Imagine you and I are sitting in a room.
Imagine someone walks in and leaves a pie for us to share ( I would pick Apple, but this is your imagination).
Imagine you are a Woman and I'm a Man ( I am a man, so we don't have to imagine that part).
For the hell of it, let's call this pie "Abbey Season". Well known as the pie with the most expensive ingredients in Ireland.
Lets imagine for years, actually , lets imagine forever, I have eaten most of the pie. I have.
It's been good. Tasty.
But this year, we get our very special 1916/2016 pie.
Then imagine I point to the corner and tell you to bring over the table so we can put the pie on it. When you come back the pie is gone. Save for a few crumbs nestled in my Manly beard.
Then you throw a hissy fit. You Woman you. And you shout out the window to some your wimmin friends and they feckin' start shouting, along with a couple of blokes with nothing better to do. Causing all sorts of mayhem.
And all I had done was eat the pie same as always. Well maybe a bit more than usual, but you never seemed that bothered that I had eaten more than you before.
How was I to know?
OK. I get it. I ate all the pie.
There's another pie coming tomorrow.
It's smaller that the pie today, only a third of the size, but I promise I'll get the best ingredients.
I shouldn't have eaten all the pie. I'm sorry Woman. And your wimmin friends. And those couple of sad blokes.
I'll organize a committee of chefs to advise making this last smaller pie. The last of the year.
Now imagine the pie arrives (we're in tomorrow, Oh you know what I mean)
We both look at it.
It really does look good. Well done to the bakers.
This is for you Woman. I'm sorry I ate ALL the pie yesterday that was twice as big as this one. I'm sorry I have eaten most of every pie that has come through the door.
So have this one for yourself.
I'll just take a slice. You can have the rest.
Aren't we grand now.
The Abbey Theater have announced what seems like a wonderful season. I hope they pack every house. It's a strong program for Mr Mac Conghail's last season. I hope to see some of it.
And yet it completely misses the point.
They got no pie.
You held on to a slice.
It was their pie.
You're grinning but there's cherry stuck between your teeth.
Good luck to the new Leadership of The Abbey. A new wind is always exciting.
Speaking of wind, HMS Gate will be captained by someone other than Mr Colgan OBE it seems. I'm sure that will be a teary goodbye.
I like pie. I like making pie. But it's no fun if not shared. Equally. So we can all talk about how good it is. And rub our tummies . And smile.
OK. You can stop imagining now.
Here is the season. Buy some tickets