RTE bosses have attempted to remedy the effect the current lockdown conditions are having on Mass-goers by streaming some of the best Masses from the 60s and 70s ever seen in Ireland.
Starting on Easter Sunday at 7am, their online streaming service will begin with a classic Mass held in Bundoran in 1974 which lasted nearly two hours and had singing and all from the local choir. It includes the hilarious moment when a ginger altar-boy set his own hair on fire when lighting the candles at the start.
Locally, a Mass from Pomeroy in 1978 will be shown on Tuesday at 7pm which was at the time recognised as one of the quickest ever Sunday Masses, lasting 18 minutes. It coincided with the World Cup Final which was being held in Argentina and played at midday GMT.
RTE Streaming CEO Henry Bogue explained:
“Lots of us are really missing Mass at the minute so we’re allowing those in need to binge on some of the greatest Masses ever celebrated on this island by some talented clergy. We hope these classics will bring a smile to our faces and people can even watch them with a mineral, crisps and even a beer.”
RTE have warned viewers that any illegal videoing of the Classic Masses series will be punished severely by either the police force or God himself.
An Omagh clergyman has broken ranks from Church hierarchy by admitting he’s sort of out-of-his-depth preaching to couples about marriage and the trials and tribulations of the sacrament.
Fr Turley, who turned 68 on Monday, acknowledged that there were times that he was talking ‘completely out of his hole’ about love and relationships:
“There were times when I was talking completely out of my hole”
Turley’s revelation has already sparked a reaction from Rome. Vatican officials have sent missives to all priests which will be read out at Mass on Sunday across the country. It sets out to remind worshippers that:
- Priests are married to God and have the same ups and downs real people have
- Many priests were womanisers in their teens and sometimes into their 20s
- Maynooth Seminary had biology lessons once a year where priests learned all about how they were born
Fr Turley, however, rejects the latest directive:
“What the hell do I know about women? A husband came to me recently complaining that his wife isn’t interested in nocturnal activities any more. I just told him to say three Hail Marys and the Confiteor. I was completely out of my depth.”
Turley also admitted his visits to schools to talk about relationships and love usually ended up in children throwing rubbers and crayons at him.
Meanwhile, an ecclesiastical study by Queen’s university has revealed that over 70% of Eucharistic Ministers are ‘some of the biggest crooks in the community’, a claim Fr Turley refused to refute, instead laughing and muttering something about ‘don’t I know it’.
An innovative clergyman has decided to push the boat out and explore new waters in his attempt to drag Catholicism into the 21st century.
Fr Benjamin Magee, who has overseen recent successful initiatives such as iPad Sunday, Hungover Sunday and Witch Sunday, hopes Lingerie Sunday will see the biggest congregation since last year’s Slabberin Sunday when twelve local slabbers were given 4 minutes each to talk about anything they want after the gospel reading.
Fr Magee explained:
“I’ve sent out notes in the bulletin to explain that women, and men for that matter as it is 2016, are encouraged to attend next week wearing lingerie. Anything goes…suspenders, stockings or brassieres of all sorts are acceptable. I expect it to be a lot safer than Witch Sunday when the local hags nearly burnt down the tabernacle by chanting at it.”
Fr Magee, or Benjamin as he prefers to be called, is in the running for Priest of the Year after increasing attendances from 250 to 500 in the space of a year due to his themed Sundays. Although the Vatican have yet to sanction the initiative, insiders believe the Papal Council are delighted at the increased collection money from an area they once described as ‘the most heathen parish in Europe’.
Early reports indicates tents have already been set up outside the church, with many middle-aged bachelor farmers suddenly finding a greater interest in religion and prayers have already been heard from a great number of excitable cattle experts.
One man (56), who wishes to remain anonymous, told us:
“This is going to be deadly. God works in mysterious ways but he has come up trumps again. It’s the bigger wemen I’m into and I’m glad Fr Benjamin has promised the healthier eaters extra prayers if they attend in their intimate garb. I can’t stop rubbing my hands.”
Mass starts at 12pm on Sunday, standing room only.
Joe Grimm, who yesterday turned 111 making him the oldest Tyrone man since records began, maintains long life has nothing to do with food and fitness but is down to a succession of fine women as romantic companions.
Grimm, who was born in Pomeroy in 1904, reckons his best decade was the 1940s when local women were ‘coming out of themselves a wee bit more’ and ‘showing a bit more leg’.
“1947 was a great year for getting women. Gone were the long pleated dresses and square shoulders. In came the cocktail dresses and pencil skirts. It was a deadly time to be sitting on a wall in Pomeroy eating ice cream and gawking at the women heading out of Mass.”
Grimm advised today’s men to give up on lifting weights and running if they want to live a long and healthy life:
“That’s all a load of balls. I sees boys running down the road with water bottles and stuff. And these same boys would run a mile if a woman winked at them. Flirting and courting at least once a day is what keeps the ticker in good shape. I attempt to tackle a different woman every day and have done so since 1951. Maybe one in every forty tackles are successful but that’s good enough for me.”
Despite having experienced 22 restraining orders and 411 trips to Accident & Emergency for chatting up married women, Grimm revealed his favourite opening line that is sure to melt any woman’s heart in Tyrone:
“Did you just fart? ‘Cause you’re blowing me away”
Grimm added he also liked sausages, listening to birds and drinking.
A long-suffering Armagh wife as decided to strike while the iron is hot and highlight the ‘typical Tyronisms’ she’d had to put up with since marrying her Moy husband in 1995.
Conor Mackers (45) has been accused of cynically ironing and making dinner whilst indulging in verbals with his children before school every morning. Mrs Mackers also claimed her husband would throw himself to the ground when out walking and then blame her for pushing him.
Caroline Mackers explained:
“There’d be days he’s ironing my blouses and he’s deliberately and cynically burning tassels or sleeves. You’d see him smirking after. Then when he’s asking the children about school during breakfast he’s start sledging them about how crap they are at the writing or sums. He’s a modern Tyrone man to the core and not the man I thought I’d married back in ’95.”
Mrs Mackers revealed how he deliberately tripped himself queueing up for Communion and then blamed it on a man from Maghery who was three down from him.
“It’s getting worse. This morning he was pulling on his own shirt over his head and then started grappling with himself, ripping his own shirt off again and finally flung himself to the floor. If that wasn’t bad enough he began slagging himself. It’s very inconvenient when we’re in a rush.”
Conor Mackers has played down the allegations and asked the public not to be sucked in by the one-sided allegations, adding ‘it takes two to tango’.
Meanwhile the Moy’s ‘Sledging and Slagging Competition’ has received over 400 applications this year with reigning champion Ainsley Coney from Ardboe favourite to retain his title.
Following his high-profile departures from various soccer teams as a player or manager, as well as some media outlets, Roy Keane has added the 10am Mass at St Malachy’s in Woodbridge to his quitting list, labelling the Tyrone born priest Fr Quinn ‘a clown’.
Worshippers who sat near Keane during the service claim to have heard him muttering stuff throughout the readings and throw piercing stares at a 13-year old boy who sneezed three times during the Gospel.
Daily mass-goer Harold Burkin, who normally sits behind Keane on a Sunday, maintained the warning signs were there from the opening Introductory Rites:
“His stubble was unusually haggard and he had that deep furrowed brow look from the moment he knelt down for a few pre-mass prayers as he normally does. Two women were whispering away about last night’s X-Factor to his left and I heard him muttering something about the ‘blue-rinse brigade’ and ‘a pack of feckin donuts’. I knew something was going to blow.”
Keane appears to have walked out just after the Sign of Peace which involves worshippers shaking hands with anyone sitting close to them. Fr Quinn, who originally hails from Plumbridge in Co Tyrone, decided to shake hands with the first five rows as it was the first Sunday of Advent:
“He just stared at me but I continued to hold out my hand. But then he said ‘how are you in effing close proximity to me you effing clown – get back on your pulpit and do your job, clampit’. I admit I was sort of shaken by the incident and made a few mistakes thereafter. I’d completely forgot about the Prayers of the Faithful earlier and so tried to squeeze them in before Communion.’
Members of the congregation maintain Keane soon got up and mumbled something about ‘a bunch of amateurs’ and used the ‘effin clown’ words again.
Following the worldwide acclaim for the singing priest at a wedding in County Meath, priests across Tyrone have been told to up their game and capitalize on the feel-good factor directed towards the Catholic Church since the video went viral.
Reports emerging this morning suggests parishioners are to expect fireworks in some parts of the county with rumours of juggling, tightrope balancing and dog-tricks rife, especially around the Loughmacrory area.
A Kildress grave-digger and church groundsman has promised a spectacular show for the parish, having witnessed midnight practice sessions whilst digging graves for possible future bereavements. Paddy McNally (55) added:
“It’s going to be some craic and fair play to the clergy in Kildress. I don’t want to say too much and spoil the occasion but the four priest in the area are going to put on a memorable show. One is dressed as a Native American Indian, one as a policeman, one as a builder and the last is a cowboy. They’re singing something about the Young Men’s Christian Association although luckily they have shortened it to YMCA and do these mad arm movements. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
In Moortown, Fr Graham has been reportedly spotted balancing on a unicycle in his spare time whilst juggling chalices and candles. This has hurled pressure on the Ardboe clergy to rethink their idea of simply reading Mass in a funny voice.
“Yes, as soon as we heard about Graham on the unicycle, we went back to the drawing board. I’m not at liberty to say how we’ll outperform the Moortown ones but let’s just say it involves face paint, blue pipe, a bull and ten bottles of stout. It’ll be deadly, I guarantee that much. All in the name of our Lord.”
The Vatican are monitoring proceedings closely.
An absent-minded Dungannon bookmaker lost an estimated £30’000 after forgetting to put his clock forward this morning. Toan’s admitted they were caught out badly but have vowed to make up for it by laying on bets for anything going including two men running up a road.
Punters in the town were made aware of the error after early riser and chronic gambler Kieran McGahey put a bet on a race in Australia having realised Toan’s clocks were all wrong. In addition to this, due to essential maintenance work all TVs were down. Already knowing the result, he claimed a 1-2-3 forecast and pocketed himself £250 in the process. Before long, the premises were heaving with hopeful punters. Mary Corr (71) explained:
“I hadn’t set foot in a bookies in my life. I went straight from Mass to Toan’s when I got the text from one of the altar boys during the Homily to say the bookies were on the wrong time. There must’ve been 200 people squeezed into Toan’s, all putting money on Shakalakaboomboom to win the 12:30 in Melbourne, even though it was already 1:30. I can’t believe Toan himself didn’t cop on. I think he was still stocious from the Abba Tribute concert the night before.”
The penny finally dropped with Toan after 450 people phoned in to bet on an unknown footballer named Dale Carrick to score the first goal in the Hearts v Hibs Scottish league game.
“I should have known. When I saw Mary Corr in her best frock and feathered hat in the shop scribbling away on a docket I should have copped on. Even the priest himself phoned in about Dale Carrick scoring first, which he did after a few minutes of the game. I had to pay him £4000. Those bloody clocks. I still had Mamma Mia ringing around my head this morning to think straight.”
Toan has promised to recoup the money by setting up a series of bets on things like the colour of the next car to pass the shop or the woman with the biggest feet on Scotch Street etc.
A Caledon man is being treated for what is believed to be post traumatic stress disorder, after venturing into his wife’s handbag to get a Polo mint.
59-year old Fergal Coughlan, a gas-lighter from Caledon, was travelling back from mass with his wife Nellie on Sunday morning when he asked her for a sweet, who instructed him to ‘go into the left hand bit’ of her handbag.
“Jaysus, it was tara boys”, said the distressed Coughlan. “One minute I was asking for a wee sweetie and the next minute it was like falling down thon wormhole in Alice in Wonderland. Remember Mary Poppins’ handbag? It was like that, except with more stuff in it. I’ve seen things that’ll stay with me til I go to the grave”.
Coughlan claims he found a pair of pliers, a half-eaten Marathon bar, a balaclava, a ticket stub for ‘One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest’, a verruca sock, an old photo of Kevin McCabe, some paper clips, and a packet of unused strawberry-flavoured condoms.
“I’m disgusted and affronted”, remarked Coughlan. “What on earth was she doing with a Marathon? She doesn’t even like chocolate. And it was covered with mould. It must have been there for years. The nuts nearly broke my teeth it was that bad”.
Coughlan also claims he found half a brick, a pair of castanets, three Betamax video recordings of Starsky and Hutch, a radiator bleed key, ten unused, ripped-up pairs of tickets for Gareth Gates, and a pound of mince.
Commenting on her husband’s traumatic episode, wife Kitty told us,
“He needs to grow a pair. A woman needs all sorts of bits and bobs. Be prepared, that’s my motto. And anyway, he went into the wrong bit. When I said ‘left hand bit’, I meant left hand bit at the front outside, not the inside at the back. The clift”.
“And after all that?” said the despondent husband. “No feckin’ polo mints”.
Tyrone Tribulations can exclusively reveal that the queue for Garth Brooks tickets in Dungannon has set off a county-wide queuing addiction encompassing all manner of entertainment, in the hope of making it onto the news.
Our west Tyrone reporter Jasmine Cat revealed the extent of the phenomenon around the Strabane area:
“As we speak there is a queue of about 4o pensioners outside the front door at Strabane Parish Church for Sunday’s Mass at 10am, four days away. Fr Bollan is seen as someone who says a good quick mass and numbers are limited. Missing out means attending the noon Mass and it usually lasts the guts of an hour. There’s also a good size queue for the Strabane Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgender drama night on Friday the 14th. That’s a quare wait for them; the majority are married farmers who just want to attend anything that might be free and for the chance of getting on TV.”
In the east of the county we have reports of large queues forming already outside the bru office in Dungannon for Monday’s payouts as well as for the bus at Quinn’s Coach Hire in Ardboe for the Derry game on Saturday night.
Ardboe Cross committee member reckons their queue is the most unusual:
“This queuing craic has to stop. There’s a queue of 200 for the Ardboe Cross even though it’s permanently open. No one is budging past the entrance gate. They’re just waiting til UTV or BBC get here. Sure not even the Mid-Ulster Herald are interested.”
Meanwhile a mile-long queue in a field in Ballygawley has finally dispersed after three days with no one quite clear what they were queuing for.
A parish priest has made an impassioned plea to parishioners to stop trying to duck out early from Sunday mass, after a man in his 40s was caught dressing up as a 3-year old child so that he could sit in the crying chapel and leave early.
“Matters have gone beyond a joke”, complained Father Sean O’Leary of The Church of St Thomas, in Tullyhogue. “The most dangerous place in Tyrone is thon chapel car park after mass on a Sunday morning. I’ve seen pensioners sprinting for their cars who thirty minutes before could scarcely get their arses up off the pew to come up for communion. What’s the world coming to? Sunday’s sermon was one of the best I’ve done, all about Christian existentialism and the undecidability of faith. I totally nailed it, so people can’t complain that it wasn’t a riveting listen. And if they think I’m going to do all the exciting stuff on ecumenical theology, they can think on”.
Local man Eugene Moody, a 42-year old bird’s nest maker, admitted trying to pass himself off as a toddler.
“It’s all very well for Father O’Leary to go bangin’ on about the mystery of God and sucklike, but I had a slurry tank to clean. I thought the easiest way was to go into the crying chapel and then nip out early. What’s wrong with that? It was all goin’ fine, except I had had a skinful the night before at Tally’s in Galbally and my stomach was like one of thon lava lamps yolks from the 70s.By the time I came back from communion I was sweating like a horse and so help me God I vomited all over my romper suit. Jaysus, you should have seen the looks I was getting. At least I caught most of it in my bonnet. And then five minutes later did this weean next to me not go and do exactly the same thing, and nobody batted an eyelid. Explain that”.
Father O’Leary has since promised those parishioners who stay until the end of next Sunday’s mass that he will ‘have a wee word with the Lord about a lock of extra salvation’.
Controversial parish priest Father Dermott Connor, launched a radical new mass this morning, aimed at bringing mass to the masses in the 21st century.
The 38-year old priest of St Matthew’s Parish Church in Cornamaddy near Omagh, explained,
“We’re ringing the changes. Young ones won’t go. Weekly dues are down. We need to raise money to renovate the church tower. And to replace the snooker table in the vestry”.
The priest has raised eyebrows amongst his flock with some of his far-reaching changes.
“We brought the communion wafers bang up to date and switched them to Pringles. The young ones loved it. We kept it tasteful and stuck to the conventional ready salted flavour, nothing flash like thon barbeque ones. Although I did toy with the idea of doing ‘Jesus n Onion’ flavour. And ‘Exalt n Vinegar’”.
Fr Connor was however keen to show his respect for the usual traditions.
“Of course we still did the Death Notices but we changed them to ‘Death Shout Outs’, to liven things up a wee bit for the dearly departed. We have to be sensitive to the traditions of the church but also alive to the modern times. But we can combine both. Which is why I think turning the queue for communion into a big conga line was the best idea although the replacement hips brigade found the going tough. And Mrs O’Halloran has been practising Sister Sledge’s ‘We Are Family’ on the church organ for a few weeks now and we’ll give that a rattle next week”.
The forward-thinking priest has also replaced the angelus bells with a ‘bass cannon’, a 30-second blast of hardcore dance trance music that’ll get its first airing tonight. 88 year old Kitty McCabe gave her view:
“Ah he’s some bollox that boy. It’d be more in his line to de-modernise it. I really miss kissing the Bishop’s ring and the Latin. Also, the priests used to turn their backs to you and we could lark about behind them swapping snuff and winking at far out cousins. Though them Pringles are nice enough now but why not a slice of Veda”.
Other ideas being considered include replacing the offering of the the sign of peace, usually a weekly handshake with people in neighbouring seats, with high-fiving each other, and putting MTV into the confession box.
It emerged this morning that the last child still believing in ‘The Man’ in Loughmacrory has given up the ghost on the fictional disciplinarian, leaving parents to think of new ways to keep tabs on their children.
Seamus Campbell, a five year old terror from the Ballybrack Road, told his mother this morning to ‘bring it on, big girl’ after she threatened him with ‘The Man’ if he didn’t get his uniform on quickly.
A visibly shaken Mary Campbell confirmed the worst:
“We were aware that our Seamus was the last child in The Lough to still believe in The Man. This is a sad day for the area. The Man was a brilliant psychological tactic to employ over the years. The restaurant here was a peace haven as children sat timidly in case ‘The Man’ would come and shout at them. Bedtime wasn’t a bother as ‘The Man’ would find out and be cross. It was deadly easy raring young uns. I myself lived in fear of The Man anywhere I went, especially at Mass. If I spoke at all, I was told that ‘The Man’ would drag me out by the hair and kick me around the field. Did me no harm.”
It appears that the lack of belief in ‘The Man’ arrived in Loughmacrory around the time that Peter Barry, aged six at the time, was told that ‘The Man’ would give him a clip around the ear if he didn’t stop throwing white bonbons at the Santa during the Christmas Show in the clubrooms. When the rebellious Barry refused to stop and the fictional ‘Man’ never appeared, other youngsters began to cop on to the fact that possibly The Man didn’t exist at all. They all began pelting Santa with Wine Gums.
“Myself and the husband will have to think of something new now. Loughmacrory has gone to the dogs with children running amok at night breaking things and shouting. They’ve no fear now at all. I’ve threatened them with ‘Daddy’ but my four year old just laughed and fired a tuna sandwich at his head. The country’s couped.”
The Loughmacrory Parents’ Association are thinking of hiring some shadowy foreign actor, preferably unshaven with a big scar on his face, to walk around the roads with a scowl on his face, pretending to be The Man. 98% of children in Tattyreagh still believe in ‘The Man’.
A primary five altar boy making his much anticipated debut at Saturday night mass last weekend maintains he was set-up by more experienced altar boys, probably the P7 lad, after he rang the bell during a period of silent reflection. Fr Lenny McGee, a short-tempered clergyman from outside the county, reacted badly to the mistiming youngster but has since forgiven the boy’s momentary lapse. Johnny Harbinson is adamant he was set up:
“To be honest, I was a bit green about it. My da had been an altar boy of fine repute and uncles would tell me he had the steadiest hand in the country for holding the plate under chins like they used to at communion. I had a lot to live up to and the pressure maybe got to me. One of the other lads handed me the stick for hitting the bell and I do remember thinking it wasn’t how I thought it would look like. There was no soft head on it – just a bit of lead.”
Young Harbinson went on to explain the moment he realised he’d been hoaxed:
“The bigger lad said he’d wink when it was time to hit the bell and to wallop it with the deadliest force I could muster. I heard the priest say ‘bow down your heads in silence and pray for forgiveness’ early on in the mass as he sat down on a seat to reflect. I looked at the p7 boy, he winked, so I hit the bell with the stick of lead with the most might I had in me. The noise was earth-shattering and I could see the elderly cradle their heads with the squealing from their hearing aids. A window shattered at the back. The ambulance was called to see to a couple of OAPs with weak valves. My lasting memory was a visibly-shocked Fr McGee shouting ‘Holy Jaysus’ with a scowl on him like nothing I’d seen before.”
Harbinson has been ‘rested’ this week but is expected to make a second appearance at the start of May.
We went out and about this morning to catch the opinions of the early shoppers in Cookstown regarding how their Christmas went:
“Ghost-oh. It was some handlin. I had a few stiff ones on Christmas Eve but came home early to let herself head out to pick up a few last minutes. I must’ve had more drink in me than I thought as I fell asleep whilst looking after the weeins. I woke an hour later to find they’d opened every present under the tree and ate most of the chocolates. She was like a pishmire when she came home. Christmas was a cold, dark day. She didn’t even comment on the pliers I got her.” JOHN DEVLIN, ARDBOE
“Santa the bastard. Didn’t come near me. Well, he can slide on. Did ye hear oul Margaret died this morning? She’ll not have to do that again I suppose.” PATSY JOHNSTONE, DREGISH
“Ah it was OK. Big feed and all but you miss The Irish News.” DARREN HUBBERT, AGHALOO
“Terrible. I’ve nine children and they just wrecked the place. At one stage two of my sons were in casualty having shot each other in the eyeball with an air rifle. A daughter broke her ankle trying to roller-skate down Scotch Street. Uncle Joe got drunk by midday and vomited over his own dinner. Mark, my husband, didn’t like the pants I got him as they were too small and he thought I was sending him a message. Hateful memories.” CATHY MULLAN, DUNGANNON
“Brillant day altogether. Went to mass and all the wemen had new clothes on. I was so impressed I went to all the masses in the neighbouring parish to look at the women and their frocks. It’s my favourite day of the year.” SEAMUS MCANALLAY, OMAGH
“A buckin book about Louis the bollocks Walsh. What was he thinking, the miserable oul hoor.” KATE CAMPBELL, COALISLAND
“An effin tractor convention” were the words uttered by an irritated Fr Hannigan last week during his homily at a packed Clonoe church. HM Revenue & Custom confirmed that during extreme weather farmers can use red diesel in their tractors to help grit and clear snow from public roads, earlier in the month. In an obvious floutation of the new ruling, it has been estimated that every household in the parish now own a second hand tractor for everyday use, from going to the local shop for milk to bringing the children to carol services. Fr Hannigan’s patience finally cracked after the racket made by late-comers arriving in their New Hollands made the opening ten minutes of his service completely inaudible.
“The penny dropped when I saw Mrs McGrath and Mrs Taggart arriving at Saturday night’s mass in their own tractors. McGrath was attempting to steer a creaking 1967 Cockshut Hartparr through the front pillars. She broke the head off one of them and bulled on through the once-beautiful garden. My maid was distraught when she saw her demolished dahlia beds. Mrs Taggart was some sight. Descending from her Massey 2004, didn’t she get her frock caught somewhere in the cab, ripping the fabric from around her behind. There was some queue behind her at communion. Men who never took the bread were up like a shot for a gawk. No one will complain about the awkwardness of driving these monsters as the money saved on untaxed fuel seems to be worth the hassle. It has to stop though. The church grounds resemble a monster truck rally. And the buckin sound.”
Teachers have also complained about the carnage at hometime when over 150 tractors and snow ploughs turn up to collect the children. Police appear to be powerless to intervene as the roads are so bad around the area that even pensioners justified tramping through the shite in Davy Browns with Christmas presents balancing on the drawbars.
Alienated Strabane lady, Mifter Maguire, has enraged the local headmasters and clergy by publicly denouncing many proverbs that have reportedly held the town together as a close-knit community for centuries. Standing on a Guinness crate outside Mass last Sunday, Maguire rhymed off a litany of useless proverbs, often using extreme measure to prove their pointlessness.
Starting off with ‘the pen is mightier than the sword’, she lifted a young lad from under her skirt (later identified as a nephew) and jabbed him several times in the thigh with a pen. After mild pleas from the boy to be released, she produced a machete-like instrument and hacked uncontrollably at the unfortunate guinea pig’s buttocks, the boy saved only by grabbing the aforementioned biro and stabbing Mifter in the ear.
As the crowds increasingly gathered closer, she dismissed many other idiomatic expressions including ‘you are what you eat’ by devouring a packet of Beef Faggots from Birmingham and asking the crowd to ‘explain that then’. Maguire was taken away by the local Health Care assistants midway through destroying the figure of speech that ‘it could be worse’ but long before a sizable few of the Strabane congregation left completely dejected at their life so far.