I was on a kite yesternight.
I dreamt of being in a hote; in Dublin. I was chatting to three Irishwomen all about my age. They were all decent looking and we got on well. It was a fine looking hotel and the room was very spacious. The upholstery was admirable. I was feeling tranquil and in expansive mood. The most nubile of them was a dark haired blonde and sat there byronically.
Then there was a kncok at the door. I opened it. In stepped a very hefty young woman with very fair skin. She wote a black balaclava and a dark green army jacket. She had on black trousers and bovver boots. She was dressed like a member of the NEW IRA. I have been reading a lot about these hoodlums lately. She had a gun in her belt and was evidently yhere to slay me. They took me for an Englishman on account of my diction. I was having none of that. i puleld the gun pout of her belt and administered two slugs to her forehea.d Down she fell but not blood flowed.
I went downstarirs. The others did not seem t react. O bragged of what I had done. I walked aorund twon. I spoke to another good looking Irish girl who was a former nun.
Later I bumped into te woman I had shot dead. She was alive which surprised me. She was no phantom. There were two small red marks on her bonce where she had been shot. The bullets had not penetrated her skull
On the plan I saw beside a buxom Donegalwoman. She was younger than me this pale skinend Elaine. she had a Canadian accent on acocunt of time spent there
tHE DAY before i had met Claire – a Galwayoman. This dental nurse on the pub would not believr that I am Irish because of my accent. Irked me