the powers of Lough Neagh and the mythical curing properties of the Holy River, organiser Dermot Brannigan claims all ailments are treated from bunions, verucas and facial warts to consumption, laziness and having quare notions. Entry is free and only a donation of £20 is required. All monies will be used to get water for the Holy River which dried up in 2001.
Strabane Woman ‘Not At Herself’ After ‘Bad Oul Bug’
Farmer, this morning
One of Strabane’s most respected citizens, 86 year old ex-stripper Jane Farmer, has still not completely recovered from a ‘bad oul bug’ she thinks she got after not washing her hands immediately after visiting an old people’s home in Sion Mills. Farmer, who used to dance seductively for visiting American soldiers during the Second World War for twenty dollars, claims she is ‘not at herself’ at all since the worst of the bug left her system.
“Feck me pink”, the octogenarian said, ” I put some time of it in there. Anything I ate came straight up and I love me pork chops. That was hard to take but it wasn’t the worst part. The shite was flying straight out of me. I’d be queuing up for the pension and you’d just hear the slap of it hitting the ground. I’m too long in the tooth to be embarrassed about it and if others were offended then they need to toughen up. These modern day people are useless with their private computers and mobile telephones. In my day you’d be mopping up your family’s dung every day and never bat an eyelid. Don’t get me started. What are them young people wearing. I saw a lad today and his trousers were below his briefs. A boy like that would have been strung up on a lamp-post in Strabane town in my day. Big dirty boxer shorts. Some bollocks that.”
Farmer thinks she contacted the bug when visiting her younger sister (82) in an old people’s home four miles away. Maisie Farmer, like Jane, never married and lived with her sister until they fell out over religion in 1999. Since then they have patched things up with Maisie moving in the the old people’s home to chase one-time dreamboat Dick Logan (89) who was an ex-marine from the 1950s.
“Maisie said she wasn’t at herself either and had been throwing up all week with the odd dose of explosive diarrhea. I asked her why the feck she hadn’t said it earlier. Typical selfish demented oul bitch. She just sits and stares at that tramp Dick Logan and him completely insane, dribbing away like a child. The smell of pish off him too. Stupidly, I got back into my Nova without washing my hands. Driving home was another bad experience with these sunglassed hoors in their massive cars and a pack of screaming spoilt pricks in the back. In my day you went to bed elated if you only got one welt around the head for coughing or sneezing. Don’t know they’re born.”
Jane hopes to be at herself tomorrow.
Mountains of Pomeroy Downgraded to Hills
One of the Pomeroy ex-mountains
Tension were high in Pomeroy tonight after UTV reported that their mountains were a sham and had always been just a ‘lock of wee hills’ according to the official Tyrone geologist Daniel Durkin.
In a move which has shaken the village to its foundations, the ramifications are mammoth with songs, poems and sign posts needing to be adjusted before midnight tonight. UTV revealed the exclusive as their lead item in this evening’s news, releasing Durkin’s statement to the general public:
“After extensive research over the last few days, we have come to the educated conclusion that there are, in fact, no mountains in Pomeroy. To be honest, there are a few hills and some of them aren’t even that big. I’ve seen bigger sandcastles. These people are deluding themselves. I witnessed women in the shop talking about there being ‘gold in them there mountains’. They even sell ‘The Pomeroy Yeti’ t-shirts to foreigners, making them believe that there’s a creature roaming about Pomeroy’s mounds. They’re just wee drumlins. From midnight tonight, anyone seen promoting the existence of hills or making money from merchandise around this fallacy will be detained without trial. Mountains my arse.”
Pomeranians have reacted angrily to the news with reports tonight of derelict farm buildings on fire and mass looting of the Centra shop. Local bulb-fixer Paddy Molloy voiced the anger of the village:
“Are they blind? Look at them there mountains. They’re massive and in the winter there’d be snow on them. Are you telling me that George Sigerson was wrong when he wrote that song about Renardine and the pale bride? What about the Artane Boys’ Band? What are they going to play now? The Lily of Lough Neagh? I say we burn the whole place down in protest.”
Durkin is currently looking into The Hills Above Drumquin with early indications pointing towards a downgrading to ‘a bit of a heap’.
Moygashel Man Not Fond Of Brussel Sprouts and Christmas
A Moygashel machine operator admitted this morning that he’s not overly enamored with Brussel Sprouts in spite of what he has said at every dinner table he has eaten at around Christmas since 1955. Malachy Carney made the astonishing outburst to his mate Gerry the plumber as they fished for small perch in the Torrent River before sunrise on Wednesday.
“I’m coming clean this year,” he told Gerry the plumber, “I can’t stand the fcukers. Since a young lad I’ve watched people put them in their gob and chew whilst trying not to show the utter feeling of revulsion and disgust on their face. It was a sign of weakness for a man in Moygashel not to like the sprouts. I remember my grandfather passing out after eating his second one and he put it down to ‘bad movements’ so no one asked any questions. I knew rightly. Well, that’s it for me. I’d rather ate a boul a dung.”
Carney’s nightmare
Malachy, who was in a particularly bad mood this morning, also admitted he didn’t really like Christmas and wouldn’t be sending any Christmas cards out this year, even to his in-laws. Gerry took up the story:
“Jaysus he was in foul form altogether. He said he hadn’t received a Christmas present he’d liked since he got a pile of Lego when he was 5. This annoyed me a bit as I’d bought him a pair of Brian Dooher trunks last year. Then he pledged not to reply to cards he received as the majority were a shower of miserable bastards the rest of the year who’d cross the street if they saw you coming. Just when I thought he was finished he said he didn’t believe in Jesus anyway and says there’s no way yer woman rode on a donkey with her nine months pregnant in the depths of winter.”
Malachy repeated the message to Mrs Carney on arriving home, only to be met with an avalanche of abuse about ‘acting the bollocks’ and that he would be eating the sprouts ‘or there’d be no drink bought the year’. Carney said he would take a few then.
Diesel 0.002p Cheaper in Coagh. Crowds Flock.
An estimated 40’000 visited Coagh yesterday, including people from France, after the news broke that the local filling station had boldly SLASHED their diesel prices by 0.002p per litre. Queues were backed right up to Cookstown as drivers filled up anything they could to avail of the unexpected bargain at Henry’s Store on the Urbal Road. Declan Herbert, a retired gardener, took no time in stocking up on fuel:
“I got a text message from my neighbour and immediately thought someone must be dead. I couldn’t believe my eyes when he told me Henry’s had cut the clear stuff by 0.002p per litre. It was a dream come through. I threw the family into the back of the yoke and gave them all a barrel to look after. We must’ve taken 4000 litres back with us, spending the guts of £5000 but it was worth it. Christmas will be a bit bare this year in the house. There’ll definitely be no turkey but look at all that diesel. Now I just need to buy a diesel car and other dieselly stuff.”
Carnage in Coagh
Punters were dealt a slight blow though when paying for the bought diesel. At the till, they were informed of the small print which stated that for customers to avail of the 0.002p reduction, they had to purchase £20 at the hot food counter. Eyewitnesses confirmed reports that mini-riots broke out in the garage as families fought over cooked turkeys and Irish stew in order to reach the £20 quota. Shelf-stacker Gerry Turbett observed the scenes:
“There was carnage in there. People were in a bad mood already because they’d spent hundreds of pounds on diesel only to be told they needed to buy another £20 of meat. Tempers were frayed and I personally saw one woman battering another repeatedly on the ground with a leg of lamb. It was frightening. People were climbing over the counter and stuffing pork chops down their trousers etc before others got to them. Coagh was a quiet town and the only bad thing to happen here was when a fella was caught looking at his neighbour getting ready with a pair of binoculars, the dirty bastard. But, listen, you don’t turn your nose up at a 0.002p diesel sale. “
Henry McCracken released a statement yesterday thanking all customers for their purchases, claiming he’d sold £1.3m in diesel and £9000 in hot food during a 6-hour period yesterday. He added that you could buy two bottles of water for a pound today, as long as you also purchased 3 items from the hardware store.
Galbally Man Says He’s Deadly At Javelin
A Galbally boiler servicer announced yesterday that he’s on course to reach the Olympics in Brazil 2016 at the javelin throwing. Mark Kerlin took the decision to train for the next Olympics in Rio after attending the London games earlier in the year with his father Joe, a former arm-wrestling champion at Galbally sports day.
“I only went to see yer man Bolt and the javelin was on at the same time. I know I was high up, and steaming as well, and that may have distorted my judgement but, Jaysus, them throwers were pure shite. My da agreed with me. He said he has thrown children further. It was then that it dawned on me. In a drunken pledge, I decided to get myself into shape and throw for Ireland in the next Olympics. I am going to put this place on the map. Imagine them Brazilians saying Galbally.”
It took Kerlin a while to get the rhythm
Kerlin managed to steal a javelin from the local primary school and set to work around the back of his house, throwing the thing “3 or 4 times a day”.
“I’m not saying it was easy at first. I spiked the neighbour’s Labrador with my first throw as well as other fatal mishaps. Half of my left ear is missing. What? But I soon got into a rhythm and, with the support of my good wife who tramps out the distance each time, I’m up to 15m a throw. The Irish record is 70m. It’s only a matter of time bejaysus. The cars on the main road probably think there’s something wrong with me when they see me hurling the thing, dressed in a sports vest. Well, I’ll have the last laugh when I line out in Rio de Janeiro, the sniggering fcukers. I can hear what they’re shouting out the window.”
The boilerman has started asking for sponsorship but has not managed to secure any funding from local businesses, labelling them “a miserable shower of fcuking stingy bastards. Typical Galbally hoors. I’m moving to Kildress.”
Dromore Man Has Cut On Leg – Fears For Sanity
Dromore butcher, Seamus Hassett, was said to be ‘inconsolable’ after a quick shower this morning unearthed a cut on his shin. The normally mild-mannered meat merchant was blubbering wildly as family and friends rallied around his house in a show of support.
“I hadn’t taken a shower since last Monday and didn’t think much more of it. As I was soaping away I saw a small cut on my leg, about the width of my small fingernail. I have no recollection of how it got there. You’d think you’d remember something like that.”
The leg. Cut not visible to naked eye.
Hassett gathered his family downstairs and, dressed in only a Transformers towel, questioned them on the cut to see if they could remember anything.
“All I saw were blank faces. Not a dicky. Then my youngest son got his iPhone out and typed in memory loss into the Internet. What he said next has haunted me for the rest of my life, well, since this morning. He mentioned things like Alzheimers, dementia, severe cognitive impairment, aging, depression and death. I just cannot believe it. There was one time, in 1988, when I went out into the shed and forgot why I had headed out there in the first place, for about twenty seconds. I then remembered it was to get a hatchet. I thought that was a one-off but obviously it was a very early warning sign.”
One comfort for Seamus has been the speed of well wishers to the house this morning. A distant cousin, Johnny McMenamin, was the first to arrive at the family home on the Tattysallagh Road.
“To be honest it’s a bit of excitement. Not since the town was burnt to the ground in 1798 has there been this much talk in Dromore. I’m devastated at the news. Jaysus. It could happen to anyone of us at any time and if the Internet says he’s more or less a goner then so be it. My condolences to his family and I can reassure Seamus that we’ll look after his wonderful and beautiful wife as well as the children.”
A collection will be made at the county final involving Dromore and Errigal Ciaran to raise money for whatever Seamus has and if he still has it.
Caledon Gets Computer – Great Joy
Bonfires blazed well into the night in Caledon as news spread regarding the purchase of a computer by someone near the Iron Bridge. The little plantation village, which is still inhabited by some of the Pictish tribe from northern Scotland, had until now resisted all forms of modern communication including mobile phones, electric showers and kettles.
Recently, though, tribe leader Cecil McCreight expressed fears that Caledon might be wiped off the face of the earth if they didn’t promote it or even make people aware of its existence, especially those “middle-class fcukers” in Dungannon and Armagh.
“Yea, it was a tough decision but the majority of the tribe as well as a few natives agreed that it was time to buy a computer. Sometimes I head into Clogher or Dungannon (spit) and I’d say to people on the streets ‘hi I’m Chief McCreight from Caledon’ and all I’d get is a blank face or sometimes a punch in the bake. It’s time to put Caledon on the map.”
Caledon’s first computer
Thousands descended on the home of the person near the Iron Bridge as the delivery van arrived shortly after noon, the first such vehicle to drive through Caledon safely. Previous transport companies had lost fleets of lorries by taking a wrong turn through the village only to be torched and destroyed by the suspicious locals. Local juggler Barney Norris told us:
“Jaysus I’m deadly excited about this. I’d heard that you can see bare women from all over the world. I’ve never seen a bare woman before apart from the streaker at the Caledon Heathen Carnival in 1988. She was my aunt so I sorta didn’t look.”
Excitement levels are expected to reach a crescendo today when someone works out how to turn it on.
Tyrone Lonely Hearts Club Vol. 2
Moortown man, heavy drinker, 35. Seeks any type of woman, size not important, who’s interested in a man who loves his pints, cigarettes, Moortown St Malachy’s and has been known to start fights outside the Glenavon at three o’clock in the morning. Good arms for pouring a must.
Teetotal Stewartstown joiner, 55, following a sad recent loss seeks a replacement mammy. Must like biscuits and answer to the name Minnie.
Augher man, 44, hideous looking, obese, bad odour, bad-tempered, cowardly and lazy. Seeks the complete opposite. No time-wasters.
Loughmacrory woman, 39, currently researching animal public executions, seeks man up to 40 for nights of gentle sobbing while shaking clenched fists at the ceiling. Must have own car.
Bitter unsuccessful Omagh woman, 41, wallowing in an unending pit of self-pity, seeks nerdy, leech-type who I can bore to tears with dull tales and listening to K.D. Lang CDs.
4-toed Mountjoy farmer, 51, likes spiders, buttermilk and a good long mass. Seeks chesty lesbian for the challenge. Must have no sense of smell.
Tall, well-built, frustrated Cookstown woman, 40, can’t take any more rejection, seeks man not unused to the sound of wailing coming from a bedroom from which he is strictly prohibited. Needs to tell me how attractive I am on the hour.
Angry, simple-minded Aghaloo widower, 77, balding, partially blind with a passion for pickles and scotch eggs. Seeks a heavily-tattooed hairy woman for nights of passion in the open fields of Aughnacloy. No freaks.
Omagh Woman, 35. Happily married until husband sponsored an African village goat in her name as a birthday gift. Would like to meet man for whom the phrase ‘I’d really like a pair of diamond earrings’ isn’t meant ironically. Must have holiday home in Donegal and Europe.
Beragh Batman ‘A Bit of a Disaster’
Beragh’s attempts to rid its streets, loanans and ramparts of crime has been abandoned after it failed to clean up any form of law-breaking over a two-week period. Last month, UTV highlighted the alarming rise in crime in Beragh since the start of 2012 with a 200% increase in jumping that red light they have on the Main Street as well as a general increase in cursing. Soon after the report the Beragh Crime Prevention Committee appointed a ‘Batman’ type vigilante who was given powers to deal with any form of illegal or unchristian activity on the spot.
“Ah Jaysus it was a disaster from the start,” local kitchen-fitter Gary Bogue told us. “Sure we all knew it was the Lord Mayor’s wife. She has that oul gammy leg from she was a wean and you could tell by the dander on her, even with the stupid mask on her. It wasn’t even a good mask either. No more like Batman than I’m like a cow clap. No one paid her any heed. Despite witnessing 45 motors break the red light in her first day, she didn’t manage to apprehend any. Once stopped, the offender would simply laugh at her and then tell her to go feck herself the limpy oul hoor. It was a farce. She should have been given an M45 or something and blown the head clean off the first offender. That’d get the message across.”
The Beragh Batman
Operation Batman came to a head when she entered the local bar and took down the names of anyone who she heard cursing. After filling two jotters comprising of almost everyone in the village, she was taken outside by a couple of hardened drinkers and ordered to squawk like a blackbird whilst doing a close form of Riverdance as they clapped and cheered. The Beragh Batman announced her retirement that evening.
“That’s the last time I’ll try to clean up the streets of Beragh. Savages.”
The traffic light was last night reported missing with a 450% increase in general cursing heard in the area. The UN are keeping an eye on proceedings.
Brocagh On “Verge of War” Over Chapel/Church Debate
An internal argument in Brocagh amongst the clergy has left Brocagh on the “verge of war” according to local historian Benjamin McCorry. The row was initiated when new PP for the area Fr Davidson told the congregation at 11 o’clock mass last Sunday from the pulpit to stop calling it Brocagh Chapel and to adopt the correct title ‘Brocagh Church’. Word quickly filtered through to Fr McCann, a Brocagh born and bred priest, who used his homily at the 12 o’clock in Clonoe to denounce anyone who was prepared to follow Fr Davidson’s directive.
“Davidson is a Ballinderry blow-in, the bollox. What would he know about the way we talk. I’ve always called it Brocagh Chapel as did my father and my father’s father. I couldn’t give two shites about what the difference is between a chapel and a church. It’s the way we roll. Let me make myself clear – if I hear anyone calling it Brocagh Church who previously called it chapel then don’t be thinking you’ll be getting anything at communion time. I’d like to think that’ll be applied to Last Rites too.”
Picture from the 1799 brawl
Approximately 150 loyal Davidson followers walked out at that stage with abuse from the pulpit ringing in their ears. “Aye, away ye go ye good for nothing fat bastard”, Fr McCann reportedly shouted at a prominent Brocagh businessman as he left his seat which resulted in a wrestling session in the aisle between at least a dozen opposing parishioners. A shot was reportedly heard outside soon after, though many think it was just a timed gun-scare for chasing crows from the local strawberry field. Historian Benjamin McCorry predicted that this was just the start of it:
“There’s a history of strife over words in Brocagh. In 1799 there was a massive brawl up near Mountjoy Castle over whether it was ‘Lough Neagh’ or ‘Lock Neagh’. The resulting mini-townland war almost wiped out the whole population. I’d fear for the future. We all know that Fr Davidson is officially correct but that doesn’t mean we should change it. We still say ‘tay’ ‘flure’ and ‘dure’ don’t we? Anyone could saying ‘tea’ or ‘door’ is seen as some kind of marbled-mouthed uppity gobshite. I’m with McCann on this. Chapel for me.”
Although Pope Benedict has yet to intervene, rumours suggest the Vatican is waiting to see how the parish bulletin pans out this weekend as both priests have asked for a few lines each to rally their troops.
Tyrone Tribulations 