When I penetrated back to the day-room I encountered two gentlemen called Sergeant Pluck and Mr Gilhaney and they were holding a meeting about the question of bicycles.
"I do not believe in the three-speed gear at all," the Sergeant was saying, "it is a new-fangled instrument, it crucifies the legs, the half of the accidents are due to it."
"It is a power for the hills," said Gilhaney, "as good as a second pair of pins or a diminutive petrol motor."
"It is a hard thing to tune," said the Sergeant, "you can screw the iron lace that hangs out of it till you get no catch at all on the pedals. It never stops the way you want it, it would remind you of bad jaw-plates."
"That is all lies," said Gilhaney.
"Or like the pegs of a fairy-day fiddle," said the Sergeant, "or a skinny wife in the craw of a cold bed in springtime."
"Not that," said Gilhaney.
"Or porter in a sick stomach," said the Sergeant.
"So help me not," said Gilhaney.
-- Flann O'Brien, The Third Policeman (New York: Plume, 1976), 76.