The Poor Relations: Shrove Tuesday

An', I s'pose you'll be beatin' up some pancakes.

Ah, well, a' course. A great stack of pancakes. I've asked Himself to put a hole in the roof t'accommodate 'em.

Is that the way?

'Tis. An' a great mass of rashers. Sure, more 'n the herd of two tousand swine the good Lord drove into the sea.

Boy! An' will you be havin' anyone over?

Well, I s'pose a few of the Poor Relations -- though some of them are so well to do, like, they may not travel down to the cottage -- not willin' ta muddy their boots, y'know -- an' I've asked the young curate from St. Tom's over.

Ah, he's a fine priest. Sure, they say he can still bat a ball a mile.

'Tis true. He was part of the team when St. Brigid trampled St. Meinrad, a few years back.

That's right. But, sure, after today, we're into Lent.

Oh, don't I know it -- just a cupan te and a dried crust, now and then. 'Tis murder -- but... we'll offer it up.

Sha. Well, sure, your already well on your way to heaven. But, what about Himself?

Ah, well, he carries on like a heathen -- drawing down porter on Saturday evening and the whole of Sunday. And, great billows of smoke from that pipe of his. Sure, he never goes down to the pub now that they put out the smokers -- an' half that crowd shows up at the door, hats in hand, asking for himself. Then, they're up 'til all hours in front of the fire.

God spare us. They'll be bannin' peat fires, next ting.

Well, now, I tink they will -- th'environment and all. But, I'd wager he'll have the poteen down tonight, as well.

But, does the curate take the drink?

Well, he says he'll have a drop or two, now and then, to keep his spirits up and his liver right, and maybe a furt'er drop to tide him over 'til Easter.

But,... now, I'll need to run -- Himself is ringing on the cell -- at the market asking about what to pick up. An' we'll see if he remember's th'anniversary.

Right, then, I'll need to log off, meself. Sure, even if he forgets, he's still a fine, handsome man.

He is, at that.

***

For more on Shrove Tuesday, see here.

Comments

[Harry]

Surely this small feast should set a certain fellow's toes to tappin', him being all Gone over the lingo. 'Tis strange to this set of ears, and not a bit Texican nor swampish in any manner, but rather exotically appetizing, I thought, after sampling. The bit about peat bogs had me, shall I say, ablaze with mirth. Kick ash!


Questions: Is someone getting married, and if so, did I miss my chance to ever become a daisy picker?

[Remainderman]

That you did. The marriage bit in on the last link.

(Poor fella couldn't tell a link from a Patty.)

[Hannah]

Rather than adding to the long list of fake accents that are going to be posted, I'll settle for a simple, "nice job, mate".