Brady didn't like school and school didn't seem to like him. He was a slow
thinker and a very slow learner.
He always said it took him three years to get a tick. Apparently he was the
only child in St Bridget's to actually fail in milk!
But it wasn't just school that showed up Brady's lack of nous, it was also
the things he said. He and six pals sat in the corner of the pub and the barmaid
was asked to bring pints all round. She approached the seven, with six glasses
on a tray, and Brady said:
'Whenever there's a pint missing I always get it! I'm the world's unluckiest
man. If it was raining soup I'd be standing here with a fork in me hand.'
'You really are unlucky,' said the barmaid. 'What's your name?'
'Oh God, you've caught me on the hop there,' said Brady, scratching his head.
'Concentrate,' said the girl.
'No,' muttered Brady. 'It's longer than that!'