Don’t expect anything done right here.
Except drinking beer.
What would the Irish be if we could not complain?
We love pain.
Poor mouthing is what we’re best at.
Okay, okay we’re good at talking.
We have practice when there’s a bus strike at walking.
Now you’re talking.
Our favourite radio show is full of complaining whining moaners.
On the phoners.
We complain about the weather.
We’ll go to Hell together.
When drunk we sing if we only had old Ireland over here.
Thank God for beer.
We drive each other mad.
Except when we’re glad.
Being Irish I don’t know when to stop.
Not till the last drop.
19th September, 2016