Craic On

The Old Bag rang me up to say that she and her slobbering side kick were in festive mood and would I like a drink? I said I would and that she should come round to my house for a mince pie and a real fire. She left the slobbering side kick at home, which upset me. I left the cork in the bottle and gave her a cup of tea. She drank it anyway. “My dear girl, I have read your last blog post. I have to take issue with you. I think a candle is a wonderful thing. If it smells of something floral even better.” I explained that I was not ready to retract my views on the eye piercing pain of the candle, even those gifted or re-gifted with love. “I’d be delighted if someone gave me a really nice candle.” “Would you?” I wondered in all innocence. “I really would,” She said. I let the silence linger for a moment. “I’ve got a drawer full of them,” I said. “I know,” she sighed. The slobbering side kick would have just got on with the begging at this point. “Would you like a candle?” I asked with a