You met my Uncle Petie a few stories ago.  He’s the man who had the adventures smuggling cattle.  And who told the Pennyworth of Lies.

 

He was given to colourful language the odd time, too.  It flowed so smoothly and easily from his tongue, and with such a merry twinkle in his eye, you’d have to forgive him.

 

I did anyway, until the day he called my ten-year old son to his knee.

 

‘Tell me, Steven’, says he.  ‘Do you know any aul’ bad language?’

 

Answered in the negative, he blarged on. 

 

‘Well, come here till I larn ye some!’

 

I wonder what he’d think to hear you can now get a diploma in cursing?

 

Thought for the Day: 

 

To think, in the Free State, the banks rob the people!