As one who was raised in the odour of Old Money in Warbeck Towers, Esteemed Perimeister, one is always curious as to how the parvenus of New Money come to be awash with dosh.
Hence, the particular attraction your perceptive Periscope held for one today.
One’s earliest lesson in the incense-sprinkled matter of moolah occurred one day in early childhood when a sailor-suited Warbeck Minor happened to overhear the following tetchy exchange between the Footman and his wife. It may even have been in the vicinity of the landscape feature on the front lawn known as the Ha-Ha.
(Though eavesdrop might be nearer the mark, in fairness, going backward.).
-Why can’t you be like the Butler, husband ?
-What do you mean, wife?
-He’s earning twice as much as you !
-He is now, is he?
-Yes, he is.In fact, it would not surprise me in the least if he is earning three times as much as you are!
-Is that a fact, now?
-Yes, it is a fact now !
-Well, let me tell you something, wife.
-What, husband?
-He may be earning it, but sure as hell is hot, he’s not GETTING it !!!!
Thus, was the dismal science of economics (including husbandry and wifery) reduced to its two core words, e.g., E and G. Earning and Getting.
The way the lickspittles of the Nouveau Rich in the purchased press, including the bought broadcasters, mouth off about the source of their heroes’ lolly you might even imagine the two words were interchangeable, like, say, FF and FG.
Or, the spondulickspittles, as they are known.
The Rich List reads like a Litany for which the appropriate response as each charvet-shirty name is tolled: prey for us.
(For his policy of keeping mum in the presence of the Queen Mum’s PM perhaps CJH might be better included in the Hurler of the Ditch list).
Speaking of Sport, it is indeed passing strange (or not) how the two biggest hitters in the Wad Squad are attracted to the (gulp) Bootyful Game: Denis and Dermot.
While Denis bankrolls the pair of poppy-wearing chaps, one stroppy, the other a carbon copy, heck, of any common or garden OBE your care to namecheck., Dermot on the other hand, as befits his silver meddle position in the scheme of things, must be content with trying to lure the former away from the Aviva to Parkhead and to become a money-belt Celt once again.
Lesser lucre has so far stymied this luring and led to, erm, FAI-lure.
(Hopefully sub rosa moves at the moment, in the wake of the recent cultural cringe in the presence of Jack the Charlatan at the venue, to change the name of the Stadium from Aviva to the more apt Craven Cottage will be successful. It depends, as usual, whether the available Bread is sufficient to trump the Readies).
It may be noted that the Grab All Association has been given a wide berth by D and D (DaD). This might cause naive eyebrows to arch. Until one realises it is merely an amateur outfit of parochial proportions, despite the affectionate sobriquet by which it is so widely known in the DOBland media.And thus altogether unworthy of the pair of Billo-naires, DaD.
Speaking of DaD and Billo, the Father of the Nation was in the news of late, having been inexplicably axed by RTE from the ‘best panel in the world’. Which in turn caused the ‘best fans in the world’ to throw a wobbly.
One speaks of John Giles, the Football Great.
He was formerly Johnny Giles the Soccer player but of course his hagiographer and resident GAH baser on the Sunday Dependent soon put an end to all that kind of bog-standard mis-naming.
That would be, of course, Dec ‘The Neck’ Lynch, He who is always,as it were, ‘Game for a Scaff’.
Thus far the focus has been on Macro-Economics so perhaps it is appropriate to conclude on a Micro-economic note. Not least because it was retailed on a DOBland radio station last Sunday by none other than Dec the Neck, who showed himself once again to be one heck of a sit-down comedian.
It cannot have been easy for the Lad Lynch, coming as it did in the gloomy aftermath of the One All Defeat by the Caledonians in Craven Cottage (to be). But, once more on to the breach, this time disdaining the undergraduate sneers he normally reserves for the bogball and their companion-piece jeers he keeps exclusively for the leprechaun.
And which he inventively brackets together under the E-banner: Eeejitry.
The hilarity of his hilarious tale was for the most part down to the solemn, straight-faced, awe-struck tone of his delivery:
Briefly, it referred to the never to be forgotten day when Andy Townsend (!) for whom Dublin could be heaven with coffee at eleven and a stroll through Stephen Green. Not to mention Grafton Street being a wonderland with diamonds in the ladies’ eyes and gold-dust in the hair – of the busker.
Well, maybe not before the strolling Andy T took in upon himself to toss a (gasp) Irish five pound note (F-I-V-E) in the direction of said busker. And in the presence too of an open-mouthed Dec the Neck himself.
Maybe it’s the way Dec tells them, but whatever, Perkie still has some stitches to be removed from his split sides. All of four (F-O-U-R) days later.
PS The reason why The Father of the Nation and the Son of the Soil, John and Andy, were bracketed together by Dec the Neck is that the latter had suffered a similar shameful fate as the former, having been (gasp) also axed, In his case from a celestial rather than a terrestrial channel.
The least we can do, arsa Deaglan an Muineal seemed to imply is to have a whip around for our Hero of Yesteryear. In the form, perhaps, of a Benefit Game in Craven Cottage (nee Aviva). With prices starting at a perfectly reasonable 100 squids, perhaps,
As one who was raised in the odour of Old Money in Warbeck Towers, Esteemed Perimeister, one is always curious as to how the parvenus of New Money come to be awash with dosh.
Hence, the particular attraction your perceptive Periscope held for one today.
One’s earliest lesson in the incense-sprinkled matter of moolah occurred one day in early childhood when a sailor-suited Warbeck Minor happened to overhear the following tetchy exchange between the Footman and his wife. It may even have been in the vicinity of the landscape feature on the front lawn known as the Ha-Ha.
(Though eavesdrop might be nearer the mark, in fairness, going backward.).
-Why can’t you be like the Butler, husband ?
-What do you mean, wife?
-He’s earning twice as much as you !
-He is now, is he?
-Yes, he is.In fact, it would not surprise me in the least if he is earning three times as much as you are!
-Is that a fact, now?
-Yes, it is a fact now !
-Well, let me tell you something, wife.
-What, husband?
-He may be earning it, but sure as hell is hot, he’s not GETTING it !!!!
Thus, was the dismal science of economics (including husbandry and wifery) reduced to its two core words, e.g., E and G. Earning and Getting.
The way the lickspittles of the Nouveau Rich in the purchased press, including the bought broadcasters, mouth off about the source of their heroes’ lolly you might even imagine the two words were interchangeable, like, say, FF and FG.
Or, the spondulickspittles, as they are known.
The Rich List reads like a Litany for which the appropriate response as each charvet-shirty name is tolled: prey for us.
(For his policy of keeping mum in the presence of the Queen Mum’s PM perhaps CJH might be better included in the Hurler of the Ditch list).
Speaking of Sport, it is indeed passing strange (or not) how the two biggest hitters in the Wad Squad are attracted to the (gulp) Bootyful Game: Denis and Dermot.
While Denis bankrolls the pair of poppy-wearing chaps, one stroppy, the other a carbon copy, heck, of any common or garden OBE your care to namecheck., Dermot on the other hand, as befits his silver meddle position in the scheme of things, must be content with trying to lure the former away from the Aviva to Parkhead and to become a money-belt Celt once again.
Lesser lucre has so far stymied this luring and led to, erm, FAI-lure.
(Hopefully sub rosa moves at the moment, in the wake of the recent cultural cringe in the presence of Jack the Charlatan at the venue, to change the name of the Stadium from Aviva to the more apt Craven Cottage will be successful. It depends, as usual, whether the available Bread is sufficient to trump the Readies).
It may be noted that the Grab All Association has been given a wide berth by D and D (DaD). This might cause naive eyebrows to arch. Until one realises it is merely an amateur outfit of parochial proportions, despite the affectionate sobriquet by which it is so widely known in the DOBland media.And thus altogether unworthy of the pair of Billo-naires, DaD.
Speaking of DaD and Billo, the Father of the Nation was in the news of late, having been inexplicably axed by RTE from the ‘best panel in the world’. Which in turn caused the ‘best fans in the world’ to throw a wobbly.
One speaks of John Giles, the Football Great.
He was formerly Johnny Giles the Soccer player but of course his hagiographer and resident GAH baser on the Sunday Dependent soon put an end to all that kind of bog-standard mis-naming.
That would be, of course, Dec ‘The Neck’ Lynch, He who is always,as it were, ‘Game for a Scaff’.
Thus far the focus has been on Macro-Economics so perhaps it is appropriate to conclude on a Micro-economic note. Not least because it was retailed on a DOBland radio station last Sunday by none other than Dec the Neck, who showed himself once again to be one heck of a sit-down comedian.
It cannot have been easy for the Lad Lynch, coming as it did in the gloomy aftermath of the One All Defeat by the Caledonians in Craven Cottage (to be). But, once more on to the breach, this time disdaining the undergraduate sneers he normally reserves for the bogball and their companion-piece jeers he keeps exclusively for the leprechaun.
And which he inventively brackets together under the E-banner: Eeejitry.
The hilarity of his hilarious tale was for the most part down to the solemn, straight-faced, awe-struck tone of his delivery:
Briefly, it referred to the never to be forgotten day when Andy Townsend (!) for whom Dublin could be heaven with coffee at eleven and a stroll through Stephen Green. Not to mention Grafton Street being a wonderland with diamonds in the ladies’ eyes and gold-dust in the hair – of the busker.
Well, maybe not before the strolling Andy T took in upon himself to toss a (gasp) Irish five pound note (F-I-V-E) in the direction of said busker. And in the presence too of an open-mouthed Dec the Neck himself.
Maybe it’s the way Dec tells them, but whatever, Perkie still has some stitches to be removed from his split sides. All of four (F-O-U-R) days later.
PS The reason why The Father of the Nation and the Son of the Soil, John and Andy, were bracketed together by Dec the Neck is that the latter had suffered a similar shameful fate as the former, having been (gasp) also axed, In his case from a celestial rather than a terrestrial channel.
The least we can do, arsa Deaglan an Muineal seemed to imply is to have a whip around for our Hero of Yesteryear. In the form, perhaps, of a Benefit Game in Craven Cottage (nee Aviva). With prices starting at a perfectly reasonable 100 squids, perhaps,
Over to Denis and Dermot.