Horseplay tale gets lost in translation
PATSY filled the gap in one of our rare silences with one of those observations that have nothing to do with anything.
“I read in the paper the other day about a man who had this neurological disorder that meant every time he saw a horse falling over he got extremely eh . . .” She looked around, put her hand up to the side of her face and then whispered the word “aroused” from behind it.
I nearly choked on my green tea. She then pointed in the direction of her nether regions making sure we fully understood her drift. How could we not?
“The police kept finding him hanging around stables and race courses, you know places that a horse might stumble and fall. He was eventually sent to a psychiatric hospital.”
“Does he live in Kildare?” asked Maggie, with a worried look on her face. There is a horse in the field behind her house and the last thing she needs to see when she looks out her kitchen window is a man with his trousers at half mast trying to trip the animal up.
“No, he does not live in Kildare you gobdaw!” shrieked Patsy. “This was about 100 years ago in England.”
“Ah well,” sighed Maggie. “You know what they are like over there. Anything goes.” “Is there anything else you read that might interest us?” I said sarcastically.
“Now that you say it, I did read about a woman who went for a lie down with a chronic migraine and woke up with a funny accent.”
“Like Biffo you mean?” asked Josie.
“No, he was born like that and he does impressions more than accents.” “A pity he wouldn't do an impression of a Taoiseach.”
“Let he who is without sin cast the first stone,” said Patsy, who is a dyed-in-the-wool FF supporter and would vote for them even if they made us bankrupt. Oh, wait a minute . . .
“Anyway,” she added. “This poor woman lay down with an English accent and woke up with a French one. She's very upset.”
“Why?” asked Maggie.
“You would be, too, if you went to bed with your bogger accent and woke up talking funny!” shouted Patsy.
“Like you, you mean.”
Maggie was rewarded by Patsy's ubiquitous middle finger for that one.
“What you are talking about is actually called FAS,” said Josie.
“As in the state agency?” asked Patsy. “As in Foreign Accent Syndrome.”
“I think I'd rather have the horse fetish then the FAS thingy because with the FAS thingy everyone knows there's something wrong but with the horse fetish only the horse has to know,” Patsy said.
One of these days I'm hoping we'll have a normal conversation and talk about normal things.