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Beware of the doggie do’s!

In the mire at North Curry


Looking through the office archives last week, I came across one of my newsletters of no less than 25 years ago which included a particularly amusing account of a somewhat embarrassing incident which had taken place during a visit to a new listing in the sleepy old village of North Curry. In the hope of raising a smile, I’m going to re-release it this week.

…… This was my first meeting with an endearing Irish housewife who, missing her family on the Emerald Isle, was selling up to return to County Cork. Having introduced myself and explained our modus operandi, prior to getting to work with the measuring tape, I made a few general enquiries.

‘Are you aware of the plot size Mrs O’Flanagan?’, I asked. It’s aways better to show dimensions on the details and this was quite a generous plot. Unable to respond without reference to the filing cabinet, my charming and helpful client undertook to come back to me in due course with the relevant information. So, on with the job.

Armed with clipboard, pen and tape, I kicked off in the garden. It was school holiday time which explained the sudden appearance of two enthusiastic young O’Flannigans with kind offers of assistance. Offers accepted, our task was regularly interrupted by two playful puppies but some fifteen minutes later, the general specification had been recorded and the practical assignment was complete.

Back in the house, tea and biscuits beckoned in the lounge and that was when my hostess hit me with it – ‘It’s a turd Mr Willey!’ she exclaimed. ‘I beg your pardon Mrs O’Flannigan …??

I blurted, simultaneously examining the sole of each shoe, while looking frantically for the tell-tale trail of messy footprints which, with an intense feeling of horror, I assumed had accompanied me into the room to be deposited on the carpet.

‘It’s a turd’, the rich Irish brogue repeated, ‘the garden’s a turd of an acre!’ A hot flush of relief engulfed me as I realised my obvious and most welcome misinterpretation. I wiped my sweaty brow and took my seat for tea. In doing so, I surreptitiously lifted each leg in turn to examine the bottom of my shoes just to be 100% sure – I’ve been in it in my time, sometimes up to my neck, but oh so thankfully this time I was in the clear!

By Chris Willey

By Chris Willey

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