Sentence The Sixhundredandfifth  Well, the one thing you could say about Father Mungo Macaneny was that despite his sesquipedalian speech and his general air of disreputable spuriosity, he was indubitably, indisputably. inherently, 100% absolutely, genuinely, totally veridical and strictly up-front and, what's more, absolutely de rigueur, so long as you didn't get close enough to smell the 40% proof Highland Park on his breath, because that would, let's be honest, give you some doubts as to his credibility as a witness, indeed, his veracity as a Man of the Cloth, or, to put in bluntly, his authority as a Priest; fortunately, when we answered the loud knocking at the front door – Auntie May having disconnected the doorbell "for the rest of the fucking year," just this morning – we were not so close to Fr Mungo's breath as to be immediately intoxicated, for he stood behind Lulu and her Gurrrrl Gang

from Gullane: would these be our last visitors of 2016, or just the first of the last, for despite Auntie May's irascible remarks, she was as fond of visitors as we were, but she did have the job as Domestic Burser, of finding beds and blankets for our guests, as well as running the kitchen to feed everyone – fortunately, the two Syrian mums were on holiday from their jobs at the BGH and were keen to demonstrate their culinary abilities, much to Auntie May's anxiety that straying too far from traditional 'Maw Broon' fare might cause some digestive difficulties, but she was a courteous hostess and had confided to Milly, Isa and me that she was rather looking forward to having a break from doing all the cooking herself, but not to let the Syrians know that, for she had her curmudgeonly reputation to protect! and the Gurrrrls trooped in, followed at a safe distance by Fr Mungo, who managed to detach himself from his hat, coat, scarf and gloves without letting go of the hip flask he held tightly in his right hand: "Ah. May!" he cried, catching his first sight of our Auntie, "it brings joy to my heart to see you looking as radiant as ever," which brought a blush to her roots, and she attempted a light-hearted laugh, which dissolved into a coughing fit: "here, sweet May," said Fr Mungo, pressing forward, hip flask extended, "take a drop o the pure, it'll

cure all ailments, I swear by it," and Auntie May took a sip, her coughing subsided, and she took another, at which Fr Mungo extracted the flask from her grip: "moderation in all things," he said, looking the very picture of immoderation himself, "I look forward to experiencing once again the delights of your culinary skills," and then he realised that he held a lighted cigarette in his other hand: "oh Jeez," he cried, aghast, "forgive the tortfeasance, May," backing out of the door, as though she had delivered a sockeroo, "but I'll be back shortly, you know, my housekeeper is a Poor Clare, that should be Poor Cook, all I'd have got over the festivities would have been Bread and Margarine," drawing the ultima into a howl of disgust, "I wish I'd got a Benedictine, they know how to have some fun!" and Auntie May laughed, despite herself, "we'd better check on the kitchens, Teri," she gathered me into her embrace as we went down the stairs, "those children have a habit of leaving their dermatoglyphics on the butter," but the children were not in the kitchen, just Maya and Sera hard at work, preparing lunch for twenty!