Cider in your ear
Wednesday 23 June 1875
Saints preserve us, I’ve found another Knox. Or one has found me. And I
mean, dear journal, not some fine gentleman with the given Christian
surname Knox. No there are those to be found everywhere. No not some
criminal or rogue with that name either, there are certain to be those
as well. I refer to a person somewhere between ne’er do well, and the
greatest grifter and showman on earth, yet not that either. The type of
man who could bet you that the queen of sticks will jump out of Madam
MuShu’s deck and squirt cider in your ear, and you’ll find yourself
forgetting every instinct that knows to cover your ear before it gets
wet. Except it’s never a silly bar bet, not that there aren’t plenty of
them, no, but before you know it you’re an integral part of the most
elaborate convoluted scheme, it’s success depending on the destruction
of your dignity. You hate what has happened to you, but you can’t stop
watching the show unfold around you. That is a Knox.
And just when you think Robert Knox is the only one, and the greatest
carnival barker in history, you meet his cousin Patrick in Toronto. And
metaphomorfically get cider in both ears.
Well, here there is one Fluery Knox, who may be mildly kept in check by
means of being in the royal Navy.
At least he buys drinks.
Also, I greatly fear that one day, one of my companions last words will
be something akin to “Oh pish,tosh Mr. O’Flaherty, whatever are you
carrying on about?”
Proceed to Not much
happening
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