Dream Job

 Quiet enough today.  Strange thing happens just after lunch though.  The young lad of the Hartigans appears out of nowhere tapping at my little window.  I slide it open.

“What’s the flamenco singer’s phone number?” he shouts at me.

“What flamenco singer?  What’re you talking about?” says I.

“What’s the flamenco singer’s phone number?” he says again, beaming at me like a Cheshire cat.

“I have no idea,” says I.

“90 90 9090 90 90 9090 90 90 90909,” he says, bursts out laughing and is off across the field before I can get any sense out of him.

Peculiar young fellah.  Harmless, mind you.  I must ask Seamus Deasy about it.  His daughter was an au pair in Malaga or somewhere.  He might know.


The Cliff Experience Reception Experience (Disruptive Innovation in the Prefab Hut Space)