Jesus appeared to Séamus one cold afternoon in mid February, between two heavy showers, for even the Son of God hates a drenching.
‘Rise and walk!’ he said to Séamus, and fair enough, Séamus rose and started walking in the direction of the nearest pub.
He then stopped, raised his eyes to heaven and said ‘Thank you o Lord, for I am healed. But… but what shall I do of the fecken chair?’
‘It will no longer be of any use to you Séamus, for what you need now is a sturdy bar stool. Leave it here to slowly decay in this Holy Bog and come back once a year in a pilgrimage to honour my name’ said the Son of God.
The Pilgrimage of the Fecken Wheelchair in the Holy Bog has unfortunately not been a great success, spiritually or financially speaking, as Séamus choked to death on a Scampi fry 34 days exactly after his miraculous recovery.
And the rest of the villagers had never given much credit to his tale of divine intervention. Not since the van of the private investigator hired by the insurance company had decamped for good, the day after the young lads of the village had taken the P.I. lamping for foxes at night.
The lord giveth and the lord taketh away.
The wheelchair is still there. Sinking a little further into the Holy Bog with each passing month.
For those of you yesterday who were wondering what happened to the poor Sperm Whale.
The Whale himself didn’t say. Apparently the poor thing was hit by a ship, it had a massive gash on its back between the tail and dorsal fin. It wasn’t fully mature and would have had many more years of happily chasing giant skid at unbelievable depths if it weren’t for another weird species that feels compelled to ferry iPads across continents in big container ships.
It is very rare to get to see a beached Sperm Whale, hence the trip across Ireland to see it.
It does leave a BIG impression.
And I’m not just talking about willy size there.