Monday, October 05, 2009

Another guttural Sláinte, Sir

Same procedure as last year and the year(s) before?

Same procedure as every year!

Well, almost. This time you've to read 69 and 98.

Enough written.

I am off now with my only man to meet the birthday child in 'The Dalkey Archive', wishing him - accompanied by a very guttural Sláinte - the best of Omnium, if you know what I mean.


  1. I'm not too sure that I can offer a guttural Sláinte, but I'm ready to celebrate the great man, under any name he wishes, and wherever he happens to be.

    I'm in the middle of reading The Poor Man, and I never know if I should sob desperately, or laugh hysterically. It's a genius of a man, who can get tears in my eyes for the demise of an overgrown pig, and for the cracks on the heads of all the Irish Jams O'Donnells. I can hardly wait to read his other books.

    À la votre, Sir. Hope you're resting in peace.

  2. Having won The Poor Mouth (Prize) - although the photograph did, of course, not show the roof of the Musee D'Orsay, but Sergeant Pluck's diaphragm while the gentleman was chuckling -, now, after all, you seem to make extraordinary steps forward on the path to wisdom.

    I told Flann of your wishes, and although I could not exactly understand what he said while immediately presenting himself a tiny gulp of plain, I got the feeling he felt delighted and asked me to thank you on his behalf, which herewith is done.

    Thank you very much, indeed, Claude. I was resting in peace.

    Ha ha ha ha ...