You can't beat an egg!

Our Angela was giving the kids their breakfast the other morning. It was the usual bedlam with the baby screaming blue murder, and the two-year-old firing spoonfuls of porridge around the room like a hammer-thrower in a blindfold.

"Wha' do youse want for yer breakfast?" Angela asked the older two lads. Chandler is five going on forty, and Christian is a year or so younger.

"Gimme a bleedin' boiled egg," Chandler said.

When Angela told me, I said that I couldn't imagine where he had learned such language. 

"Could ya not?" she asked. I think she was alleging something. 

Angela is like her mother. If she's not pleased with something, you'll soon know all about it. You'd never have a problem distinguishing between a delicate little snowdrop and a pissed-off Angela.

"Wha' did ya say?" she roared at Chandler. 

If he had any brains he would have realised that something was up, and that he'd better watch his step. But he takes after his father, who is as bright as a 2 watt bulb, so he didn't do either of those things.

"I said I want a bleedin' egg."

I won't describe what happened next, in case someone calls in a social worker. I'll just say that it was a bit like that time when the lads jumped Julius Caesar. One minute he was grand, Jack-the-Lad, Emperor of Rome and not a bother on him. The next he's lying in a heap on the floor, wondering what the hell hit him, and what he had done to deserve it. So it was with Chandler.

When Angela had done her best to administer an elocution lesson, she turned her attention to little Christian who had been an observer of the scene.

"Now, wha' do YOU want for yer breakfast?" she asked.

"I don't know. Bu' I don't want a bleedin' boiled egg."

The hilarious new comedy novel 'It's a Desperate Life' is now available as a paperback or e-book from Amazon and all good booksellers, and through http://peterhammondauthor.com

Dublin bread wars

In the 1960s, the two main bakers in Dublin battled to the death with radio jingles to provide our daily bread:

'Johnston, Mooney and O'Brien make the best bread, best bread, bread you can rely on. It is Johnston, Mooney and O'Brien for your favourite family pan.'

'K for Kennedy, E for Energy, N for Nice and Nourishing, E for Enjoyable, D for Delicious. YS means You're Satisfied.'

Kennedy's lost the fight, and closed their bakery in Parnell Street in 1971. (It was Great Britain Street when it opened in 1850). 

Rumour had it that JM&O'B's campaign was assisted by children who were paid by them in sticky buns to sing in the streets:

“Don’t eat Kennedy’s Bread, it’ll stick to your belly like lead, you’ll be farting like thunder, with your trousers asunder, don’t eat Kennedy’s Bread.”

and “Kennedy’s bread, would kill a man dead, especially a man, with a baldy head.”

The hilarious new comedy novel 'It's a Desperate Life' is now available as a paperback or e-book from Amazon and all good booksellers, and through http://peterhammondauthor.com 

Dublin's Tower of Babel

It's not so many years ago since the strangest and most exotic human specimens that you would find in Dublin would have originated  in Kerry or Donegal. They were weird and colourful enough, but now the place is like the Tower of Babel. Even in the little school I went to, they're talking 30 different languages! Mrs Garvey, the Headteacher, told our Angela that it's very difficult with so many of the chisslers speaking English as an additional language.

"Would ya ever feck off," I said. "Sure, aren't we ALL speakin' English as an additional language! Join the feckin' club!"

I've no problem with foreigners coming here. We sent our emigrants to every country in the world for generations, so it's only fair that we have a few of theirs back.  'Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free', is my motto.

But I have to admit that it's not without its problems. I was in Town last week with Peggy, and I slipped in to one of those gastric pubs for a quick pint, while Peggy was in Dunnes trying on shoes or knickers or something. It was a big barn of a place with a load of foreign staff running around with trays of food and drinks.

The manager called over a young Chinese-looking lad.

"Jimmy, I won't need ya after this shift," he said. "Ya can pick up wha' y'are owed afterwards."

"Solly - I no unnerstan'."

"I said I don't need ya anymore. Y'are finished. Done. Completo. Finito."

"Solly - I no unnerstan'."

The manager looked exasperated.

"Ah, feck off then. I'll sack someone else. Eh, Wojtek, c'mere!"

The hilarious comedy novel 'It's a Desperate Life' is now available as a paperback or e-book from Amazon and all good booksellers, and through http://peterhammondauthor.com

Rain is feckin' dangerous

I paddled through the floods down to Magowan's last night, and was having a quiet pint when Ginger Celtic came in. Ginger was looking even more agitated than usual, so I asked him what was the matter with him.

"I'll tell ya," he said. "I was out doin' a job in Celbridge, an' it took a bit longer than I thought it would."

"Did it?" I asked - which was thick, because hadn't he just told me that it did? Ginger ignored me anyway.

"I was beltin' back, doin’ a steady sixty, when some gobshite braked in front o' me, an' I had to brake too."

I nodded my sympathy. The world is gone mad with gobshites braking all over the shop.

"Anyway, the van went into a massive skid on the wet. I was on a sharp right hand bend, an' all I could see was an oul wan standin’ at a bus stop. I was headin’ straight for her!"

"Jaysus Ginger!" I said. "Wha' happened?"

"Lucky enough, the kerb was nearly a foot high, an' I hit it sideways, square on. So instead o’ goin’ up on the path, the van bounced off of it.”

“She was blessed!” I said.

“Yeah! I was sittin’ there shakin’ like a jelly – ya know the way ya’d be?”

I nodded that I knew.

“The next thing she’s bangin’ on the winda on the passenger side. I thought she was goin’ to ate the head off o' me. I pressed the button an' opened it a bit.”

"Wha' did she say?" I asked.

“Are ya goin’ into Town?”

“Are ya goin’ into Town?” I echoed.

“Yeah - she wanted a lift - an’ me nearly after turnin’ her into strawberry feckin' jam."

We laughed our arses off.

The hilarious new comedy novel 'It's a Desperate Life' is now available as a paperback or an e-book from Amazon and all good booksellers, and through http://peterhammondauthor.com

Christian Charity

At the end of mass this morning, Fr Collins told us a story about a priest in Cork. I think that Fr Collins is from Kerry, so there would be no love lost.

The priest answered a knock at the presbytery door, and found a travelling man standing there.

"Ah, there y'are Father!" he said. "I was wonderin' if ya could spare me the price of a ..."

He got no further.

"No. I'm afraid I've no money here at all," the priest said. "You see when I was a student, my brother up in Tipperary paid for all my fees and lodgings. So any money I have now, I send up to him."

The traveller was disappointed, but not defeated.

"Well, maybe a coat then Father? The oul coat I have is very bad, and maybe you'd have ..."

"No, I can't help you there either," said the priest. "I did have a fine warm coat, but with the brother up in Tipperary out on the farm in all weathers, I thought that he'd get better use out of it, so I sent it up to him."

The traveller nodded his understanding.

"Well, maybe a pair of boots then? The ones I have on me are full of holes and ..."

"I'm afraid you're out of luck there as well," said the priest. "I did have a good pair, but again I thought that they'd be great for the brother up in Tipperary, so I sent them up to him. So I'm sorry I can't be of any help to you. But before you go, let me give you a blessing."

"Ah, don't bother Father," said the traveller. "For if it was worth anything, you'd have sent it up to your bloody brother in Tipperary!"

The hilarious comedy novel 'It's a Desperate Life' is now available as a paperback or an e-book from Amazon and all good booksellers, and through http://peterhammondauthor.com

Roses are red, violets are blue ...

As Valentine's Day approaches, you'll be mulling over what to do for your beloved. Based on years of bitter experience with my ever-loving missus, I can offer a few tips:

Don't buy her a bathroom scales. Peggy had been going on about losing weight, and I thought I was being helpful. I got a great bargain at the auction with a set that were previously used to weigh coal - but they were near enough spotless. You could weigh yourself in stones and pounds, or in kilos if you wanted a second opinion. Peggy didn't like them, and being the kind of woman who wears her heart on her sleeve, she let me know.

"Are ya tryin' to be funny?" she asked.

I tried to look hurt, but it must have come out like a smirk.

"Ya can take tha' stupid grin off yer face," she said, "an' get tha' piece o' junk outta here before I brain ya with it."

Another year, I read an article in the Herald about keeping your relationship fresh. It said that the trick was to do something surprising. So I brought her on a romantic weekend away. I don't know if you've ever been in a caravan in Brittas Bay in February? It was fairly brisk and bracing. There was a gale blowing in off the sea, and rain coming down like a waterfall. Penguins were packing up and fecking off somewhere warmer when we got there. I got a loan of the caravan off a fella in Magowan's, and apart from a couple of places where the rain was getting in, it wasn't too bad. Peggy didn't even need to do the cooking, because there was a chipper next to the pub.

But she didn't like it. There was as much chance of kindling romance, as there was of starting a camp-fire. She complained all the way home, until her voice gave out with the laryngitis and the pleurisy.

Last year, I forgot all about it, and it only dawned on me on the 16th. I thought I'd gone deaf, as the only sounds in the happy home for the previous 48 hours were of doors being slammed and crockery being fecked onto the table in what I took to be a meaningful way - although the meaning had been lost on me - and I didn't want to spoil it by asking.

My strong recommendation to you is that you give her a copy of It's a Desperate Life, and to hell with the expense. After she's read it, she might think you're not so bad after all!

The hilarious new comedy novel 'It's a Desperate Life' is now available as a paperback or an e-book from Amazon and all good booksellers or through http://peterhammondauthor.com

Songs of Praise

I was in Magowan's early yesterday evening, sitting up at the bar with a pint. I'd brought Bertie out for a walk, and left him tied to a lamp-post outside. There was hardly anyone in the place, other than a few stalwarts like myself. Betty was passing the time filling shelves and polishing glasses, hoping for brisker trade later on.

Songs o' Praise was on the telly. I've always liked that show, even though yer man Aled Jones is a pain in the arse. He's far too sweet to be wholesome, he is.

They were lashing into Guide me, O thou great redeemer, and I was thinking that He wasn't doing much to guide me that time I fell off my bike into the canal! But I'd be willing to forgive and forget if He'd guide me to picking a few winners at Cheltenham.

"Eh, Betty, will ya change tha' over to RTE?"

This request came from a fella in a pork-pie hat, drinkin' a pint of Harp - the fella not the hat - sitting over by the wall. I turned on me stool to get a good look at him.  I'd seen him in Magowan's before, but I didn't really know him.

"Excuse me," I said. "I'm watchin' tha'!"

"Oh I'm sorry," says he. "I didn't know tha' ya were a Protestant!"

"Listen pal," I said. "Jus' because I'm a drunk doesn't mean I'm a Catholic!"

That shut him up.

The hilarious new comedy novel 'It's a Desperate Life' is now available in paperback and as an e-book from Amazon and all good book sellers or through http://peterhammondauthor.com