Dave Kennedy - A Journey of Transformation

[@aoifehorgan3617]

Brilliant podcast. Thanks very much!

[@Phoeagdor]

Fantastic show Timmy. Mighty work....... ya do. Slowly it be... seepin' in, and being listened to, too. Wonderin' if any, a those boyos I suggested to connect with you - ever did, too? Anyways sure, addin' to both yeer ideas in yer talk here, I say include humor, a Cork boon boo true. Corcaigh's very own, standing alone, that confirms rebel status. More prominent before, when there were way more head the balls, runnin' round Cork, for sure, in apparatus. When was this boay, round about the time a Dallas, when we had the Savoy. They're still out there Timmy boay, if ya can find 'um, ask Roy, claiming people still, with the mayfield handshake, more civilized now though......he be coy. Ya royt! Roy be coy, goway ta me, boay. They live and hide between the drops a rain Timmy, like the mad woman a Cork, spirits in the material world, they live down the lane, oh the distain, the clergy church and state, hate those that won't refrain. Anyway fella, Happy Christmas ta ya boay and to all a good night including Roy. It would be a great cast, if ya can get him on, do triyyyyyyyy. The followin' should keep ya laughing, unless ya knew the lad involved. Cause all Cork jokes boay, be real like, until they're absolved. The majority of the worlds issues will regulate says you, when all the Johnny Murphys of this world - evolve, ah true, true. Gowane Timmy, be seein' ya, give ya a call. Here's what happened Johnny Murphy, tell 'em all. Johnny Murphy died last nite, Ed. What happened him, boay. Coming inta me house like ..... slipped on the kids skate, head through the porch window. Ahh, that's an awful way to die. Na, that didn't kill him a’tall. Jumped up, fell inta me casa, como su casa. Staggered, tore all the photo off me wall. Clattered his way ta da kitchen, bumped against me fridge, an all, 6 carving knives fell. BAM man, right inta the chest, like it was fookin' hell. Jaysus, that's a terrible way ta die. Na, warming up, was our boay Johnny. Wandered, dazed and confused, inta me sitting room, me oldest on shrooms. Fell inta the fire, howled like a banshee, when he got spired. From all this jumpin' sky higher, Jordan like, spiked his head, on the chandelier……….fuckin nikes!………..and fell down dead! Yikes! Oh my god, that was a horrible way ta die. Na, that didn't kill him a’tall, Ed. Fell up the stairs (can ya believe tha boay - up the bloody stairs). Destroyed me banister, the hotpress. Scalded hands, crying for his mommy, his pance, he wet, me kids were immediate fans, when they heard that bit. Tears tearin’ down his face like rain, blood-head punctured and spiked in vain, 6 carving knives in da chest, like some sort of beau geste. Cork’s Hollybough, Irelands Own monk on fire, freaky it was, like some sort a national sacrifice at our behest. Fell out me bedroom window, curtin's cindered, onto the concrete slabs below, like a godforsaken skinhead tindered, ta the audience shoutin’ fook me, Thoreau. Jaysus Tommy, that's a terrible way ta die. Na, that didn't kill him a’tall. Fook sake, Tommy, what the hell killed him, boay! Ah, I had ta shoot him, Ed. He was wrecking me house.