POSITIVE EQUITY:I'D BEEN DIGGING for more than an hour. My hands were already blistered and my back was aching – the ground was full of stones ands this was unaccustomed work for me. "You really think this is going to work?" I shouted, but I got no response. I stuck the shovel in the mound of earth and sat down, my feet hovering above the hole. It was warm for early April and I had worked up a mighty sweat. I dragged my sleeve across my forehead somewhat dramatically and looked once more at the instruction sheet that had come with the kit.
“How to bury St Joseph: Pick a prime spot in the garden of the house you wish to sell and dig a hole deep enough to fit your Sell Your Home Quick St Joseph statue. Place the statue upside-down in the hole and cover him up. Say your prayers and within four weeks you will find your buyer!”
I threw the instructions over my shoulder and scratched my head. St Joseph stood next to me in a robe, holding his big staff and giving me a slightly quizzical look.
“Sorry about this, Joe,” I said, and after shooting a look at the house I picked him up and stuck him face-first in the soil. But despite my efforts, his little feet were still poking up above the ground. I considered trying to tamp him down with the shovel but it just didn’t seem right considering what we were asking him to do for us. I sighed and closed my eyes for a moment. When I opened them, I saw a second pair of feet; they were attached to my wife.
“Going well then, is it?” she said.
She sat down beside me bearing a tray with two tumblers half-filled with an amber fluid. “I’ve poured you a Power’s,” she said. “I thought you might need some. I thought I might need some too.”
“What are we going to do about those feet?” I asked.
“What indeed.”
Just then the sun broke through the clouds and bathed the house in a warm glow. The clematis overhanging the portcullis danced lightly in the breeze and a clutch of goldfinches lit upon the lawn. We drank and watched as they picked apart the thistles.
“Well,” she said, while the whiskey burned pleasantly in my throat, “maybe it’s not such a bad house after all.”
“Yeah, maybe not,” I said, “maybe not.” She put her arm around my shoulder and gave me a little squeeze. “And what should we do about Joseph?” I asked.
She took a sip from her glass and looked at the house. “Bury him anyway.”
WRITE A SHORT STORY AND WIN €10,000
The 1980s saw a number of popular advertising campaigns based on conversations and short stories. The campaign for Powers Gold Label, a nugget of social history, was an extraordinarily successful campaign. And the reason for this was not that they were good ads in themselves – nice wee stories, charmingly illustrated – but because they were quintessentially Power’s. Everything about them sat easily with the brand. Those ads couldn’t have been for anything else.
So here’s a challenge for our readers; an invitation to hark back to a more mellow time. What we are looking for is a perfectly formed story in only 450 words on the topic of “celebrating what really matters” and be in with a chance of winning €10,000 and seeing your story illustrated and printed in The Irish Times.
For online entries see irishtimes.com/ competitions/powers/. For postal entries send in your entry with your name, email address and telephone numbers to Power’s Competition, The Irish Times, 24-28 Tara Street, Dublin 2. The closing date is Friday, June 3rd, 2011.
For full terms and conditions, email marketing@irishtimes.com.
