The mask is off — but do we know the face?
Poor P O’Neill, after all he has done for us (providing the anecdotes and plying all and sundry with drink), now has to walk home alone without the night’s takings.
Everyone is onto him for filching from them at the previous little charade and were hardly enamoured of him robbing them blind this time.
Of course, it was always a bit of a drag... the choreography, the pretence, the high stepping with one hand held firmly behind the back.
Was that so-and-so behind the mask? No, but a so-and-so nonetheless.
Who really runs the show? Company policy, my love, but we’re not even allowed to speculate.
Except to say that when P O’Neill gets a touch of the vapours, the whole Shinner leadership comes out in a rash. Ideopathic sympathy, I think it’s called.
Ah, yes. P O’Neill, chief executive. Just call him Ponce for short.
Men may come and men may go, but some balls go on for ever.
Richard Dowling,
Patrick Street,
Mountrath,
Co Laois.
