Recession, My Arse, says Peggy.

Peggy says there must be a bleddy famine coming with the amount of shopping that’s going on. She was below in Super Value this morning for milk and butter she said and had to wait nearly twenty minutes at the checkout, that’s how bad it was. Not only that but a body is in mortal danger of being struck by a trolley because the wan behind it can’t see in front of their fecking noses, they have the bleddy things that over-loaded. She wants to know what happened to the recession. ‘Recession,’ says she, ’there’s no bleddy recession, people are spending like there’s no tomorrow’.

She says she could hardly see the woman ahead of her in the queue there was such an amount of food in the trolley and while she was waiting she counted FIFTEEN slice pans in the trolley. What in the name of Jasus she wants to know would any normal person be doing with FIFTEEN slice pans? Well, I must admit I have absolutely no idea. Does anyone out there know what a person would be doing with FIFTEEN sliced pans? Shure, the whole place has gone mad, she says and I have to agree with her. She wanted to know if the shops were closing for the month of January or what that there’s  such a rush on with food. ‘And one third of all that we buy,’ quotes she ‘will be thrun out. That’s a proven fact’

Jeez, ever since she heard that statistic from someone on the television, she’s only been quoting it constantly. I’m heartily sick of hearing it, I can tell you. People on television should be more careful with the facts they bandy about, so they should, especially when they have people like Peggy Lysaght listening to them and dissecting every word they say.

Peggy hates Christmas. She says there’s not wan ounce of Christianity anymore. ‘tis all spend, spend, spend’.  It’s not a bit like long ‘go.(here we go with the violins again)She thinks that staff in the shops must be brain dead by the time the season is over what with the monumental food shopping and being forced day in day out since Halloween to listen to carols and hymns and Christmas songs. Just how many times do you need to hear Rudolf, the Red-Nosed Reindeer before going stark raving, barking mad?

Listening to the advertisements on television and radio drives her mad altogether. She came in for a coffee a while ago with a face on her that would curdle milk. She was after hearing some advertisement or other about buying a washing machine for your loved one for Christmas. ‘Well, says she, if anyone of my loved wans bought me a washing machine or, or a food mixer or a fecking juicer for Chrismas, they wouldn’t be buying them again in a hurry. By God, they would not then’ She says the sooner the whole bleddy thing is over the better for her and if she sees another fecking Santa’s grotto in a shop, she’ll march right in and strangle them fecking elves.

Which a’course brings her to Mary Lou McDonald. She thinks the woman has a neck like a swan. There she is above in the Dáil abusing everyone in sight, especially that poor misfortune, the Ceann Comhairle, Sean Barrett. What in God’s name, she wants to know did that inoffensive poor man, who wouldn’t say boo to a goose, do to annoy Mary Lou. The woman is always giving him lip, Peggy says and because the man is a pure gentleman, she’s able to walk all over him. She thinks sitting in the Dáil for four hours with no work being done by anyone is the height of blackguarding, particularly as we’re the goms paying for all the perks and privileges of the politicians. It’s a great pity, she adds, that someone didn’t trap that Mary Lou wan in a car for a couple of hours so we’d get a bit of a rest from her. God only knows, she never seems to be off the national airwaves.

There’s a short silence while she contemplates the serenity of the airwaves without Mary Lou and then she asks me in a totally different voice, kind of meek and humble, you know, all the bombast gone out of her, if I’ll ever run her down to Tescos, she wouldn’t ask, only there’s not a thing in the house, not even one slice pan, she adds sheepishly. Jeez, the woman has a neck to rival Mary Lou.

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