Thinking of writing a travel book based on a journey from the capital of Malawi to Ireland.
Going to call it Lilongwe to Tipperary.
I'll see myself out.
Thinking of writing a travel book based on a journey from the capital of Malawi to Ireland.
Going to call it Lilongwe to Tipperary.
I'll see myself out.
I shared this with a Glaswegian friend based in Folkstone. He retaliated, thusly
"A man from Glasgow had a wee rairy. The wee rairy sang all day long and it drove the man crazy. He took it up up a tall cliff to throw it it away. ‘Stop, stop’ said the wee rairy, ‘for it's a long way to tip a rairy’."
A young monk arrives at the monastery. He is assigned to helping the other monks in copying the old canons and the laws of the church by hand. He noticed, however, that all the monks are copying from copies, not from the original manuscript. So, he goes to the Old Abbot to question this, pointing out that if someone made a small error in the first copy, it would never be picked up! In fact, that error would be repeated in all of the subsequent copies. The head monk says, “we have been copying from the copies for centuries, but you make a good point, my son.” He goes down into the dark caves underneath the monastery where the original manuscripts are held as archives in a locked vault that hasn’t been opened for hundreds of years. Hours go by and nobody sees the Old Abbot. So, the worried young monk goes down to look for him. He finds him banging his head against the wall and wailing. “ We missed the R, we missed the R, we missed the bloody R”. His forehead is all bloody and bruised and he is crying uncontrollably. The young monk asks the Old Abbot, “What’s wrong father?” With a choking voice the Old Abbot replies,
