COULD BE WORSE

I first met O’Reilly when I was in St Peter’s Hospital, Chertsey, England. He was in the same ward as me and was lying, quite still, in the bed next to me when I awoke early on that Friday morning. I was taken aback because he was swathed in bandages from head to toe, with just two little slits for his eyes and this made it difficult to engage him in conversation. However, later that same day, his best friend, Dermot Callaghan, came in to visit O’Reilly and I listened in to their conversation which went as follows: ‘What happened to you?’ asked Callaghan. ‘I staggered out of The Invincible pub, in Shepperton Road, and a lorry hit me a glancing blow and knocked me through the Co-op’s plate glass window,’ mumbled O’Reilly.’ ‘Begorrah,’ exclaimed Callaghan in his broad Munster accent, ‘It’s a good job you were wearing all those bandages or you’d have been cut to ribbons!’