Thursday 29 May 2014

M&S for all your shopping needs


Don't forget to order a copy of 'It's a Desperate Life' for Father's Day - do it now! Not socks. Real men never need more socks.This is a myth put up by women who exalt newness over comfort and familiarity. 

Last Monday Peggy went shopping for brassieres, knickers and tights. For herself, like - not me. She puts these articles of clothing under enormous stress so that they never seem to last very long on her. As I say, I've got socks and underpants that are older than most policemen,and there's still loads of wear left in them.

Tights in particular are a complete joke and a con. They're obviously not meant to last - certainly not on a woman like Peggy. You might as well be trying to hold back the incoming tide with a stern remark. I've told her time and time again to get herself some proper woolly socks, but I might as well be talking to the wall.

Anyway, she was traipsing backwards and forwards between Marks & Trotsky's and Dunnes-Stores-Better-Value-Beats-Them-All-Everyday, getting quotes and estimates, as she does.

I wasn't with her myself because life is too short for that class of thing, and anyway I had an important investment decision to make with regard to a thing that was running at Roscommon.

She got back in time to make the tea - dragging several sacks of lingerie behind her - and told me what happened.

She was in Marks, stress-testing gussets and elastic, when her attention was drawn to a drunk who had entered the premises. He staggered up and down several aisles, crashing into things and knocking them over. He seemed to be looking for something. Peggy thought that he might have remembered that he needed to buy a present for his wife's birthday. (I think that was a dig at me, because I somehow forgot again this year - a bit of a surprise after what happened last year! But that's another story.)

Eventually, he wandered into the changing-room area and locked himself into one of the little cubicles.

By then the store authorities had been alerted and a young under-manager was sent to investigate. He went into the adjoining cubicle and listened. All he could hear was the sound of the drunk grunting and muttering to himself.

'Ahem, excuse me, sir,' he said. 'Are you okay? Do you need any assistance?'

'Ah yeah! Good man!' the drunk replied.

'Is there any paper on your side?'


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

Thursday 22 May 2014

Father's Day 2014


As Father's Day approaches you'll be agonising over what to buy for your one. Well stop agonising. Get him a copy of 'It's a Desperate Life'. You will establish yourself as his favourite child for evermore. Let the other eejits get him the socks.

Speaking of fathers, my Da used to tell a story about a wake at a house near Smithfield. The priest came along to offer his condolences to the family. As he turned into the street, he was somewhat surprised to hear that the joint was hopping. Eventually his knocking was answered by the man of the house, and inside he found the room was jammed full of people drinking, singing and dancing. The corpse was lying on the floor.

'That's disgraceful,' the priest said. 'The corpse should be reposing on the bed, not thrown like that on the floor.'

'Ah yeah, Father,' said the householder. 'I know tha'! The only thing is tha' we need the bed for the coats, d'ya see?'

The priest was not an unreasonable man, and he did indeed see.

'Well, you could put the corpse on the table then,' he said.

The householder shook his head sadly.

''Bu' Father, the dhrink is on the table.'

The priest scratched his head.

'Well, why not three chairs then? You could lay the corpse across three chairs.'

The householder could see nothing wrong with this idea, and he looked for help from the assembled mourners.

'Hey, lads, lads! Can we have three chairs for the corpse?'

And the enthusiastic cry went up:  'HIP, HIP... HOORAY!'

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

Thursday 15 May 2014

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?


I remember the first morning I woke up as a married man, lying beside Peggy in our little home in the Daymo. It was summertime and still quite early. Through the open window I could hear the little birds chirping away like lunatics in the tree outside. A velvety breeze ruffled the curtains, allowing the sun's rays to peek in. By its light I could see Peggy’s face on the pillow, peaceful and still sleeping. I planted a little kiss on her cheek, slipped out of bed and went downstairs.

I crept out and went around to Gorman's shop for the Independent. Then, keeping as quiet as a mouse in its stocking feet, I cooked up a breakfast of sausages, rashers, black and white pudding, fried egg and tomatoes. I put this on a big tray alongside a plate of hot buttered toast. There was also a pot of tea, orange juice and the newspaper. To add a small flourish, I got a handful of daisies from the garden and put them into a little china vase, which also went on the tray.

I carried the whole lot back up to the bedroom and gently eased the door open. Peggy was still fast asleep.

‘Wakey, wakey,’ I said softly. ‘It’s breakfast time, Mrs Flynn!’

Her eyes fluttered open, and she gave a cute little stretch and a yawn. She looked at me and smiled as she sat herself up. I put the tray across her lap, and she stroked my hand.

‘Oh Frank,’ she said. ‘This is lovely. It really is.’

‘Yeah, I know,’ I said. ‘An’ tha’s the way I want it every day for the rest o’ me life.’


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

Thursday 8 May 2014

The demon drink


My father used to tell a story about a very poor family who were neighbours of theirs back in Marrowbone Lane. 

Jem and Rose Clarke had nine children. The family often went to bed hungry as Jem had no education, skill or trade and he was often unemployed. To make matters worse, he spent whatever money they had in the pub, due to an unhealthy fondness he had for drink.

The Parish Priest, feeling sorry for Rose and the kids, promised that he would get Jem a permanent job if Jem would take the pledge. Jem agreed, and started work in the St James's Gate brewery the following Monday. Back in those days Guinness used to ferry the barrels of the black stuff down the Liffey on barges to the waiting ships, and Jem was given the job of bargeman.

All went well for over a year. Jem stayed off the drink, and brought home his wages to Rose every Friday. The children had food, clothes and heat, and Rose was delighted. But it was not due to last. Jem was surrounded by temptation, and he started having a little sip every now and again. The little sips got bigger and more frequent.

One day he was steering his barge down the river, and he misjudged his approach to Butt Bridge. The barge hit one of the supports at full tilt. Jem was catapulted into the water, and he was fished out an hour later down at the North Wall, as dead as a drowned rat.

After the funeral, my grandmother was in with Rose, doing her best to provide sympathy and support.

'God love ya,' she said. 'An' ya were doin' so well, with Jem earnin', an' givin' up his money. Now y'are worse off than ever. Ya poor thing!'

Just then there was a knock on the door, and when they opened it a man in a suit came in.

'I'm very sorry to trouble you Mrs Clarke at this terrible time,' he said. 'I'm from the Guinness welfare department, and I just wanted to tell you about the lump sum and pension arrangements. As Mr Clarke died in the service of the company, I've calculated that you'll be entitled to a lump sum of £500 and a pension of £8 a week.'

This was a lot of money at the time. After agreeing when Rose would call at the office to complete the necessary paperwork, the man excused himself with many expressions of sorrow and regret, and left.

My grandmother broke the stunned silence.

'Jaysus, Rose isn't tha' brilliant? Poor oul Jem did his best to look after ya when he was alive, an' he's still lookin' after ya - an' the poor man neither able to read nor write.'

'No,' said Rose. 'An' thanks be to God he couldn't swim either!'


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

Monday 5 May 2014

Reaching parts other blogs fail to reach


Many nations have tried to control the world or large parts of it. Genghis Khan and the Mongols, the Roman Empire, Napoleon Bonaparte, the British Empire, the Nazis, the Bolsheviks and even the Americans - they've all given it a lash. But the people who have come closest to achieving it - without anyone even noticing or  minding much - and without a shot being fired - are the Irish.

For generations we have been sending our agents abroad (often cunningly disguised as eejits), and there are now over 70 million people of Irish descent around the world running local governments, police forces, health services and schools. We build roads, railways and everything else, we are mining in Australia, and we run the best pubs from Alberta to Zanzibar.

Look at the US. As well as the President and Vice President being of Irish descent, they are surrounded by Irish. For example, the Director of the CIA is John Brennan, and Samantha Power from Castleknock is the US ambassador to the United Nations

This little blog is now reaching parts that other blogs fail to reach: Ireland (of course), the UK, Canada, the US, Australia, New Zealand, Germany, France, Spain, Belgium, Holland, Italy, Norway, Poland, Russia, Turkey, Morocco, Nigeria, United Arab Emirates, Myanmar, Mauritius, Thailand, China, South Korea, Indonesia and Brazil.

They say that there are still some tribes in the Amazon that don't know the words of 'The Fields of Athenry', but I don't believe it.

Thursday 1 May 2014

God bless America


A Yank tourist came into Magowan's early one evening last week. I assume that he was lost, as Magowan's is not mentioned in the brochure: 'A Thousand and One Must-See Places in Dublin'.

Miley Magee was up at the bar having a few quiet ones and reading the Herald. The Yank was down a bit from him sipping at a glass of stout like it was nitroglycerin.

Miley said that the Yank was watching him like he was a suicide risk. He was going to ask what the hell he was looking at, when the man spoke, making a noise like an out-of-tune bugle that all Yanks make when they talk.

'Sir!' said yer man. 'Excuse me, Sir!'

Nobody ever calls Miley 'Sir', but the Yank couldn't have been talking to anyone else.

Miley put down his paper, and said 'yeah' or 'wha'' or something similar.

'Sir, I've been admiring the way you drink your beer. You sure can drink fast. Yessiree!'

Miley didn't know if the fella was taking the piss. If it had been a normal person, he would have told him to feck off, but you have to make allowances for Americans. Miley just muttered something about it being normal.

'Sir, how many beers do you think you could drink in an hour?' the Yank asked.

Miley thought about it, and said he could do seven or eight pints no bother, but that he might do twelve if he exerted himself.

'Wowee!' said theYank. 'Say listen Buddy. I'd pay $500 to see that done. Whadaya say? Huh?'

'An' would ya pay for the pints?' Miley asked. He would have made a great lawyer if he hadn't had his calling to the city's waste management service.

The Yank said that he would be very happy to pay for the necessary materials, and they made the deal. That was at about six o'clock and they agreed to meet back in Magowan's at half seven for the attempt.

At the appointed time the parties were duly assembled. Betty Magowan set to pulling the pints, and Miley started sucking them up like a camel at a watering hole. It was no bother to him - like Seve Ballesteros chipping golf balls into a skip. Miley finished the twelfth pint with a good five minutes still left on the clock, and the Yank was delighted.

'Way to go!' he yipped. 'Well, that sure beats all!'

He produced the do-re-mi as promised and handed it over.

'Sir, just one thing,' he said. 'Can you tell me where you went before we started?'

Miley looked a bit sheepish.

'Well to tell ya nothin' but the truth,' he said. 'I wasn't certain tha' I could do it. So I went 'round to Kinsella's an' had twelve in there first - jus' to check.'


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