Apologies for my absence as of late, have not being feeling well.
Great to have you back, glad you're feeling better.
Of course, Jambo won't be quite so welcoming - he's on his period lately.
Val is the Socrates of our time.
It's amazing to see how much the old fart has let himself go lately. I think his broadcast career has taken a terrible toll on his personal hygiene: he spends all his time thinking up new things to moan about, so whether he's broadcasting from: the van, the Shitting Ditch, the scullery of the old house, that wall by the windmills, out in some sapping wet field, off a small disused boreen out towards Belfast, or sitting on the toilet pot, his sense of propriety, personal hygiene, and acceptance of the existence of soap has been diminished by time and tide.
And I'm not talking about the sea, but rather that swirling maelstrom of poop and scutter (or as Cavan culchies call it: '
de shkitter') in his septic tank which he has to stir every day to get another few kilos of wet poop into it before having to pay someone to haul it away.
You could dip Val in a pig's sty and he'd still come out cleaner than he went in.
Jambo ought to take heed: he's heading in the same direction.
Wakes up after lunchtime, hits the internet, spends the day and evening there, then out for the slab of lager and two frozen pizzas, an eighth of soap-bar hash, a packet of skins, and no soap. It's a terrible state of affairs when Jambo could already have been easily replaced by that Yves Sakila fellow, the one who met his maker outside Arnott's the other day. In fact, you could replace Jambo with pretty much anything and everything from an empty crisp packet to a used female vaginal dam.
Or not replace him at all, just keep him alive long enough to use an example to schoolchildren that he's what'll happen to you if you don't study long and hard.
He's not well lately, very out of sorts.
If I cared I might worry.
But sure you can't have one without the other, isn't it.
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