Panadola Diction

If looks could kill, Seamus Heaney would have injured me yesterday. I passed the old codger on Nassau St, and he tried to look the face off of me.

Perhaps he was in a bad mood, due to a lack of turf to lean on, or some other poet-specific complaint.

Or, more probably, he was annoyed about the Americans who stand waiting for instruction beside their coaches and completely block the footpath, whilst staring across the road and saying things like, “Oh look Hank, Kilkenny is in Dublin, isn’t that neat.”

Or maybe he just doesn’t like the look of me.

(edit) Note - the following paragraph contains no useful information. Don’t bother reading it.

This post was looking fine in work in Explorer, but looked messed up in Firefox when i got home. This is/was partly because HTML makes no sense, and largely because I don’t understand this template. Old Seamus seemed to be interfering with the picture of boys from Son of Rambow in the next post. The only way I could find to keep him confined to this post is to write more, thus enlengthening the post, and allowing Mr Heaney ample room. What an elegant solution. I deserve a Nobel Prize for skillz.