The Hoar Of Ages
Monthly Mumble.

Entry 3 of me Monthly Mumble…and a Healthy New Year (belch) to ye! (Turn yer speakers on!)

Well I’m supposin’ yer all thinkin’ that perhaps the Hoar Of Ages has lost ‘more’ than her virginity over the Festering Season…perhaps indeed she has lost her feckin' marbles altogether! Seeing as I call it me Monthly Mumble and yet I’ve been, how shall I say…Feckin’ Redundant in respect of writin’ anything since December 3rd I should offer an apology. But, as always, I ‘do’ have an explanation in lieu of an apology, yet shall not be bothering to offer either. Oh I’m such a feckin’ contradiction…but isn’t that half the battle.

The Festering Season, now finally done with (like a tired old hag still wavin’ a party bugle at dawn) was naught but ‘rare’ for yours truly, ‘rare’ and ‘ripe-to-the-grope!’ There wasn’t a travellin’ man spared of my attention down in the old Wellington Pub on Baggot Street where I spent most evenings, sippin’ Gin and smokin’ Major. Sure even that young ‘tidy little number’ behind the counter was consequently eyein’ me up half the time, as I sat perched on a corner bar-stool tellin’ stories and crackin’ gags. Of course, any ‘frocks’ who happened in were left short of male company, what with me in situ! Jealous as hell were these women, pea-green with envy of my beauty and poise, all standing in a row gawkin’ at me…goat-headed and half-legged in heat…whilst gentlemen of all calibre and circumstance surrounded me in attempts to woo my favours. 

By the time St. Stephen’s Day passed, I was propped up in bed with a swollen tongue, four large highly-eager blisters on me arse, and a hangover the likes of which ye might wish to bottle for yer worst enemy. But sure isn’t that what it’s all about! Having a bit of harmless fun! Of course, I did it all again on New Year’s Eve, and even managed to attend a party or two up around Waterloo and Wellington Roads. Didn’t quite understand some of the people in one house…one bitch kept on shoutin’ for her bottle of pills whilst two hefty gentlemen played a sort of wrestling game with me all the way down the front-garden path. Strange lot. I’ll not be showin’ up there again.

So now, bare no grudge my Pigeons…I had a fantabulous time of it, and shall this week be openin’ yer letters, attendin’ The Office, and getting’ back into the fling of it all. The Monthly Mumble shall be put in proper order, and I shall be making a point of that.

Now…Freake and Kildare are having a short respite and shall be in touch with ye in good time. I’m still waitin’ for Freake’s Latest Letter, but ‘twill come in due course. Can't push these things, ya know. He writes when he writes, and that's that.

For now, keep yer knickers moist and yer fingers out of other people’s pockets…

The Hoar Of Ages.

Dublin, Ireland. January 15th 2002.