Shane Murphy

In Place of . . . an introduction

Age (Only on a need-to-know basis)
Eyes Blue-grey (perhaps bloodshot)
Complexion White
Hair Thinning
Neck 15''
Upper Arm 12''
Forearm Not quite Popeyesque
Wrist (About this wide)
Waist 32'' (not after meals)
Ankle Hardly worth mentioning
Height 6'
Weight (Memo to self: take some exercise)
Taste Exceeeeeeeeeeeeeeedingly extravagant

And so he woke up, thinking he was hearing voices; but no, that was just his mind, the one he forgot to switch off. It really was getting to be quite a nuisance. He tried to clear away the fog. Why on earth was he here? Oh yes, they were all clamouring for an introduction. He thought about lying, but decided against it. Alright, so long as there were no pictures. (When they said he was no oil painting, they really should have had a glance at a Hieronymous Bosch. "The Last Judgement", central panel, bottom right, guy with the hood - that's him.) "Aha, but what does he sound like? Come on, out with it". He's from Cork, he'll admit that much. Corkonians are "an idiosyncratic race of folk, with an accent that requires simultaneous translation through earphones". It sez it in de guide book, so it must be true. But when he finally ended up in Aberdeen to lecture in the English Dept., he found that he didna evin speek proppir, jes sum forin lingo. He tried the sine langwitch but seemd like dey wiznae havin it. So he jes kept shoutin - toatil waist of time. "Just anuther bludy furiner," dey sed, "a toatil head-the-baw". (Ach, ye wuzny boarn yisstirday, - he doesnae spek li tha.)

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