Jane Dixon

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Oh, Those Irish Eyes

Some Irish housewives have got a lovely way of frying bacon; others have the most bewitching way of looking all cuddly.

We know a very bewitching Irish housewife. She's JANE DIXON.

Her way of bewitching a feller is to flash her Irish eyes at him. Irish eyes are soft, limpid, saucy and provoking. You can write poetry about them and get ten marks out ten from teacher for same.

You can certainly write poetry about Jane, and don't be put off by her trendy see-through. Keep looking into her eyes until you go all glazed and then you'll be in the mood to write the dreamiest poetry ever.

It doesn't have to rhyme; it just has to have a lilting flow.

Jane Dixon

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Luck of the Irish

They play that hurling game in Ireland. Everything flies about.

"Did that one hurt, Paddy?" asks O'Reilly.

"Me ears is still ringing, yer dirty scoundrel."

"Hard luck, me boyo."

Well, hard luck is what you get in that kind of game. But there are compensations, all to do with how things look after the game.

They look lovely. Ireland is full of colleens.

Here's one of them. JANE DIXON. Many a Paddy will walk ten miles to call on her and still be full of blarney when he arrives. Men of other nations could only ask hoarsely for water.

Jane, of course, recognises blarney as soon as she hears it. Many a Paddy, calling with a bunch of flowers and an invitation to the horse show, has had his foot caught excruciatingly in the door as Jane closes it.

"Oh, me foot!"

"Does it hurt, Paddy?" calls Jane through the mail-box.

"Like the devil himself, me darling."

"Hard luck, me boyo."

Even in Ireland you can't win them all.