Dave White's Field

In the telling of her stories, Auntie Mary plays any part with flair. But, she seems to take a special shine to the part of her banashee, or is it her lanashee? She looks so convincing as a tantalising, female ghost --- as she combs her own long, flaming red hair.

I have come to realize that Auntie Mary doesn't let the small matter of fairy identities get in the way of a good story.

Or perhaps that is the way the Irish stories go --- you are left to decide for yourself which storyline you are going to run with. Or, more likely, your own fears and fantasies decide for you.

After a final sip of her tea, Auntie Mary gazes into her future displayed in the pattern of tea-leaves at the bottom of her cup, and heaves a resigned sigh of disappointment.

future in the bottom of the cup

Her luck hasn't changed since yesterday; a win on the football pools is not in the tea-leaves this week. I could have told her that without the tea-leaves, (and told Mum for that matter).

I wonder why she doesn't consult the tea-leaves before she posts the coupon and save herself the money for the bet.

But, without fail, she will still check her Vernon's coupon come the Saturday football results at five o'clock.

And perhaps that's it: finding how close she comes to not getting the magic eight draws, twenty-four points and a seventy-five thousand pound jackpot, is what it's all about. I'll never really understand.