Th’ Irony o’ Life an’ Jeth
I ’adn’t bin feelin’ well fer wicks, no energy an’ run dahn; Couldn’t ate, couldn’t sleep, day want ter goo dahn tahn. Day want ter watch the telly nor goo aht ter the pub. There’s gorra be summat up wi’ me if Ah cor fairce me grub. Ah day want ter watch the football, the cricket or the rugger Soo evencherly the missus says, “Come on, yer saft ode b*gger, Ah cor stond no mooer o’ this, yo’m a-gooin’ ter see the quack.” An’ when ’er’s in that sort o’ mewd there ay no fightin’ back. Soo dahn the surgery Ah went an’ stripped off fer the Doc An’ after nearly ’alf an hour ’e said, “Bad news,ode cock. It’s HIV 5718, the moost aggressive strairn; This time termorrer yo’ll be jed an’ we shor see yo again.”
Well, Ah staggered ’um in disbelief ter break it ter the wife. We ’ugged an’ cried an’ cried an’ ’ugged at mi impendin’ end o’ life. When we’d calmed dahn the missus says, “Well, wot’s ter be wull be An’ no amount o’ blartin’ ’ull bring yo back ter me, Soo if ternight’s ter be yer last we’ll ’ave a good night aht; We’ll goo dahn ter the Bingo an’ try ter clane ’em aht.” Ev’ry Friday night fer forty years tha’s wheer the missus went Ah’d never bin at all meself but God knows ’ow much ’er’d spent!
Soo we went dahn ter the Mecca an’ bought wi drinks an’ books As Ah sot dahn at the tairble Ah got some funny looks, But the caller shahted, “All eyes dahn” – the fust gairme ’ad begun. Ah couldn’t believe it! Five in a row – Ah’d on’y bin an’ gone an’ won! Just a tenner fer fust ’ouse, the missus loffed, “Beginner’s luck!” But second ’ouse Ah won again wi’ the numbers wot ’e puck! Twenty, thirty, forty quid, it went on all night lung – Blackout, cross, fower corners – Ah just couldn’t dew no wrong! Nashnul Link at ten. ’Undred thahsund quid fer grabs; Ah shewerly couldn’t win again! But that’s exactly wot Ah dun – Ah’d won an ’undred K! The missus nearly choked ’erself an’ fainted clane away! But then th’ irony on it suddenly ’it me; Fate ’ad finally cooked mah gewse. ’Ere Ah was at the point o’ jeth with a fortewne wot wor no use.
Well,the caller cum across the ’all an’ shook me by the ’ond. “’Ow yo con win ev’ry single ’ouse, Ah just cor understond. Ah’ve bin callin’ ’ere fer twenty years an’ never sid luck like yourn, Yo’ve gorrer be the luckiest bloke that was, or ever wull be, born”. “Yo wouldn’t think Ah’m lucky, if yo knowed wot Ah’ve got,mate”. “Wot’s that?” ’e asked. I answered, “HIV 5718”. “Ah doe believe it!”, the caller shrieked, and an ’ush fell on the ’all. ’E shook ’is yed an’ softly said, “Yo’ve won the bl**dy raffle an’ all!”