I called down to the Doc yesterday in his professional capacity.

“Howya, Grandad” says he, “and what can I do for you?”

“Ah! You know how it is?” says I.  “I’m in need of a bit of an overhaul.  Maybe a change of oil and a new gasket?”

“Anything in particular?”

“Jayzus!  You were the one the other evening complaining about my coughing all over the pub.”

“True.  Are you still smoking the pipe?”

“Ah for fuck’s sake!  Says he who is always bumming a light off me in the pub.  If I quit the pipe, you’d have to quit the fags, or at least buy some matches.”  I coughed, and a large green glob of sputum smacked off the wall.

“Oh dear” says he, looking at the wall.  “By the colour of that you have an infection all right.  Let’s have a listen.”

He rammed a freezing stethoscope against my back which made me cough some more.

“Yiz are only infeshted” he said.  That’s the way he pronounced it – infeshted.  “I’ll give you some pills that’ll clear out the tubes.”

“That’s great” says I.  “Thanks.  I’ll see you tonight for a pint?  It’s your round.”

“Fair enough.  And by the way….”

“Wha?” says I.

“Merry Christmas.”

“Would you ever fuck off!”

— Later in the pharmacy —

“Howya,Grandad” says Bennie the chemist.

“Howya,Bennie”  Says I.  “Here’s a prescription.”

“I didn’t know you kept horses?”

“Never mind that.  Is it possible to drink and drive while taking them?”

“There’s nothing in the book to say they can’t be taken with alcohol.”

“That’s grand so.”

“There ya go.”

“Thanks.”

“Merry Christmas.”

“Would you ever fuck off!”