Craic On

I have had a glimpse of Hell. I have swum the waters of the Styx and crawled up the bank on the far side. I did it all in the hunt for the single stem garden plant support. When I say I swam, it might be nearer the truth to say that I sweated my way up the hill in a waterproof in more humidity than I anticipated. Having spent half an hour in this endeavour, I arrived at the gates of hell to be met by a stout woman in a green apron and fetching matching blue face mask and rubber gloves. “May I go straight in?” I asked, pointing at the gaping jaws that opened and closed as they spewed out shoppers and ingested the unsuspecting. “Get away from me she commanded.” Her large blue hand extending towards my face Lord Kitchener style. “Move,” she barked. I took a step back. “You’ll have to queue.” “I’m sorry. I didn’t realise there was a queue,” I said, vaguely wafting the all purpose cane about in front of me. “Well there is.” She turned away. “Where do I need to go? ” I asked. She didn’t answer