Thursday 27 October 2016

There are two sides to every story - and two ends to a tale

Published 20/04/2015 | 02:30

She was doing herself up for ages, she told me, for her comeback. And she was going to buy new hair.

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I may be wrong here, but it seems women buy pony tails and have them blended and woven in to their own hair. Hair extensions are the latest craze. I wonder, who sells them the hair? Are there thousands of bare-headed Rapunzels in countries where the IMF and ECB have cut their social welfare.

The extensions could be made from horses' tails. I'm sure the horses wouldn't be too put out, seeing as they can't see their tail, which is located at the rear of the horse. And I have never seen a horse fitted with wing mirrors.

Again, I'm not really going in to this in any great detail, and so there will be absolutely no attempt at research, but I'm pretty sure there's this shampoo that worked really well on horses' tails. I think it might be called 'Tails and Manes' or something like that and now humans use it.

Wouldn't it be gas though, if some girl used the shampoo and her boyfriend said to her: "Your hair is lovely. It's as nice as my horse's ass."

By ass, I mean arse, but we're not usually allowed use that word here. Usually arse is written as a**e in newspapers. Maybe this particular column might be an exception, in that how can you have a horse's ass? Or in other words, a horse's donkey.

Is all this making any sense to anyone apart from me?

There's worse than me though. This lad who came in to the bar the other day told me he was trying to tap in to the oul fella's spirit for his writing. "Hey dude, do you know what your father told me?"

"What, says I?" feigning interest.

Dude is what lads who used to say 'man' say now instead of 'man'. Like, as in, were you in Woodstock, man?

Anyway, the man who called me dude went on to tell me he got the following words from the oul fella by some sort of cosmic osmosis. The line from the beyond was: "That there would be no life without death."

Which is pretty disappointing out of the man who wrote 'The Field' etc. So he tells me, the man who called me dude, that he doesn't really get my stuff.

Normally, I take John Steinbeck's advice on critics. "If a critic doesn't give you unqualified praise, I say ignore the b*****d."

As for the lads on the net - the first sign of madness is ranting on the net, and the second sign is reading it.

The man who called me dude says: "Do you resent the fact your father spoke through me rather than you?" He's a tortured artist type, and his face looks as if he's trying to win a bet for holding his urine the longest. Normally I ask tortured artists: "What way were the spuds last year?"

But this time, I say: "No not all. In fact the father has spoken through me just now."

"And what did he say, your Father?" asked the man who called me dude. And I know from the tone of his voice and the speed of his speech, he's ever so slightly annoyed that he couldn't claim the exclusive rights to my father's words.

"My Dad said to ask your man there whose being annoying you for the last two-and-a-half hours if he's ever going to buy a drink?"

The tortured artist was nothing if not spirited. He wasn't taking any childish gip from me. "Well I think your writing is puerile. So there."

The best form of attack is politeness. "Thank you for your interest," I say. "And I'm sorry you feel the way you do."

The man who called me dude didn't quite know what to make out of that. Then he said, in a 'so there' voice: "Your father will be getting in touch very soon."

"Will you ask him where he left the spare set of keys to the back shed? We only have the one bunch and a second would come in fierce handy."

He left, in a huff, which I would guess is his usual mode of transport.

I refer you back to the first paragraph. I couldn't tell the new from the old. The hair was woven into a snare some man might one day rue. She went out for the first time after getting divorced and is now dating a very nice man who brings her china cups with pagodas.

I had planned to explain the how, where and when of the romance, but got waylaid by a series of events. Hence the reason for only telling you the beginning and the end of the story of the lady with the horse's hair.

Irish Independent

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