I’ve a fair length on me it must be said. I’m not boasting, but it’s a fair old length as anyone who has seen it will tell you. ‘There’s a fair length on that man’, is what they say about me. No one can deny it and I don’t think anyone does. They’d be fools to. I mean, it’s a fair length and that’s plain to see even with the trousers. The doctor who delivered me was the first to comment upon it. ‘He’ll be scaring the girls with that fair length on him’, were his exact words. My mother told me that’s what he said. She was very proud. ‘My little fella’s length is a miracle of modern science,’ she’d say to anyone who’d listen and, even if they didn’t acknowledge it, they all knew it was true. I even got first prize at The National Fair Length Feish and featured on the cover of the popular publication Fair Lengths of Ireland. It was a lovely image: me standing there beaming, the monsignor beside me, extending the measuring tape. I was the pride of the town after that but then came puberty. Ah, that was difficult. My mother was worn out with the spoilage. I was going through slacks like no body’s business. There was rarely a vacant spot on the clothes line. There was nothing the doctor could do. There was nothing anyone could do. I was sent to specialists abroad and they were at a loss. There was even an exorcism but that didn’t do any good. I was at the mercy of my fair length. Everyone was. The merest glimpse of Pan’s People on the telly and the fair length would transform the homestead into a gelatinous mess. I was no longer permitted to enter the shops, cafes and restaurants in the town. I couldn’t blame them. I began to resent my fair length. ‘Curse you fair length’, I would roar out in fury. ‘Fair length? Well I don’t see what’s so fair about it,’ I was given to saying. A once cheerful fellow, I became sullen. Those close to me were worried that I’d do away with myself. Each morning they’d half expect to find me dangling from the rafters on the end of a noose devised of my own fair length. Well that business continued for a time until a new family moved to the town. A lovely bunch called MacMaunus. But it was the daughter that saved me really. A gentle caring creature with soft brown eyes and the maddest gap on a girl you ever did see. ‘There’s a mad gap on the MacManus girl,’ they’d say of her. ‘She’ll be providing harborage for himself and his fair length before long’, they’d hope aloud. ‘Sure, there’s no one else for the job’, they’d conclude. And indeed they were right. I suppose we were forced together in a way, like two bits of plumbing, but we didn’t mind. In fact we were delighted. We were on the Late Late and everything. Gaybo gave us a holiday to The Isle of Man. We’re still together now. We’d never part. It’d break our hearts to do so and besides, we’d never get the consequences out of the carpet. THE END! (Chortle)
In other news: RDC update : OLD SCHOOL 80’s! and NEW CRAP MAN!
. . .now away with you all, whoever the four of you are.
The Watch Thief, Chapter 10.
19 hours ago