Well you’ll got Christmas over O.k. You’re all fat, fleeced and fit to burst. All the wee pays rolled in and rolled out again to pay the bills. Anyway I’ve been told to talk about food and drink. Jesus did ye see the likes of them trollies rolling outta the big shops. Piled wi’ all kinds of stuff. Who did they think they were feeding? The 5000! Posh food like. Northern Irish people with posh food. Crabs in garlic sauce, prawn cocktails, tinned avocados, what? They’re not eaten, you know, just there for show. Sitting in Paddy’s cupboard when the visitors arrive.
“OH Elsie would you like some diced avocados.”
Millicent dear you must try the horse douvers.”
“Sadie are you talkin’ English and why are ye calling me Millicent. Me name’s AGGIE. Sure I’ve known ye for over thirty years. Why are ye waving at me behind yon woman’s back.”
“Susan would ye try some crabs. You can have the fresh ones or the ones that my husband gave you.”
Then what happens. Come Boxing Day all Christmas goodies are taken off the shelves and these torture thingies up. The whole country is stuffed to the gills, can’t move an inch from their seat and they want us to buy a rubber bandy thing to tone yer arms. Jesus I wouldn’t be able to get it outta the box. What about them weights,eh? Up, down, up, down. I got so dizzy one
day I dropped it on me head, knocked meself out and lay on the kitchen floor for two hours. Had a great dream, came to only to find next door’s dog lickin’ the face off. Then there’s the yoga mat, them positions ye have to get into beat the Karma Sutra hands down. Not that I would know anything about that. We only got to page four and me daft hubby dropped the wheelbarrow (me). There I was again on the floor, only this time uncovered. Did ye ever see thon book? You’d have to be a friggin’ contor…contert.. concertina to get into them positions. Oh Jesus I was supposed to be talking about diets. Hey, that’s a diet for ye. Do all the shenanaigans in thon book and you’ll sweat like a pig, the pounds’ll roll off. Banged up in the Royal with a dislocated hip or groin strain, drinking water through a straw ’cause yer throats parched. Know what I mean? And with that thought I’ll nip off to find a wheelbarrow, dump the hubby in it and take him to the Royal. Told ‘im not to jump off that wardrobe. I was lucky I moved, he would’ve pulverised me, the size of thon man. Joined together as one! We certainly would’ve been!