Every week I deliver my recyclable rubbish to a Dublin City Council bring bank. Some members of the staff are extremely funny. On occasion a Council member from another depot is present. Every time I meet him he regales me with stories and the funniest of jokes. He is forever asking me to give him the wining Lotto numbers, of course, in advance. He perfectly proves the Oscar Wilde quip that you can fake intelligence but you can’t fake wit.
The man is a Dubliner and easy to tell from his accent.
On Monday he had a new joke for me, which he greatly embellished by telling it even in a stronger Dublin accent than his usual way of speaking.
There was a big fire in a family home in a large housing estate in the Dublin suburbs.
It was an inferno and the flames were billowing through the roof.
The mother is managing to struggle down the collapsing stairs with her seven children. She turns to them and whispers: ‘Don’t wake up your father.'
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