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Duke attempts the Impossible

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duke3016:
I survive Las Vegas and Ellesmere Port and fall over in my own hallway. It"s a stone floor and my head lost.....

duke3016:
With apologies to Rudyard Kipling


If you can keep your chips when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust your raise when all men doubt you
But make allowance for their re-raise too,
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being bluffed about, don"t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don"t give way to hating,
And yet don"t look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can shove--and not make shoves your master,
If you can bluff--but not make bluffs your aim;
If you can meet with bad beats and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth that's spoken
Twisted by Kings to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the Queens you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build your stack up with the great seven two:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it all on one turn of the river,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To bet the turn with absolute trash that's gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold Em!"

If you can talk trash with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or pass with AK -- nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men bow before you, but none too much,
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds" worth of solid staring,
Yours is the Earth and everything that"s in it,
And--which is more--you"ll be a Man, my son!

duke3016:

duke3016:

duke3016:
Now, for some of you, it may be a little difficult to understand the concept of a wake. Which is, for all intents and purposes, a celebration. It is a celebration of the deceased's life and as such preparations had to be made.

To be honest the family usually doesn't do a thing, as the village rallies round and the sandwiches are made,  the big pot is constantly on the boil for tea and of course enough drink is brought in to sink a battleship.

Now because the ould lad died suddenly there should have been a post mortem in order for a death certificate to be issued. So later in that morning the Guards arrived and of course it was beholden to me to continue the ould lads legacy of pure contrariness towards the Guards. Sergeant Nolan and Guard Lowry entered and ushered me aside.

“Sorry for your troubles” says the two of them
“Thank You” says I
“He was a fine man” says the Sergeant

You fecking hypocrite, I thought, you both had a mutual dislike of each other. Now as the only son and effective head of the house I was to get a lot of this over the next two days. Expressions of grief and platitudes from people that really didn't get on with the ould lad, but had to be seen to be genuinely sorry for his demise (with one notable exception).

“Now Gerard, we have a few things to clear up” says the Sergeant
“What things” says I
“Was he attending a doctor” says the Sergeant
“No” says I
“Was he feeling poorly lately” says the Sergeant
“No” says I
“Well, there will have to be an autopsy” says the Sergeant
“Why” says I (My father would have been proud of my truculence.)
“It's the law” says the Sergeant
“Hah!, What would prevent that” says I
“A death certificate signed by his doctor” says the Sergeant
“Hang on” says I

In the kitchen was a medical doctor (not his doctor mind), Dr Bill Loughnane TD (equivalent to an Member of Parliament in England) who was already nicely reducing the level of a bottle of 12 year old Jameson. I explained the situation.

“They are technically correct” says he “But it was obvious that it was a massive heart attack and it wouldn't be fair to bother the state pathologist who is a busy man and more importantly it would postpone this already magnificent wake.. Fetch my bag from the car like a good lad”.

Twenty seconds later I handed the death certificate to the Sergeant.

“Oh” says he “All seems to be in order”

They then removed their caps and tunic tops and proceeded to toast the life of the “fine man” that was my father, the ould lad must have been spinning as they helped themselves to his brandy.

Now a little later my faith in honest human nature was restored. Des Murray was a man in the village who, rumour would have it, was sweet on my mother before she got married. The ould lad blundered onto the scene and Des was left on the sidelines. Now his profound dislike of my father was legend around the village, but we got on fairly well. So it was a huge surprise when the door was knocked and I opened it, there he was at the door.

“Sorry for your troubles Ger” says he
“Thank you” says I
“I am here for you Ger, and your mother, but not for him, because I hated your fecking father” says he

Well such honesty could not go unrewarded and he was ushered in to partake of the refreshments

Now when tragedy strikes you have a lot of communicating to do, we had family all over the place and it was up to me to ring them and tell them. The first were obviously my sisters and people all over Ireland and the rest of the civilised world (and some in some pretty uncivilised places) so I went to the phone. Now we did not have a dial phone at the time you pressed a button and were connected to the exchange in scarriff. . Anyway Anne Maloney was on the exchange that morning.

"Number please" says she
"I have a few Anne" says I
"Oh is something wrong" says she
"Yes" says I "my father passed away this morning
"Oh I am so sorry" says she "Give me all the numbers and I will ring them and connect you when I get an answer"

Technology eh -- who needs it sometimes .......................

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