The Heelers Diaries

the fantasy world of ireland's greatest living poet

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Location: Kilcullen (Phone 087 7790766), County Kildare, Ireland

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Not the Theme Tune to Casino Royale

Wednesday, March 04, 2015


(with Mystic Muggins)

Aries (The Goat): The moon is in your Uranus. But it could be worse. Think of the other orifices it might be in. Try not to worry so much about the future. A man with the letter 'Y' in his name will ask you to marry him. What they hey. Say yes.

Libra (The Something Or Other): The mucous is in your nostrils. Try cutting down on dairy and exercising more.

Sagittarius (The Chicken Curry): Yummm. Chicken Curry.

Capricorn (The Goat): Your propensity for climbing every mountain should not lead you to think you're that Von Trapp woman. You're not.

Cancer (The Crab): Saturn rising in Betelgeuse will leave you feeling listless. Learn to think about the good things in life: Sunsets, the mountains, oceans, trees, the first Die Hard movie, Mad Max 2, etc etc.

Zogsplox (The Brief Case): A series of events at work may conspire to give your day a lift. A man with 'Y' in his name will ask you to marry him but you should refer him to one of your friends born under the sign of Aries.

Gemini (The Twins): Yummm. Twins.

The Rest Of You: Just wing it.

oooh ahhh up the haircuts


I am loathe to praise the Sunday Independent Newspaper but it performed a public service at the weekend in publishing an article by Mairia Cahill about the terrorist murder gang styled the Irish Republican Army or IRA.
Mairia Cahill speaks with authority about the IRA.
In fact she is one of those rare people in the present era that the satanic hoodlums of the IRA are actually afraid of.
Her article makes clear that the IRA is functioning now as a fully fledged international criminal mafia.
She notes that the IRA has been laundering money in the Republic of Ireland through front businesses including a chain of barber shops.
Her words are a significant contribution in raising public awareness of the ongoing economic and political hijacking of Ireland by the narco traficante terrorists of the IRA.

(Copy to the Irish National Lottery commission whose computer terminals seem to be crashing an awful lot these days in shall we say mysterious circumstances prior to draws.)

Tuesday, March 03, 2015

au revoir mes judges martins nolans

Ireland's most infamous Judge Liberal, a character styling himself Judge Martin Nolan, hit a bit of a home run in the Republic's court system this week.
Batting against the Rule Of Law, Judge Martin Nolan sentenced a forger to nought years in prison.
That is to say he let him go.
Officially Judge Martin Nolan went through the motions of imposing a sentence of four years but Judge Martin Nolan suspended the implementation of that sentence... for four years.
So nought years in jail for the forger.
Bear in mind that this is the same Judge Martin Nolan who sentenced a fruit importer to six years in jail, with no years suspended, for the purely notional crime of mislabelling garlic as apples.
You gotta hand it to mafia IRA judges.
They know no shame.
Seriously though, he's doing a brilliant job.

(Copy to Judge Paul Carney.)

Wednesday, February 25, 2015

to a wild rabbit

(prince of the fields)

words are mine
no words take from his eyes
the breeze blown beauty of the woodlands
nor the silver scented sight of evening glories

manhood mine
a prince of the fields is he
even in the terror of flight
a strange high ecstasy
spirits to delight

age is mine
he will not grow old
nor fear the passing of his world
the lure of yellow gold
the bitterness of friends becoming foes

knight hospitalier

Debating with a supposedly dying man on the wards of Naas hospital about the existence of God.
Ah, I have a talent.
Count your blessings if you're ever in hospital bold readers.
Whatever you're going through, say to yourself: "It could be worse. I could be getting a visit from James."
So here we are.
Brinsksley sits up in bed and proclaims a litany of stuff along the lines of the Bible containing geographical errors, historical inaccuracies, unrealistic depictions of the Romans, photoshopped battle scenes, blah, blah, blah.
I earnestly endeavour to refute each point.
It's intense enough and honest enough the way we argue.
The nurses and other patients are shooting me warning looks but Brinksley doesn't seem to mind.
On we go.
"There is no heaven and there's no hell," says Brinksley, "Graham Norton put it best when he said that where we are now, is hell. There's no need for any other."
This was too much for me.
"You're quoting the great theologian Graham Norton," I cried. "I mean what a rip off.Graham has pulled off the most monstrous con on the English for years. He has them convinced he's a homosexual so of course the Brits give him a prime time television show. That's how careers are handed out at the BBC. But the joke is on them. The Brits don't understand the Cork accent. What they don't realise is that in County Cork, everyone talks like that. Graham Norton is in fact the most macho man in County Cork. He's the Arnold Schwarzeneggar of Cork."
Brinksley waited for me to finish.
Then he said: "I think your lord is a ****."
I lowered my head into my hands.
"I've shocked you, haven't I?" said Brinksley.
I groaned.
"No, no, no," I said. "It's just that I've called him the same thing and by your standards I probably didn't have much excuse."

Tuesday, February 24, 2015

mystic moment

A gentleman styled Stephen Fry has appeared on an Irish chat show hosted by one Gay Byrne.
During his interview Stephen Fry told Gay Byrne that he didn't believe in God.
He then went on to excoriate God apparently for failing to reach the same production values in creating the universe as Stephen Fry reached with his Jeeves And Wooster television series.
Go easy on Stephen Fry gentle travellers.
Whenever I see Gay Byrne, I get a bit annoyed with God too.

Friday, February 20, 2015

confucius he say

Beware the Greeks... when they come requesting loans of 250 billion dollars which they promise to repay in four months time if they can. I'm just saying is all.

the poetic manifesto

half heard melodies at dawn
dreams or the traces of dreaming
a woman's name said soft like breathing
memories of faces gone
footsteps in the hall on winter's nights
sadness in the heart where love has been
softness on the fields after a storm
shadows bright with remembering

we will go
through cowardice to bravery
into the timeless eye of mind
across the ungovernable sea
to where all poems have their end
and their beginnings naturally
come with me

the music of the teshticles i mean spheres

"If I'm dying I don't want you bringing any groups of strange Christians to sing for me," quoth my feminist cousin Pauline.
"If you were dying I'd probably try for Led Zeppelin," I reassured her.

the bloggers lament (a meditation on discovering two visits to this website from Bulgaria)

How am I supposed to change the world...
I have more Bulgars reading me than Russians.

Thursday, February 19, 2015

poem and parody

I' m Nobody! Who Are You?
by Emily Dickinson

I'm nobody! Who are you?
Are you nobody too?
Then there's a pair of us - don't tell!
They'd banish us you know.

How dreary to be somebody!
How public, like a frog.
To tell your name the livelong day
To an admiring bog!


I'm Irish Prime Minister Enda Kenny! Who the hell Are You?
by James Healy

I'm Irish Prime Minister Enda Kenny, who the hell are you
Are you Irish Prime Minister Enda Kenny too
Then there's a pair of us - don't tell!
They'd elect us you know
Or banish us for legalising abortion when we promised we wouldn't
right after we attempted to price gouge our way through the recession by paying the public sector wage bill via the invention of new taxes on water and houses and parking and televisions and whatever else popped into our heads to newly tax

How dreary to be IRA mafia godfather Gerry Adams
How public like a frog
To tell your life the livelong day
To an admiring Peace And Reconciliation Commission

Wednesday, February 18, 2015

the credit where credit is due column

Strolling the aisles at Lidl supermarket.
I gotta tell ya folks.
Lidl is the little supermarket that saved Ireland.
While the nurses, teachers, cops, mafia Judgies (big shout out to Judge Martin Nolan, great to see you're still in action there with that one year sentence for the Junkie who burnt down the city centre property so that its mafia owners could collect the insurance, clever aren't you, a year for the Junkie mafia hireling, while you jailed an innocent man for six years for mislabelling garlic as apples, hilarious no), indolent soldiery and even more indolent civil servants have continued to extort farcical banana republic pay rises from government via their IRA run trade unions, effectively gouging their way through the recession at all our expense, (I mean I don't want to go casting no aspoyshuns), yes, while the coiffered hoodlums of the State sector have been mugging us all I say, the people of Ireland have survived courtesy of the value for money, professionalism, genuine work ethic and employment opportunities provided at Lidl.
I'm sure Lidl will appreciate my endorsement.
The approval of the anti Jihad demographic is very much sought after in corporate circles these days.
So here I am walking down the aisles seeking a tasty crunchy snack at low low prices.
I start singing Marlene Dietrich's most famous song:
"Where have all the Hula Hoops gone?
Long time passing.
Gone, gone.
All the Hula Hoops are gone."
As it becomes clear that for once there are no Hula Hoops to be had, I approach a lissom blonde Lidl staff member of the Polish persuasion, preening in front of the milk shelves.
She turns and her uniform tugs intriguingly in various directions.
(One of mine Heelers? - George Lucas note)
(Homage - Heelers note)
I have a strange urge to sing to her.
I sing:
"Vere are all ze Hula Hoops gone?
Long time passing.
Gone, gone.
All ze Hula Hoops are gone."
This time I'm doing it with the full Marlene Dietrich accent.
The lissom blonde looks up from her world.
She appears genuinely amused.
(Bemused surely? - Ed note)
In the glimmering half light of the milk counter, I saw no shadow of another parting.

the crunch question

Question: Is there any weapon the Jihadi's fear?

Answer: They fear expulsion.