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Senior Jockey
Having heard this story during the summer I decided it is too good not to share; it is the feelgood story of feelgood stories.
Names are omitted but educated guesses are welcome.
Back in the bad 1980s , when depression was rife and people Ireland's greatest export even the elite in society had their problems.
One, a family man long before he became "one of the Lads" made a duck pond on his estate, " A big sheltered place " in a county a long way to from anywhere, at least according to the song.
He purchased many ducks to populate his pond, but they always flew away. What he did not realise was they were a breed of Joorabchian ducks that would settle anywhere for long.
Luckily his wife's uncle ,a wily, witty, ex Amateur, ex trainer, seventh son bon viveur came across a cunning solution.
While shooting in Normandy he noticed these ducks that did not fly away when guns fired in their vicinity.
He sourced the ducks without informing anyone and arranged for collection.
His accomplice , an even safer pair of hands, so safe he won two Grand Nationals for the former's brother, one on a horse the Amateur should have won two on, had a transport business ferrying horses between the UK and France for a man whose footballing interests, though never a player himself, enabled him to lead a high life of fast horses, faster women, fine wines and song.
Anyways Christmas morning the beloved uncle arrived at his niece's homestead, unloaded the ducks onto the pond and, making his way to the house announced that his christmas presents were swimming merrily in the lake, guaranteed not to fly away.
Excited, the parents took their young children to the lake, stopping in the kitchen for bread to feed the new arrivals.
As they scattered the bread into the lake the ducks showed no interest.
When asked why the uncle explained " Being French they would have different taste buds."
" Should we get some oats perhaps ?"
" No "
" Snails? "
"No "
"What will they eat so ?"
" According to the instructions I received, Batteries "came the reply
Merry Christmas.
Names are omitted but educated guesses are welcome.
Back in the bad 1980s , when depression was rife and people Ireland's greatest export even the elite in society had their problems.
One, a family man long before he became "one of the Lads" made a duck pond on his estate, " A big sheltered place " in a county a long way to from anywhere, at least according to the song.
He purchased many ducks to populate his pond, but they always flew away. What he did not realise was they were a breed of Joorabchian ducks that would settle anywhere for long.
Luckily his wife's uncle ,a wily, witty, ex Amateur, ex trainer, seventh son bon viveur came across a cunning solution.
While shooting in Normandy he noticed these ducks that did not fly away when guns fired in their vicinity.
He sourced the ducks without informing anyone and arranged for collection.
His accomplice , an even safer pair of hands, so safe he won two Grand Nationals for the former's brother, one on a horse the Amateur should have won two on, had a transport business ferrying horses between the UK and France for a man whose footballing interests, though never a player himself, enabled him to lead a high life of fast horses, faster women, fine wines and song.
Anyways Christmas morning the beloved uncle arrived at his niece's homestead, unloaded the ducks onto the pond and, making his way to the house announced that his christmas presents were swimming merrily in the lake, guaranteed not to fly away.
Excited, the parents took their young children to the lake, stopping in the kitchen for bread to feed the new arrivals.
As they scattered the bread into the lake the ducks showed no interest.
When asked why the uncle explained " Being French they would have different taste buds."
" Should we get some oats perhaps ?"
" No "
" Snails? "
"No "
"What will they eat so ?"
" According to the instructions I received, Batteries "came the reply
Merry Christmas.
