It's no secret I got my archaeology degree from Harvey Norman (they were doing a two for one special so I got a Classical Civilisation degree at the same time.) During my thee years queueing to get to the cashier I kept my screaming poverty at bay by working as a shoeshine boy outside the Bank of Ireland. I polished the bankers shoes (made from the skins of flayed infants) with a frothy smile and they repaid me with a kick in the head or else the more understated dog-poo concealed in a crisp packet.
In these sad days of penury a vision arose from the Drimagh dust-bowl, her name was Nora BerMINGham (as in MING the merciless - but not that turf smoking Galway nob - the Flash Gordon one.) She had an armalite in one hand and a bird box in the other (full of Kentucky fried chicken.) Realising I was a fellow reprobate (I think it was my open-crotched burqa that did it,) she asked if I would be interested in robbing banks to make ends meet. I gladly accepted and we took the 14A to the nearest branch of Anglo Irish Bank (now renamed the Anglo Irish BONK - because they screwed the whole country - what a laugh that was.)
The queue to rob the bank was considerable, so to pass the time we perused the tattoos on our fellow queue mates (one of them had the marine poetry of Jaques Cousteau written on her thighs and armpits - which was ironic because she had to stand like a starfish while we read her.) When we finally reached the counter who should be waiting there but Wee Seanie Fitzpatrick, my old school chum (it's manys the time we were side by side having the backsides whipped off us, with the headmaster wearing welding goggles to protect his eyes from the incandescent glow off our buttocks.)
Seanie was a treasure, he talked us out our foolish bank robbing notions and swopped us the armalite, the burqa and the bird box for shares in Anglo.
Which probably explains why me and Nora are now both bleedin' penniless.
So ladies and gentlemen let us all raise our glasses in honour of Nora Bang Bang Bermingham - a woman whose Tumbeagh Bog Legs Publication reminds me of a joke so filthy I'm even ashamed thinking about it.