Good Evening readers of the local events in Trebollocks.
It's been an interesting time, I've been absent for a long sabbatical to follow my passion for healing the sick. I am now gleeful to announce that I am a fully qualified Leech Putter-Onner and Taker-Offer. The healing properties of leeches have long fascinated me since I fell in a ditch with a case of cow pox, and came out with a case of whiskey. I am now Leech Master. With suck marks.
However, all has not been shiny. As you know, I live in a hedge, with meagre possessions. A bloody modern motor car flew through the shrubbery on a Sunday evening, just as I was dishing up nettled toad. I have to had to move out into a rented abode for the duration of the works. Since there is no estate agent criteria for a single, warted woman with toads, bats, a plethora of woodlice and a small buggered hedgehog named Clive, I put my magic to work and asked the great bearded Goddess of the Covered Chin to come to my aid. She came up trumps.
I am now residing in a mansion - and I have geese.
You don't need Police
Gobby long necks
And beaks and no peace.
Web footed gobshites with beadiest eyes
Patrolling the courtyards in farmyard guise.
Will the noise ever cease?
In a word....no
So, there's my poem. But on a lighter note, the woman at the local W.I., who didn't like my version of hedgerow bakewell tart (bitch, may she be wrapped in custard) has fallen from a height of 50ft while putting the fairy on the village tree. The Christmas switch on has never drawn such a crowd...after.
I must leave you now, Aunt Bench has been on the yoghurt pot phone, she's fallen out with Aunt Girda after a particularly agressive gin-fuelled game of Snap. So that means I have Folly staying with me for Christmas. Lord help me.