Home again, again

I have been spending some time at home again with the auld Ma and Pa , God love 'em.

Many an hour I've spent recounting my adventures at the top of my lungs for their amusement, what with me being far and away and back again the further-most travelled of all Derrigs everywhen. More than 4 countries in 8 days - beat that anyone I dare you.

And the brandy! My family have been in the bathtub business since time immemarmoset -not that even I can remember that far ago.

Still, it's always good to be able to lend a hand and pitch in with the duties on the old homestead: rubbing the pigs, tossing the apples, and crumbing. The one thing that always gets my goats up though is the guttering.

Nary a day passes without some new hideous blockage obstructing the guttering, and forcing an overspillage of gutterscum down the walls Chez Derrig. It is a smell of awful proportions and has the deep and gloomy look of stench. For it is and it does.

So my least favoured duty is clambering up the ladder and raking through the gloop and scooping it into a huge vat kept for the purpose and collected once a month by the Gardai for use on prisoners in need of a dirty protest. And right glad of it too. The Gardai, that is.

And there am I up the ladder, Pa stationed below to keep it steady, though apt to wander off when he starts a-pondering the benefit of halving his offspring (as explained to him by Brother Brendan the Grim Inheritor in unpleasant detail.)

Yes, there I am - up the ladder.

WHICH IS NOT EXACTLY THE GREATEST LADDER IN THE WORLD.

And now I've said enough on the matter.