Jem Kennedy RIP

I was at a great funeral last week. It was the best day out I've had in ages. The dearly departed was Jem Kennedy, who will be sadly missed by the publicans of the Daymo. Possibly by his missus, Rose, too, who seemed oddly fond of him - probably because he didn't come home very often. I often think this is the key to a happy marriage, as absence makes the heart grow fonder, and familiarity breeds contempt. My own dear wife, Peggy, worships the ground that I walk on, but only on the strict condition that that ground is as far away from her as possible.

In his younger days, Jem's interests and pleasures were wide and varied. He was always fond of the drink, and would eat all around him. If he couldn't eat it, he would set fire to it and smoke it. He liked to play cards, and would back horses, dogs, cats ... in fact he would have a bet on anything. Most of all, Jem Kennedy was a renowned ladies' man, known as the Gary Cooper of the Coombe. They used to say that he'd get up on the crack of dawn, whatever that meant.

In his latter years, Jem became a pale shadow of the man he once was. He came to look more like Gary Glitter than Gary Cooper, but he still tried it on with any female who came within range.

He spent his last few weeks in hospital suffering from some form of galloping dysentery. I'm not sure if he died or dissolved.

Back in Magowan's pub, after his remains had been poured into the grave, we were lining up to offer our sympathies to Rose.

'Ah, God love ya, ya poor craytur,' said some old Crone, who had shoved in ahead of me.

'Thanks very much,' said Rose. 'I'll miss him. I will.'

'Ah ya will o' course,' said the Crone. 'Ah bu' isn't he at peace now, the poor man, after all his pain.'

'Tha's true, it is,' sniffed Rose. 'He suffered enough.'

The oul-wan drew herself closer to Rose, and asked in a lowered voice:

'Tell us this - is it true tha' he died o' the diarrhoea?'

Rose jumped up and at the top of her voice said:

'He did NOT die o' diarrhoea. He died o' GONORRHOEA. Jem was an OUL SPORT - not an OUL SHITE!'

You can buy the hilarious new comedy novel 'It's a Desperate Life' as a paperback or e-book from Amazon and all other good book sellers - especially the excellent Owl Bookshop in Kentish Town, London NW5, and through http://peterhammondauthor.com

Frankie's early career

When I was a young fella there was very little work going in Dublin and you had to be willing to turn your hand to whatever was available. I blagged my way into a plumbing job once, but that ended in tears - well, not tears exactly - more of a deluge when I turned a nut left when I should have gone right. I was a fishmonger, a bike repairer and a lorry driver's mate. I even thought of joining a convent except I didn't think I'd get through the medical. But the easiest job I ever had was in Dublin Zoo.

I replied to an ad in the Herald looking for a general assistant. I was interviewed by the man who looked after the apes and monkeys.

'Wha' I'm goin' to tell ya is highly confidential,' he said.

'Whatever ya have to tell me will go to the grave with me,' I assured him.

'Well, it's like this,' said he. 'Our male gorilla - Buster - is after dyin'. He's very popular. If the word gets out tha' he's brown bread, it'll do awful damage to the gate receipts.'

I thought he was going to ask me to bury or stuff the poor animal.

'Wha' I want ya to do, Mr Flynn,' he said, 'is to put on a gorilla suit, go into the compound, swing aroun', eat a few bananas... Ya know the kind o' thing.'

I did and to make a long story short, I took it on. And if Buster was popular before, I don't mind telling you that he was a big hit now. Real gorillas are all well and fine, but they're lazy bastards. They sit around all day scratching their arses and not much else. As a conscientious employee, and in all fairness a bit of a show-off - I threw myself into it. I made faces. I pranced around. I swung off the ropes like feckin' Tarzan. The kids in particular were delighted with me. There was even a spot on RTE television when they discussed breeding from me.

It all went great until one day, I got a bit carried away swinging on the ropes. I let go at the top of a swing, flew over the fence, and landed on my head in the compound next door. When I could gather myself, all I could see was a bloody great lion bearing down on me.

'Help! Help!' I yelled, trying to get the gorilla costume off. The lion pounced and pinned me to the ground. He was all teeth, claws and hot breath. I said my last Act of Contrition and committed my soul to my maker.

'Shut up, ya feckin' ejjit,' said the lion, 'or ya'll get us all sacked.'


You can buy the hilarious new comedy novel 'It's a Desperate Life' as a paperback or e-book from Amazon and all other good book sellers - especially the excellent Owl Bookshop in Kentish Town, London NW5, and through http://peterhammondauthor.com