Waking Ned Page #3

her daughter's belly's...

fill-up with a new baby.

That's why she was singin'

"The Golden Goose. "

Sure, she's over the moon.

Lord, would you look at that?

We're already fifty pounds

and one meat pie lighter.

You're not gettin'

your toaster, Lizzy.

Let that be an end to it.

I'm an old disabled person

with no money, Fitzgerald.

And you're taking advantage.

Your toaster is mended...

but you can't take it

until you've paid for it.

You're ripping me off,

Fitzgerald.

I'm fed up with you takin'

without payin', woman.

Get out of my way.

- Whoa!

- You little gobshite!

Mornin', boys.

How's the heads?

Lord, we were

heavy drunk last night.

The whole bar was heavy drunk,

thanks to you.

Listen, there's a rumor you've

come into some money.

- What?

- Ha ha ha ha!

Oh, Janey Mac, I wish I had.

I was just treatin' me friends

with the little I've got.

I came over this morning

to make sure I'd settled up.

I'd hate to be owin'

you anything, Dennis.

Go on. On you go.

Go on. Good luck.

Mornin', Annie.

That Mrs. Kennedy is a fine

one for the champagne.

I thought it would

be you boys...

that would have the heads

this morning, not me.

We do have heads,

and they are sore...

but at the same time filled with

the very best of Irish brains.

Will those dead chickens

find the winner?

They will.

Jackie talked Mrs. Kennedy

into giving us...

a list of the regular

lotto players.

There's eighteen...

and each of those will be

invited to a chicken supper.

We'll sit them down,

feed them up...

and during the night,

we find the winner.

Yoo-hoo!

It's not me Christmas card

already, is it, Michael?

Christmas has come early

this year, Kitty.

Oh, how exciting.

Come in, Michael.

Come in.

I've been baking.

It's tempting, Kitty,

but I've more cards to deliver.

Is it a little love note,

Michael?

What are you up to?

Been writin'.

Ah, Maggie. Will you read

me some of your poetry?

Jesus, that's not poetry.

It's just words for a greetin'

card. There's a big difference.

Ah, it's poetry to me.

My cards are bought by

men on their way home...

who give them to their wives

who give them a bollocking...

for leavin' the price

on the back...

and they never even read

what I've written inside.

I read them.

Go on, Maggs, read us one.

No!

- Ah, will you go on, now?

- I can't.

Make my heart sing.

Ah, go on, Maggs. Just the one.

Just for me. Please?

Promise you won't laugh?

I certainly will not.

"Sometimes... "

No, "sometimes" is good.

"Sometimes. "

It's a lovely start.

Go on.

"Sometimes...

"some things are special. "

"Sometimes, someone is close. "

"Sometimes, you feel

you'll never quite say... "

"the some things that

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